The next day, she’d taken the morning off and gone for the
dreaded tests that she couldn’t say why she hated so much at a
private clinic that the doctor who had come to examine her
knew of. Because she was rich, service was expedited. She’d
insisted that she could wait. No sense jumping the line in front
of people who really needed to have their heads examined, but
the old doctor, who wasn’t unkind, had insisted that she was
indeed one of those people.
By the afternoon the old man’s creaky voice informed her
over the phone that everything looked good. The memory loss
was inexplicable, but she was in no immediate danger. He’d
told her what she’d said to Coralyn. Sometimes these things
just took time. Sometimes it came back unexpectedly.
Sometimes it just needed a prompt. Sometimes it never came
back at all.
Giana had found the liquor cabinet in what appeared to be a
home office, given the presence of a huge desk and numerous
bookshelves, fully stocked. Coralyn agreed to be at the house
by seven. After Giana got back from the clinic and those tests,
she’d spent the day pacing around the house, trying to make
sense of a life that suddenly made no sense at all.
Had it ever made sense?
What the hell was all the crap she had around the place? It
was huge, probably five thousand square feet on two levels
and then the basement on top of it, and it was full of things
she’d collected. Treasures? Obsessions? What had driven her
to accumulate all the things that filled up every room? Was she
one of those rich people who had too much money and didn’t
know what else to spend it on? Was she not a good person and
instead of helping people, she spent millions of dollars on all