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regimen for several more weeks, then taper it off while we monitor your recovery. It’s important that we keep the chemical balance of your brain stable. I’ll come by later to go over each medication with you.”
    “Overall,” Dr. Siders said, “your recovery couldn’t be going more smoothly. You’re already progressing faster than we expected.”
    “You mean physically.”
    “You had extremely minor injuries for such a violent accident. Some trauma to your abdomen, glass cuts mostly. We think that happened post-accident, when you escaped the car. But no internal injuries. Not even a broken bone.”
    “You might have the Ecstasy to thank for that,” said Dr. Carver. Shauna’s cheeks warmed. Was it possible? Why couldn’t she remember ? Her despair took on the bonus element of frustration.
    “What about my mind?”
    The men turned to Dr. Harding. “Think of your mind as shielding you from something it knows you can’t handle yet,” she said.
    “You think the trauma of the accident caused my memory loss?”
    “It’s the most convincing culprit.”
    “Not all these experimental drugs?”
    “Unlikely.”
    “But when will I remember?”
    “When your mind is ready. It’s not something you can force or rush.”
    “How can I . . . help it along?”
    “Is that what you want?”
    Shauna wasn’t sure. But if she had to decide in this moment, she would lean toward the affirmative. She might die by falling into this gaping hole of nothingness. More important, their silence regarding Rudy could only mean that she was responsible for some horrible tragedy, some unspeakable harm she had done to him. She should be punished for it! And if they refused to punish her, she would do it herself by remembering every detail.
    “Yes.”
    Dr. Carver cleared his throat.
    Dr. Harding tilted her head to one side and contemplated her answer for several moments.
    “For many people, amnesia is traumatic in the beginning, and then they find it to be more of a mercy. I’m not sure how it will be for you, but if you can find a way to embrace this, if you can think of your situation as something not entirely bad, you put yourself in the most positive frame of mind.”
    “Not entirely bad?”
    “A clean slate. A new beginning.”
    Shauna shook her head, unsure how else to respond. She could imagine how some kind of selective obliteration of certain memories might be merciful. But a gaping hole in the past? That didn’t make sense to her.
    Dr. Harding seemed to see that Shauna wasn’t convinced. The redheaded psychiatrist leaned toward her and spoke more slowly. “Then . . . I suggest you face forward. Look forward down the road of your life rather than over your shoulder. Don’t try too hard to remember. Leave the past behind you and let your mind decide when it’s ready to revisit your history.”
    “I should do nothing, you mean.”
    “Not exactly. Pick up in life wherever it was you remember leaving off. I can help you with this. Let your memory, if it chooses, reconstruct itself in context.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “What are some threads that you might be able to hang on to or revisit? A church, a job, a social scene, a hobby, a boyfriend?”
    Shauna lifted her hands, at a loss. All her life she had kept herself at a distance from close friendships. Mostly, the choice had been a coping mechanism for her, a way of shielding herself from pain upon pain, a way of conserving her emotional energy. She had reduced her world to a small, manageable size. Now she wished she hadn’t.
    “I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” She shook her head. “Wayne Spade?” He was far more a question than an answer in her own mind.
    Dr. Harding folded her hands across her lap. “Tell me about Wayne.”
    “I don’t know much to tell.”
    “Then maybe that’s where you should begin.”
    Maybe. Maybe? Was that all these people were good for, pronouncing one possibility after the other, never certainty? When would she get the