She turned toward him with surprise and curiosity as he walked into the room, and didn't remember ever seeing him before. He was a tall, handsome white-haired man with piercing blue eyes and a serious face. He looked like a person of authority, and she wondered if he was a doctor.

“Hello, Carole.” He was the first to speak. He spoke to her in heavily accented English, unsure if she still remembered her French, which for now she didn't.

“Hello.” It was obvious that she didn't recognize him, and it nearly broke his heart, given all they'd felt for each other. She looked blank. “I've probably changed a lot,” he said. “It's been a long time. My name is Matthieu de Billancourt.” Nothing registered on her face, but she smiled pleasantly at him. Everyone was new to her now, even her ex-husband and kids, and now this man.

“Are you a doctor?” she asked clearly, and he shook his head. “Are you my friend?” she said carefully, although realizing full well that if not, he wouldn't be there. But it was her way of asking him if she knew him. She had to rely on others for that information. But he was startled by the question. Just seeing her again, he was in love with her. For her, there was nothing left. He couldn't help wondering what she had still felt for him before the accident. But clearly, nothing now.

“Yes… yes… I am. A very good friend. We haven't seen each other for a long time.” He readily understood that her memory had not returned, and he was careful about the information he gave her. He didn't want to shock her. She still looked very frail, propped up in the big hospital bed. He didn't want to say too much because her nurse was in the room. He didn't know if she spoke English, but he was cautious just in case. And he couldn't tell secrets anyway to a woman who didn't remember ever seeing him before.

“We knew each other when you lived in Paris.” He had brought her flowers, and handed the large bouquet of roses to the nurse.

“I lived in Paris?” It was news to her. No one had mentioned that to her yet. There was so much she didn't know about herself it frustrated her constantly. He could see it in her eyes. “When?” She knew she lived in Los Angeles now, and had lived in New York with Jason, but no one had mentioned Paris.

“You lived here for two and a half years. You left fifteen years ago.”

“Oh.” Carole nodded, and asked no more questions, she just watched him. There was something in his eyes that rattled her, it was like something she couldn't reach, but could see in the distance. Carole wasn't sure what it was, if it was good or bad. There was something about him that was very intense. She wasn't frightened by it, but she felt it, and couldn't identify the feeling by name.

“How do you feel?” he asked politely. It seemed safer to talk about the present than the past.

Carole thought about it for a long time, looking for the word, and then found it. The way he spoke to her, like an old friend, she had a sense that she knew this man well, but wasn't sure. It was a little like Jason, but different. “Confused,” she said in answer to his question about how she felt. “I don't know anything. Words. I can't find them. Or people. I have two children,” Carole said, still looking surprised. “They're grown up now,” she explained, as though reminding herself. “Anthony and Chloe.” She looked proud that she remembered their names. She was retaining all they told her. It was a lot to absorb.

“I know. I knew them. They were wonderful. And so were you.” She was still as beautiful as she had been. It was amazing to him how little time had touched her, although he noticed the scar on her cheek and didn't mention it. It looked very fresh to him. “You will remember. Things will come back to you.” She nodded, but looked unconvinced. There was still so much missing and she was well aware of it.

“Were we good friends?” she asked him, as though searching for something. Whatever it was, she couldn't access it. She couldn't find him in her head. Whatever he had been to her was gone, along with all the other details of her life. Her mind was a clean slate.

“Yes, we were.” They sat in silence then for a little while, and finally, he cautiously approached the bed and gently took her hand in his. She let him, not knowing what else to do. “I'm very glad that you're getting better. I came to see you while you were still asleep. It's a great gift that you're awake.” She knew it was to the others too. “I've missed you, Carole. I thought about you for all these years.” She wanted to ask him why, but didn't dare. It sounded too complicated for her. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel anxious. She couldn't identify the feeling, but it was very different from the way Jason looked at her, or her children. They seemed much more direct. There was something hidden about this man, as though there was much he wasn't telling her but saying it with his eyes. It was hard for her to read.

