That sounds familiar too. “Yes.” I look down at tulips beneath thin bare feet. I don’t recognize them, but I think I remember the woman talking to me. “Miz Ingrid?”
“Yes.”
Fog starts to lift from another memory, too. A memory of the Limbo Lounge and manicured feet with muted pink polish. “Whose feet are those?” I ask, even though I think I might not want to know.
“They’re yours now.”
They don’t look a bit like my size-ten double-wides. I push my hands out in front of me and turn them this way and that. These hands are too thin and the fingers too long. The bony arms aren’t mine either, but I recognize them. I really don’t want to hear the next answer either but I have to ask, “Am I really her?”
“Yes. You’ve transmigrated.”
I remember her face now. Beautiful and cruel. “Do I look like her?”
“Yes, and you must live Edith’s life. Not the one you left behind. You don’t want to end up like Joan of Arc.”
I look up. “What?”
“People call you Edie now.”
There has to be something of me left. A mole or freckle or a glint in my eyes. There just has to be one thing. “I like Brittany better.”
“That wasn’t part of your covenant with God. I clearly explained the positives and negatives of your ‘total amnesia’ arrangement. The policies and procedures were put in place centuries ago for the benefit of participants.”
“I don’t want to be called EEE-DEEE,” I say, dragging the name out for effect. The drugs aren’t helping my enunciation either.
“There are worse things in life than being called Edie.” She shakes her head at me. “If you insist on being called Brittany, people won’t believe you have amnesia. They’ll think you’re insane. You don’t want that.”
The whole “covenant with God” thing is kind of scary, but I’d rather people think I’m insane than call me Edie for the rest of my life.
She cocks her head to one side and looks at me like she read my mind. “There is nothing I can do if you break the rules. You’ll be on your own.”
“Okay,” I say, because I don’t want to argue. I return my gaze to Edie’s feet. “I’m not anythin’ like her on the inside.” Her toes are kind of bony and the nail polish is boring. I like bright colors and… I look up. “Right?”
“Right. You are you on the inside.” She looks past me and I follow her gaze. “Remember, what’s done can’t be undone.”
I don’t see anything and turn back to face her.
“You have amnesia.” Ingrid’s turquoise eyes look deep into mine like she’s trying to hypnotize me. “Your name is Edie,” she says as the door behind me opens and I drift backward. “Don’t blow it.”
This time I don’t land in Edie’s body. I simply wake and open my eyes. The medication must be wearing off, because I’m thinking more clearly. A single light shines down on my head, but the rest of the room is dark. Lois Griffin is nowhere around. I recognize the doctor standing next to my bed.
“You’re awake,” he says, and
reaches for a pen in the breast pocket of his white coat. “Do you know where you are?” Of course, he shines his stupid light in my eyes.
“Hospital,” I whisper. In my head I hear my own voice, but when I open my mouth, I hear her. I clear my throat and try again. “Hospital.”
“Right.”
“Which hospital, sir?” The sound of Edie’s voice makes me recoil inside. Hearing it is like a whole ’nother out-of-body experience—and I should know. My scalp tightens, my hair follicles tingle, and I try not to freak out.
“You’re at the University Medical Center of El Paso.”
Yes. I remember now. I remember church and Momma’s van and HotGuyNate. I don’t know if we ever met up, but here I am in El Paso.
He asks me if I’m hungry, and now that he mentions it, I’m starving. I don’t know if someone with amnesia remembers things like food or how to eat, but at the risk of “blowing it,” I nod.
“I’ll let the nurse know you’re awake and she’ll have something sent up for you.”