Chapter Six

AMELIA

"Mr. Mitchell," the startled nurse squeaked, checking her watch, probably to be sure of the time.

Timothy Mitchell had lost a little weight since I had last seen him, but his face broke into a smile as he hurried over.

He came to a stop in front of me, placing two large hands on my shoulders.

"My girl. My girl," he said and promptly pulled me into a hug.

I immediately stiffened. He did not seem to notice. He smelled of some musky, expensive perfume. Being hugged this close by a man I had only met once was bad enough. When he planted a kiss on the top of my head, it was just too much.

I pulled back. It took a few seconds before he noticed I was pulling away and a few seconds more before he released me.

"You're hugging me too tightly," I said, rubbing my ribs, which were perfectly fine, and wincing.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry," he said. "I was just so excited to see you and—"

He broke off when the nurse came close.

"Are you alright, Ms. Emma?" she asked, then she saw the look on Mr. Mitchell's face.

In an instant, he had changed from the loving, affectionate father to the strict, bullying tough man everyone in the business world knew about.

"Do you mind?" he said stiffly. "I'm trying to have a moment here."

The nurse stammered out an apology and quickly left the room, forgetting to take her tray.

When Timothy Mitchell turned to me, he was smiling again, but he looked a little worried too.

"Sorry," he said again. "But you're not in pain, are you?" Without giving me a chance to answer, he went on. "Oh Emma, three years! It's been three whole years! I never thought I would ever see those eyes open, looking at me again. I insisted on keeping the life support machine on, and thank God I did, even though some people advised me to let go." 

He started to hug me again, hesitated, and settled for patting my shoulder instead. "This has to be the happiest day of my life. I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier, sweetheart. I would have loved to be the first person you saw when you woke up. I was out of the country on some business retreat. I took the first flight back as soon as I heard the news."

He paused in his rambling to draw in a breath. He sat beside me and looked at me.

"Enough about me. Tell me, how are you? Are you comfortable? Are they taking good care of you here?" His brows drew together in a frown. "Do you hurt anywhere? Can you um— walk on your own now?"

The anxious questions went on and on, and I honestly didn't know where or how to start answering.

When he moved to take my hand, I placed it firmly in my lap.

"Emma?" he said, quietly this time. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

"I'm fine," I replied, answering his first question. "Sorry, but you came in here asking a lot of questions, and I don't even know who you are. Am I... supposed to know you?"

He stared. His expressive green eyes clouded over.

"You mean you really don't..." He stopped and passed a hand across his face. "They warned me it would be like this, but I told the doctor he was talking a lot of crap. I didn't really believe that you would forget your own father even if you had lost your memory."

He stared hard at me then, waiting for a sign that I recognized him. I stared back, keeping a straight face.

With a sigh, he said, "I'm Timothy Mitchell. I'm your father, Emma—"

"Well, Mr. Mitchell—"

"Dad," he corrected with a frown.

I wouldn't be drawn into calling him 'dad'. I still had not decided whether or not I would stick with the story that I was Amelia Brooks.

I shook my head slowly. "That's what you say, but I don't remember you or anyone else. Sorry if that disappoints you."

He shifted and moved closer. I scooted back, putting some distance between us.

"But how—" he began.

"And please, you will have to take it easy with the hugging and the questions. They make me uncomfortable and anxious."

His hands fell back to his sides.

"Of course," he said. "Of course I understand. I was just so excited and—" He paused and smiled sadly. "This wasn't the reunion I had imagined, but I'm sure you'll remember your old man soon enough, no matter what the doctors say."

I couldn't hold back a sigh.

Of all the people who had come to see me since I opened my eyes, Timothy Mitchell was the one person I wanted to tell the horrible truth, which I was becoming more certain of as time passed.

The truth that his daughter was possibly gone forever.

Looking at him now, seeing his sad face, his slumped shoulders, I didn't have the heart to.

He seemed to genuinely love his daughter. Also, there was something about his appearance that told me he wouldn't be able to take the shock. That was if he even believed my story in the first place.

His low voice broke into my thoughts. "I have lots of pictures of you growing up with me in it. I could bring them over. I'll ask the doctor. I'm sure they can help jog your memory..."

He went on talking about a pony I was supposed to have owned as a little girl.

It suddenly felt like I was drowning in the open air. I was already dealing with a lot. Adding a stranger's grief to it was just too much. Thoughts whirled through my head so fast my head felt like it would split open any second.

I didn't know when a groan slipped past my lips.

Timothy stopped talking and turned to look at me in surprise.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"No," I responded.

He looked from me to the bed and nodded.

"I know exactly what the problem is," he said, and I could have laughed.

I was willing to bet all I owned that he didn't have the faintest idea.

"You need rest," he continued. "Lots of it. What are you even doing up by this time anyway? What was that nurse doing if she couldn't get you into bed? I thought this hospital was at least competent."

"It's not her fault," I said quickly, sensing someone could get fired if Timothy got angry. "I just woke up some minutes ago."

With a grunt, he got up to fluff the pillows. "Lie down; close your eyes. You will feel better in the morning."

"I don't feel like going to sleep just now. Maybe I'll read until I'm sleepy," I said, reaching for a book someone, probably Liana, had forgotten.

Timothy's hand closed over the book and put it away. He wagged a finger at me.

"Now listen, young lady," he said. "The fact that you don't remember that I'm your father doesn't change who I am." He turned back the bed covers. "Now go to sleep."

His jaw was set, and he looked ready to stay up all night, insisting I go to bed. Just so I could be left alone, I was about to comply when an idea dropped into my mind.

Maybe it was time to play the daughter card. If anyone could bully the hospital into allowing me to get out of my room, it was Timothy.

I put on the most innocent expression I could.

"Do you know what I really want?" I said.

"Anything, dear," he said at once. "Ask me anything, and I'll do it."

"I couldn't sleep because I feel like I'm suffocating in here. Could I go out to get some fresh air?"

A shadow fell across his face. My heart sank. I already knew what his answer would be before he said, "No. I'm sorry, but that is one thing I can't allow, and you know why." Seeing my puzzled expression, he went on. "But of course you have forgotten... You see, Emma, just before your accident, you caused a huge scandal. If the reporters out there spot you, the kind of insensitive questions they'll ask you... your health could get much worse."

A scandal?

In my head, I quickly went over my conversation with the nurse. She hadn't said anything about a scandal.

"What scandal are you talking about?" I asked him.

He pursed his lips and said nothing.

"Please tell me," I pleaded. "It's better I hear it from you than anyone else. No matter how bad it is, I can take it. I promise."

Timothy slowly sat back down. He stroked his white beard and seemed lost in thought.

I had given up all hope that he would give me an answer when he said, speaking slowly and avoiding my eyes, "Emma, a few days before the accident, you tried to kill yourself.”