No, it can't be my mother, Travis told himself. He shook his head, trying to clear the fuzz brought on by the sleeping pills and stared at the strange woman in his bed, looking very much like she was at home. He'd never seen this woman before, not that he remembered, but maybe, like all the other strange things he'd seen lately, she wasn't real.
"Who are you?" he asked, feeling fairly confident that he was talking to himself.
The woman blinked and a hurt expression crossed her face. "Travis, honey --"
Honey? Who is she calling honey? he wondered.
She got out of the bed, pulled on a bathrobe that barely concealed anything important and walked over to him. She reached her hand toward his face, and he backed away.
"Who are you?" he asked again, trying very hard not to shout at this woman.
"Travis, I'm your wife, Sarah," she said, sounding hurt.
She reached for him again, and this time he let her hand brush his cheek. The caress was tender, loving; exactly the way he imagined a lover would touch him.
"Why don't you come to bed, Travis, and tell me about your day," said Sarah, pulling gently on his hand. "It must have been a bad day for you to have forgotten your own wife."
Travis shook his head a little harder, hoping to shake the hallucination, vision, whatever it was out of his head. The vague thought entered his mind that he might be losing it. Maybe the combination of beer and sleeping pills was a bad idea. Sarah sat on the edge of the bed looking expectantly at him.
Maybe he should go have a shower, he thought, see if he could wash this weirdness out of his head. Or perhaps he should just go to a doctor, a shrink, have his head examined. There was always the option of crawling into bed with this woman, forget his troubles for a while.