“It's nice of you to visit,” she said politely, finding a phrase that seemed to come out all at once. It happened that way sometimes, and at other times she had to struggle for a single word.

“May I come to see you again?” She nodded, not sure what else to say. Social subtleties were confusing for her, and she still had no idea who he was. She had a sense that he'd been more than a friend, but he didn't say they'd been married. It was hard for her to guess who and what he'd been in her life.

“Thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful,” she said, searching his eyes for the answers he didn't put into words.

“So are you, my dear,” he said, still holding her hand. “You always were, and still are. You look like a girl.”

She looked surprised then as she realized something she hadn't thought of before. “I don't know how old I am. Do you?” It was easy for him to make the calculation, by adding fifteen years to the age she'd been when she left. He knew she had to be fifty, although she didn't look it, but he didn't know if he should say it to her.

“I don't think it matters. You're still very young. I'm an old man now. I'm sixty-eight.” His face showed his age, but his spirit didn't. He was infused with so much energy and strength that his looks belied his age.

“You look young,” she said kindly. “If you aren't a doctor, what do you do?” she asked. He still looked like a doctor to her, minus the white coat. He was wearing a well-cut dark blue suit, and a dark gray topcoat over it. He was well dressed, with a white shirt and somber tie, and his mane of white hair was well cut and neat, his rimless glasses typically French.

“I'm an attorney.” He didn't tell her what he'd been before. It didn't matter anymore.

She nodded, watching him again, as he raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed her fingers. They were still bruised from her fall. “I'll come to see you again. You must get well now.” And then he added, “I think about you all the time.” She had no idea why. It was so frustrating to remember nothing of her past, not even how old she was or who she was. It gave everyone an advantage over her. They knew everything she didn't. And now this stranger who knew a piece of her past too.

“Thank you” was all she could think of to say to him, as he gently put her hand back on the bed. He smiled at her again, and a moment later, he left. The nurse in the room had recognized him, but she said nothing to Carole. It wasn't her place to comment on former ministers visiting her. She was a movie star, after all, and probably knew half the important people in the world. But it was obvious that Matthieu de Billancourt was enormously attached to her and knew her well. Even Carole could sense that.

The others came back that evening after their dinner. They were in good spirits, and Stevie had brought her a sample of everything that had been on their plates, and identified all of it to her. Carole tasted it with interest, said she didn't like the turkey, but thought the marshmallows were very good.

“You hate marshmallows, Mom,” Chloe informed her with a stunned look. “You always say they're garbage and you wouldn't let us eat them when we were kids.”

“That's too bad. I like them,” she said with a shy smile, and then held her hand out to her youngest child. “I'm sorry I don't know anything right now. I'll try to remember.” Chloe nodded as tears filled her eyes.

“That's okay, Mom. We'll fill you in. Most of it isn't important.”

“Yes, it is,” Carole said gently. “I want to know everything. What you like, what you don't, what we like to do together, what we did when you were a little girl.”

“You were away a lot,” Chloe said softly, as her father shot her a warning look. It was way too early to talk about that.

“Why was I away a lot?” Carole looked blank again.

“You worked very hard,” Chloe said simply, as Anthony held his breath too. He had heard it for years, and those conversations between his mother and sister never ended well. He hoped it wouldn't happen now too. He didn't want Chloe upsetting their mother at this point. She was far too fragile still, and it would be too unfair to accuse her of things she didn't know. Carole had no way to defend herself.

“Doing what? What did I do?” Carole glanced at Stevie as she asked, as though the young woman could fill her in. She had already sensed the bond between them, even if she knew no details, and remembered neither her face nor name.

“You're an actress,” Stevie explained to her. No one had said that to her yet. “A very important actress. You're a big star.”

“I am?” Carole looked stunned. “Do people know me?” The whole concept seemed foreign to her.

They all laughed, and Jason spoke first. “Maybe we should keep you humble and not tell you. You're probably one of the most well-known movie stars in the world.”