then locked up my study. It struck me as ironic: no one was welcome inside my office, but here I was, about to go see a man whose job it was to get inside my mind.
I had a moment at the front door when my gaze went to the coffee table and I had the feeling I was forgetting something, but then it was gone. Just another memory ghost.
* * *
—
Dr. Jitrnicka’s office was decorated in tones of soothing gray.
His middle-aged receptionist welcomed me, offered me a cup of coffee. I accepted and sat there adding more caffeine to my system. The doctor had another exit from his consultation room to ensure clients didn’t cross paths, so I wasn’t surprised when his door opened ten minutes later to show his genial face.
Round eyeglasses, white skin with no real tan, warm eyes of light brown, and a build so tall he had that slightly hunched posture really tall people sometimes get. As if they’ve had to bend over so often that the action’s become locked into their bones.
His hair was a coarse strawberry blond that had a tendency to wave. It reminded me of the fields of overripe wheat my mother had described to me when I was a child.
“I used to walk through those fields, running my fingers over the tops while the sun rose over the mountains, and the dupatta of my salwar kameez caught on the stalks.” In her voice had been an ache I could almost touch. “Such beauty, Ari. Such peace. I’ve never known it since.”
Dr. Jitrnicka’s voice was far more hearty and open. “Aarav. It’s good to see you.”
“Doc.”
“Come on in. I’ll carry your coffee for you.”
Once we were settled, he, of course, bought up the discovery of my mother’s remains. “Are you up to talking about it?”
“Sure.”
“Truly talk, or just give canned responses designed to tell me nothing?”
“You know me too well.” But I liked the man, was willing to talk. “My feelings are . . . complicated.”
Dr. Jitrnicka leaned forward, nodded in encouragement, and we talked. It was soothing to do so with someone who had no stake in the game.
The time passed fast.
“How are you doing with your new regime of meds?” he asked toward the end, lines between his eyebrows. “I’m not happy with you changing prescriptions, but your neurologist was adamant it was necessary given the possible contraindications with your pain meds.”
The jumble of pill bottles on the bedside table, the bottles I’d seen without seeing them.
What exactly was I supposed to be on?
* * *
—
Alice was driving out of the Cul-de-Sac as I drove in. She waved, but didn’t smile.
The first thing I did once inside my room was look through the pill bottles I’d been ignoring while using up the pain meds. They had long names, but a couple of online searches and I knew their purpose: to balance the chemicals in my brain, ease depression.
Frowning, I split the pills into two groups: prescribed pre-accident and prescribed post-accident. The latter, I spilled onto the bedspread, then began to count them. As I’d suspected, I hadn’t taken a single one of any of these.
After I’d put those pills back in their bottles, I did the same check with the earlier prescription from Dr. Jitrnicka. It took a little work to calculate, but even adding in a buffer zone of a week in case I’d renewed the prescription early, it was clear I’d gone off my meds well before the accident.
According to my computer files, I’d written the first sixty pages of book two the week before the crash. Had I decided the meds were screwing with my creativity? Sounded like my kind of self-destructive choice.
I put the pills back into their bottles.
Bad choice or not, I couldn’t afford to lose the fever driving me to uncover the truth.
Since there was nothing I could do about Alice at that moment, I spent time working on my book. Fueled by the sweets that filled my veins with sugar, the words flowed out of me like the rain that turned the world outside into a foggy gray haze.
“I’ll pick up Pari,” I told Shanti when I came up for air; I had a vague memory of her asking if I wanted lunch, but despite missing the meal, I wasn’t hungry. Chocolate and fudge, the diet of champions. “I need the break anyway.”
The persistent rain turned my windscreen into a waterfall as I pulled away from the Cul-de-Sac. I wondered what Gigi would