notice that the back of my top is drenched in sweat.
It’s going to take a while to feel grounded again, I remind myself. Memories will take time to surface, too. And covering certain topics—my relationship with Hugh, my lie years ago—is bound to churn me up. I have to be patient with the process.
Maybe coming clean with the police this week will ease this new wave of anxiety. When I called Roger last night, the dinner party with friends was clearly still going on—I could hear wine-buzzy, winding-down chatter in the background—but he said of course he could talk. I expected him to be surprised by my admission, but he sounded more than that. His words caught a couple of times in his throat.
“I see,” he’d said. “Well, you must have been very frightened back then. Would you like me to share this information when I speak to the chief?”
“Yes, please.”
“Will do. I probably should get back to the table, but I’ll give him a call tomorrow—and let you know as soon as I have any news.”
I guess I’d been hoping for him to say my actions back then were completely understandable, and he did urge me not to worry before he hung up, but I sensed that the revelation troubled him. Does he think less of me, that I’m a little liar? Does he suspect there’s more to the story than I’ve let on?
My brother’s reaction made me reluctant to update Hugh last night. I will tell him, but not immediately, not when he has so much on his mind.
Which means two sins of omission, of course. This and the coffee with Damien tomorrow. Thank god Gabby’s on her way over now—I need the comfort of her presence.
Wineglass in hand, I head back to the bedroom, kick off my shoes, and change into lounge-y pants and a sweater. Then, for a while, I wander aimlessly around the apartment, like someone who can’t recall where she left her keys or set down a glass. I realize that on some level, I am searching, looking for the missing days. I know Erling keeps urging me to relax, but if I knew where I’d been and what I’d been doing, maybe I could make better sense of everything else.
Her last comment from the session echoes in my head: that I might never remember. No, I can’t accept that yet.
Finally, Gabby texts me to say she’s five minutes away, and then only seconds later, it seems, the buzzer to the apartment door is sounding and she’s striding in, all five feet eleven inches of her. She’s swaddled in a beige, drape-y shawl-collared coat, and her long red hair is tied in a high ponytail.
“Wait,” I exclaim, spotting the aluminum roller bag she’s hauling behind her. “Did you come straight from the airport?”
“Yup,” she says, embracing me. “I couldn’t wait. Omigod, I’m so relieved to see you.”
“Same here.” The mere sight of her has already begun to soothe my ragged nerves.
Leaving her bag behind in the foyer, she trails me into the great room.
“Are you up for wine?” I ask. “I’ve got a bottle already open.”
“Just a splash. I don’t want to crash too early or I’ll wake up at two A.M. and never get back to sleep. Tell me what I’ve missed.”
I’ve been keeping Gabby up to date by email, though I haven’t told her yet about my recovered memory. I’m nearly certain she won’t judge me harshly when I do, but I feel like I need to share it with Hugh first.
“Not much. I managed to do a little work today. Saw my therapist. Baby steps, really.”
As Gabby settles onto the couch, I grab the wine bottle and an extra glass and plop down next to her. She shrugs off her coat and unwinds the scarf that’s been wrapped around her neck. She’s wearing jeans and a tight black jersey top, along with some of her jewelry—an amulet around her neck and eight or nine bangles and ribbon bracelets, each one unique but fabulous in combination. Gabby has an enviably stylish but nonchalant way of dressing that I’ve never been able to master. I’m useless at nonchalant.
“So just so I’m clear,” she says after I’ve filled her wineglass, “the strategy is, basically, take it easy, see the therapist a couple of times a week, and get a second opinion from a neurologist.”
“Yup, and suck away on Altoids to stay in the moment. I still can’t believe this has happened. I don’t do