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come out in a week to ten days. His scalp will be tender for a while, and there'll be some scarring, but nothing grotesque. He'll still be handsome."
     
"So you've said before," Kendall reminded him, ignoring his sly smile. "I'm mostly concerned about the amnesia."
     
"It's not that uncommon following a blow to the head and concussion."
     
"But usually all that's lost are the few minutes leading up to the concussion and the events that immediately follow, isn't that right?"
     
"Usually is a word that doesn't apply to medicine."
     
"But it's rarer for the memory to be wiped completely clean, isn't it?"
     
"Rarer, yes," he admitted tersely.
     
That afternoon, she had researched amnesia in all its various forms, reading everything on the subject in the hospital's limited library. What she had read coincided with the doctor's assessment. Still, she wasn't satisfied. She had to cover every possibility, no matter how improbable.
     
"What about anterograde amnesia?"
     
"Don't borrow trouble."
     
"Indulge me."
     
He folded his arms over his chest and assumed a "let's get this over with" stance.
     
Unfazed by his impatience, Kendall continued. "The way I understand anterograde-amnesia, my husband may not be capable of storing information in his memory now. So, even if he recovers his memory of things that happened before the accident, he may not be able to recall events that occurred between the memory loss and the time of recovery. He would remember everything else, but this period of time would be blocked out."
     
"Basically, your facts are correct. But, as I said, you shouldn't worry about that until it happens. I don't think it will."
     
"But it could."
     
"It could. I'd rather look on the bright side, okay?"
     
"Will it take another blow on the head for his memory to come back?"
     
"That only happens in the movies," he quipped. "It's usually not that dramatic. His memory may return gradually, a little at a time. Or everything may burst through at once."
     
"Or it may remain lost forever."
     
"That's highly unlikely. Unless there's a reason why your husband wants his memory permanently blotted out." He arched his eyebrow, implying a question.
     
Kendall ignored his ill-concealed curiosity, but she knew she had opened up an opportunity for him to elaborate, and he couldn't resist strutting his stuff.
     
"See, his subconscious could be using his head injury as a valid excuse to forget something he doesn't want to remember, something he finds difficult or even impossible to cope with."
     
He gave her a penetrating look. "Is there a reason why he'd subconsciously wants to be protected by amnesia?"
     
"Are you licensed to practice psychology, Doctor?" Her voice remained deceptively sweet, while her eyes conveyed her opinion of the question. He flushed with indignation.
     
'Which brings me to my next question," she said before he could offer a comeback. "Shouldn't we consult a specialist?
     
Perhaps a neurologist from a larger hospital?"
     
"I already have."
     
"Oh?" She was slightly taken aback by this news.
     
"I called a hospital in Atlanta," the doctor said. "Got the staff neurologist on the phone, faxed him your husband's charts, and described his condition and reflexes. I told him He raised his hand to his forehead and pressed his thumb against one temple, his middle finger against the other, as though to squeeze information from his cranium. "I can't remember a damn thing. Nothing." He lowered his hand and looked at her bleakly. "Where exactly are we?"
     
"The town's called Stephensville. It's in Georgia."
     
He repeated the names, as though trying them out on his memory. "Do we live in Georgia?"
     
She shook her head. "We were traveling through on our way to South Carolina."
     
"I was driving," he said. "To avoid hitting a felled tree blocking the road, I must've overcompensated. The road was slick. Our car swerved, plunged down into a deep ravine, crashed into a tree, then was lost in a flooded