A blond woman, early 50s, attractive, dressed in black slacks and a red sweater opened the door. She was looking down as if she didn’t want to make eye contact. I’m very busy…” Their eyes met. “Charles,” she said and heaved a deep breath.
Her instincts were to embrace him which she started to do, but stopped when Charles stood motionless.
“I don’t know who I am,” Charles said. “It is only by luck I’ve found my way to your door.”
“What do you mean,” she said.
“I really don’t know who I am and where I’ve been,” Charles said. “Until about four months ago I have no memory of anything. All I know is what an old lady back in Indianapolis told me. She hired a private detective to find out who I was. She showed me a picture of myself, gave me an address, and bought me an airplane ticket. I‘m sorry I didn‘t know any other way to do this. If I knew something about you I‘d would have tried something that would not have made this painful for you.”
She breathed heavy and tears began to pool and trickle down her cheek.
“I don’t even know your name,” Charles said. “I assume you’re my wife.”
“Come in from the damp cold,” she said.
Charles stepped in. He moved cautiously as if in unfamiliar surroundings.
“Please get your bag,” she said.
Charles reached outside and for a moment contemplated leaving.
“Maybe I should go,” he said. “I think I’m bringing nothing but pain. Maybe we could get a mediator or something. Do you have a friend that might come over to support you?”
She grabbed his bag and sat it on a chair in the foyer. She gently grabbed his hand to lead him to the living room.
Charles burst into tears and began to sob. “Your hand, I recognize its feel. I know I’ve held that hand before, but that’s all.”
She sat him on a coach and rested her head in his chest. “May name is Gayle and I just want you to relax.”
Charles sat emotionless as if watching the wind blow. No emotional responses, no memories, no love. “I’m empty,” he said.
“You have come to the right place,” Gayle said.