Have You Seen Me?(18)

I look up to see we’re nearing my building. I end up asking the driver to drop me at the deli a half block away, where I pick up a tin of cinnamon Altoids and immediately pop one in my mouth.

Back in my apartment, I dig out my yoga mat from the back of the closet and engage in twenty minutes’ worth of poses in the great room, concentrating fully on each position and doing my best not to let my mind wander. I feel energized when I’m finished, and an espresso also helps. I’m going to get through this crisis, I tell myself. I am.

Inspired, I grab my laptop, answer a batch of emails, and then open the chapter of my book that I worked on last. I’m not that far behind, but it’s definitely time to hustle.

But focusing turns out to be more difficult than I anticipated. Every sentence I manage to type is six words long and totally pedestrian.

Plus, the questions are back, slowly lapping against my brain at first and then flooding it. Where was I for two whole days? Why did I flee my home? Was it really because of the fight with Hugh, or does that terrible day from my childhood still haunt me in some way?

My gaze falls on my old iPhone, lying on the desk. I know Erling said this isn’t the right moment to be talking to Roger about the past, but I’m close to my half brother and I need to bring him up to speed about what’s happened anyway. There’s even a chance, I realize, that I made contact with him when I was gone. I grab the phone and tap his name. The call goes to voice mail, but I know I’ll hear from him soon enough. Rog is like that.

Our father, Ben, had been married to Roger’s mother for nearly twenty years when she died unexpectedly of sepsis. Two years later, he met my mother, Lilly, and they married six months later. According to my mom, Roger and his younger brother, Quinn, fourteen and twelve at the time, were lovely, easygoing boys, who maturely accepted their father’s desire to remarry and embraced her presence—and mine, too, when I brazenly popped up a year later. I adore them both, but it’s Roger who’s always seemed more enchanted by my existence and eager to engage. He was especially caring when my own mother died of cancer seven years ago.

My mother whom I miss and think of every day. My mother who, if she were alive, would surely be able to help me find a path out of this nightmare.

My phone rings and, yup, it’s Roger.

“Hey, Button,” he says, using a nickname my father once bestowed on me for being so buttoned-up about schoolwork. “Nice to hear your voice.”

“Nice to hear yours, too. How is the lord of the manor today?” Roger lives in an impeccably restored manor house along the banks of the Delaware River, a few minutes away from Millerstown, the town where we grew up.

“In fairly good form for a middle-aged man. Is everything okay?”

There’s an urgency to the last question. Had I made contact with him on Tuesday or Wednesday?

“What makes you say that?”

“Something in your voice. And Dad mentioned he hadn’t heard from you in a few days. You’re usually so Johnny-on-the-spot with your calls.”

“I had an issue this week, but I emailed him late last night.”

“What’s going on?”

“Something weird. But I don’t want Dad to know.”

“Talk to me.”

I blurt it all out, except for the part about the fight with Hugh. As close as I am to Roger, I like keeping my marriage private.

“Ally, how awful for you. Do you feel you’re getting the best medical care?”

“I have a good therapist, and I’m going to see a neurologist for a second opinion. But I didn’t call you this week, did I?”

“No, we haven’t talked since last weekend. Gosh, I feel terrible. Tell me what I can do.”

“I mostly wanted to fill you in, but maybe we could get together soon, too.”

“Absolutely. You could come out for the day, have lunch here.”

Of course, any social engagement would surely have to be run by Roger’s wife, Marion, who seems to prefer having Roger all for herself.

“That’s sweet, but you don’t have to go to any trouble. I just want to see you—and also, to ask you some questions.”

I blurt out the last part without even seeing it coming—and against Erling’s advice.

“Are you wondering if there’s any family history with this sort of thing?”

“No one’s mentioned that as a factor. But lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened when I was nine, finding Jaycee Long. Dissociative states are sometimes caused by past trauma, and I’m wondering if that experience could have been a trigger.”

There’s a long pause, and I can picture him doing his usual little scratch on the side of his head.

“I’m not sure how much I can help, but I’ll try,” he finally says. “Though wouldn’t Dad be a better person to ask?”

“Probably, but if I start asking questions, I’m sure he’ll get suspicious, and I don’t want to upset him.”

“Good point. Well, I’m happy to talk, and actually, you may not need to drive all the way out. Marion surprised me with tickets for the New York Philharmonic Sunday afternoon and then we’re going to some friends’ apartment for dinner. We could grab a drink after the concert—maybe around five? Marion can shop or head to our friends’ place early.”