Have You Seen Me?(22)
“Do you think you were anxious to meet with her because of our argument?”
“Possibly. But I’m starting to wonder if something really upsetting happened to me on Tuesday, midday, which would explain those bloody tissues I told you about. Maybe I lost my phone when this—this incident occurred, or right afterwards, possibly because I was rattled. And then I started to come unglued and was anxious to see Erling.”
Hugh nods his head lightly, pondering my words. He’s done cutting the chicken and pries off the lids from a couple of salads he’s bought.
“Okay, but if the dissociative state actually kicked in on Tuesday afternoon,” he says, “why don’t you recall anything from late Monday night or Tuesday morning?”
“From what I’ve learned, memory loss in this kind of situation can include a period of time before the traumatic event you experienced. I guess in the same way someone with a concussion might not remember events immediately leading up to the injury.”
“What do you think could have happened to you, Ally?”
“Maybe I was mugged?”
“But if you still had your purse later that day . . .”
“I could have struggled with the person but managed to save my purse. And gotten a nosebleed in the process.”
He smiles ruefully. “I don’t know whether your new theory makes me grateful or even more concerned.”
“What do you mean?”
“It scares me to think of you in a bad situation in the city somewhere, but I’m also relieved to know I might not have done anything to instigate this hell you’ve been going through.”
“You’ve been worried you caused this? Hugh, you can’t think like that. Even if the fight did make me unravel, I was part of it, too.”
“You’re giving me a pass on the famous ‘it-takes-two-to-tango’ grounds?”
I lean across the counter and lace my fingers through his.
“Absolutely,” I say. Feeling his hand in mine, I realize how little skin-to-skin contact we’ve had since yesterday. I want more than anything to be in sync with him again. Maybe this is a start.
During dinner I try to savor the food, as Erling suggested, but the chicken is dry, as if it’s spent too many hours churning in one of those supermarket roasting furnaces, and the salads—coleslaw and macaroni, both dripping in mayo—are almost indistinguishable from each other. A glass of wine might help, but I’ve decided to swear off alcohol for at least another day.
“We’ve done nothing so far tonight but talk about me,” I say, setting my fork down. “What’s happening with the Brewster case?”
This is the case Hugh’s currently in the thick of, and it’s a pivotal one for him. It was probably tough for him to focus on it when I was missing.
“Unfortunately, there’s not great news to report.”
“Wait, what?” A swell of panic forms. Am I forgetting something else? “I thought it was going well.”
“Seemed that way, but we had an ugly surprise this morning. It turns out a member of the company’s senior team sent an email several months ago to several colleagues about possible improprieties related to the case. This is going to blow up in their faces—and ours.”
“Oh, Hugh, I’m sorry.” I empathize totally but at the same time I’m relieved this is a new development, not one I should have recalled. “I can’t believe you have to deal with that and all this at the same time.”
“Look, it’s their own fault for not divulging earlier. But I’m going to have to revise my strategy and pray there’s a way to curtail the potential damage.”
“If you need to work this weekend, don’t hesitate on my account. Plus, I’m meeting Roger for a drink Sunday afternoon.”
We end up crawling under the covers at around ten, iPads in our laps. Hugh, I notice, is halfway through a biography of Ulysses S. Grant. Do I remember that? Yes, yes. We talked about going uptown one day to see the Grant Memorial.
I open a novel I’d started reading over the weekend and try to connect with it again, but my eyes slide across the screen, unable to gain traction. After only a few minutes, Hugh snaps off his bedside light and flips onto his side, facing away from me. Though my libido currently seems to be on the lowest flame possible, I consider reaching over and running my hand along his thigh. We have sex several nights most weeks, and it might be good for me right now, fostering not only a connection with Hugh, but a sense of being fully present. Before I can make a move, though, I hear him begin to snore lightly.
I turn off my own light and lie wide-eyed in the darkness. Despite my exhaustion, sleep once more eludes me. After throwing off the covers on my side of the bed, I move down the hall to the great room. Lying on the coffee table is the pad I scribbled my timeline onto late last night. I grab a pencil and add in what I’ve learned today.
MONDAY
evening: dinner, TV, argument
TUESDAY
7:00: still in bed
9:00-ish: took call from Dr. Erling
9:00–9:17: sent emails
Before 3:00: lost phone
3:00–3:30-ish: called WorkSpace
WEDNESDAY
Possibly lunchtime: bought food at Eastside Eats
THURSDAY
8:05: arrived at Greenbacks
I stretch my legs out across the coffee table. Today’s revelations aren’t much but they’re something. It’s been hard to believe that a fight with Hugh over familiar ground could have derailed me so completely, and what I’ve found out today suggests that hunch is right.