Page 68 of The Stranger in the Mirror

“Amelia, it’s me, Rena. From work.”

I watch Cassandra closely to see if there is any spark of recognition, but she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but you must have me confused with someone else. My name’s Cassandra.”

The woman starts to speak again, then puts a hand up. “My mistake. I thought you were a woman I worked with at the museum.” Her eyes narrow as they travel over Cassandra’s face. “Are you sure... Oh, never mind. Sorry to bother you.” She walks away, clearly embarrassed.

I’m relieved that Cassandra didn’t recognize the woman, but this worries me. Cassandra is still staring after her. She turns to me with a puzzled expression. “That was so strange. She must have confused me with someone else.”

Before I can answer, Valentina comes running up.

“Mommy, Mommy, here’s your ice cream cone.” Valentina hands her a chocolate cone while taking a lick from her own strawberryone. Cassandra takes it, but I can see she’s still thinking about Rena.

“Valentina, go over to the stand and grab some napkins, please.” I turn to Cassandra. “I’m sure she was just mistaken,” I say. “Imagine. She was just confused.”

Cassandra nods, a faraway look in her eyes.

“You’ve never seen that woman before.”

“I’ve never seen her before.”

“Come back,” I say.

Cassandra blinks.

Valentina comes running back with a hand full of napkins.

“Shall we walk around a bit and window-shop while we eat our ice cream?” I ask.

She nods, and we begin to walk.

“I love it here,” Cassandra says.

I smile. This is the last time she’ll be out of the house for a long time.

***

Why can’t new Cassandra just be contented to be a stay-at-home wife? I’ve given her everything she could ask for. A sweet and loving child, a doting husband, a housekeeper to attend to her every need, and a beautiful home in which to live. But she continues to be unhappy as fall approaches. Despite my modifications to her weekly hypnosis sessions, now aimed at convincing her that she’s afraid to leave the house, she’s begun to complain more and more about being “stuck at home.” Her bad moods are even starting to affect Valentina, who begins kindergarten in two weeks, and that I cannot have.

She’s still hounding me about getting a job, but I can’t haveher out in the world; it’s too risky. And I can’t hire her to work at my office at the hospital, because my colleagues have met the real Cassandra. It’s a dilemma I’ve been struggling with since we got back from the lake. The only conclusion that I’ve been able to come to is that we have to move far away, somewhere where the chances of anyone from her past life seeing her are minuscule, where no one knows me or my first wife. The inconvenience, of course, is that I’d have to give up my practice and start again. Fortunately my father’s estate was sizable, and I’ve accumulated a good amount of savings over the years. We have plenty of money, and I could get another position at a new hospital so that I can continue my work.

“Julian, can I talk to you?”

She’s standing at the door to my home office, looking disheveled again.

“Of course.”

She comes in and takes a chair across from my desk, but doesn’t say anything for a moment. Instead she looks down at her lap, her hand twisting the cord of the pullover she’s wearing. When she lifts her gaze to meet mine, I see that her eyes are red-rimmed from crying. “I wanted to wait until Valentina was asleep. I appreciate your patience with my recovery.” She looks at her wrists. “Now that I’m off most of the medicine, I do feel well enough to go back to work. I know you keep saying it could stress me out and send me back into a depression, but being trapped in this house is not good for me. I know it didn’t work out with the library job, but there’s got to be something I can do.”

I smile at her. “You’re absolutely right.”

She gives me a surprised look. “Really?”

I nod. “Yes, I was thinking about it too. Youaremuch better, and I have been a bit overprotective. What kind of work do you think you’d like to do?”

She shrugs. “That’s just it. I don’t know.”

I’m not surprised. She has no idea that she has a bachelor’s degree or that she used to restore photos at a museum. The story she knows of herself is one of a woman constantly on the brink of a breakdown. She thinks she’s never had a job since we’ve been married, and that I’ve stood by her through depression, delusions, and her attempted suicide.

“Well, before we were married you were working at a department store, trying to get on your feet after being released from foster care,” I tell her. “You liked it enough, but I think we need to figure out what your interests are and then go from there.”

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