Zoloft, an antidepressant, prescribed by a Dr. Shin. Her psychiatrist? It made sense. She’d skipped her appointments. Maybe she’d stopped taking her pills. If she was depressed, it explained why she might have tried to kill herself. I closed the medicine cabinet. I’d had plenty of problems, before, but I’d never considered suicide, not seriously.
She’d had it all, Sarah had. Beauty. Money. Two parents. A gorgeous boyfriend. A college education. Yet, apparently, it hadn’t been enough.
I took myself out to lunch at a café on Haight Street. As shell-shocked and awful as I felt, there was something to be said for being 24 years old, fashionably dressed, with money burning a hole in my pocket. The waitress ushered me immediately to a big table by the window; had I been 16, in my usual baggy jeans and hooded navy blue sweatshirt, overweight and plain, I doubt I would have gotten such good service.
I craved a burger and fries but ordered a sandwich and salad. I didn't buy the idea of a higher being; I never had. But if some force had put my consciousness into Sarah, whether as reward, punishment or random chance, it made sense to treat this body well.
I soaked up the sunshine, savored my lunch, and watched the parade of life outside on the sidewalk. A girl with hot pink hair. A guy on a skateboard. Two middle-aged women, holding hands. A dreadlocked mom with a stroller. A homeless man, leading a cat on a leash.
Life was all out there, under my nose, and I was grateful to breathe in and out, to chew and swallow. I was glad to still be around to love my mom and Maria, even if they didn’t know it yet.
But part of me was also exhausted just thinking about what lay ahead. I figured I’d pretend, for now, that I was Sarah – at least to her friends and family. Meanwhile, I’d figure out a way to get my old life back. There was no reason I shouldn’t have the best of both worlds.
CHAPTER SIX
Back at the apartment, I flipped through Sarah’s organizer. Here was a hair appointment, there a visit from her cleaning service. I found a slip of paper with several doctor’s names on it, headed “Referrals”. Psychiatrists? Maybe she’d been looking for a new one.
On her calendar, Sarah had noted several birthdays in dark blue ink, her cursive a near-indecipherable scrawl. That reminded me; I would have to learn to sign her name. I pulled a sheet of stationary from a drawer and practiced the signature on the back of her Visa card.
I was absorbed in the task when Sarah’s intercom chimed. My first instinct was to hunker down and ignore it, but I forced myself to answer.
“Sarah? It’s Nick. I’m downstairs.”
Nick. Nick. I couldn’t place the name. The voice, though, was familiar. Ah, the apology on the answering machine. Sarah’s boyfriend. I buzzed him in, then ran to the bathroom to run my fingers through my hair.
Her fingers. Her hair.
A moment later he knocked at the door. I laid a hand on my chest to still my heart, took a deep breath, and let him in.
There he stood, the guy from the bedside photos, and even better looking in person. Tanned, square-jawed, confident, he belonged in an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. He looked like my childhood Ken doll, but sexier and with real -- not molded plastic -- hair. I tried to squelch my impending swoon.
“Hey, babe. You look good.” From behind his back, he produced flowers – gold and red orchids in a spray of greens, extravagant and lovely. “For you.”
“Thanks.” I took them and stood dumbly, not sure what to do next.
“Sarah, Sarah.” He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close. “Tell me you’ve forgiven me.”
“I—I’ve forgiven you.”
He frowned and let me go. “Okay, you got me. What’s the game?”
I shook my head. “No game.”
“Right. That’s it, we’re okay, just like that? I don’t have to beg, plead, or bow down before you?” He threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, sweetheart, this is what I love about you! Never predictable, even for a moment.” He swept the flowers out of my hands again. “Here, I’ll put these in water.”
He moved around the kitchen like he knew it well, and I suppose he did. He left the flowers in their vase on the counter and swooped down on me; I felt like a mouse in the shadow of a hawk, unable to