Had Oswald or Wilcox given them to me? I took the books, the velvet ropes, and the jewelry, and hid them in the corner of the closet, behind a box of old shoes.

As I changed into the clothes in the sports bag, I examined my body. I was gaunt, but otherwise healthy enough. The only thing I didn’t recognize was a pale pink scar on the inside of my arm. Perhaps it was from a gardening accident.

The cups of the periwinkle satin bra were loose, as were the jeans, but the slip-on flats and T-shirt fit okay. I spackled concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes and blush to make me less corpse-like.

I found Oswald in the study with a pretty woman wearing a leaf green cotton dress and a bold necklace of purple glass beads. She had a wonderful tumble of black curls, contrasting with her ivory skin, and she managed to be both slim and voluptuous, which seemed unfair to the rest of womanhood.

She smiled when she saw me and said, “You must be Milagro.” When she stood to shake my hand in both of hers, she was a few inches taller than me. Her eyes were green-hazel and angled up at the corners, making her look as if she was smiling even when she wasn’t.

“I’m Dr. Lily Harrison, but you can call me Lily. It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Milagro. I’ve heard so much about you.”

No one had heard about me, but I said, “Very nice of you to come, but I’m sure I’ll regain my memory toot sweet. My gray matter is usually quite reliable.”

Lily looked at Oswald and said, “If Milagro and I could talk alone, please.”

He left us, closing the door behind him.

“Let’s sit, Milagro.” When I joined her on the leather sofa, she said, “People don’t recover quickly from disassociative amnesia, DA, and you’re an unusual case anyway.”

“I’m really just a normal chica,” I said. “I feel fine.”

“DA is your brain’s way of protecting you from painful memories.”

“Not to state the obvious, but someone died,” I said. “Also, I conked my head hard enough to knock myself out. Oswald, while decidedly fab, is being very dismissive of my physical injury.”

So was she. “Incidents of DA are extremely rare, Milagro, but people who get it usually share one thing, an abused childhood.”

“That’s not me. I wasn’t abused.”

“What about your mother?”

“My mother Regina never even raised her voice to me.”

“I had conversations with Mercedes, Oswald, and his family on my drive from the airport. Everyone’s on the same page about your mother. They say that her neglect was criminal, and your father did nothing to intervene. You could have died on many occasions.”