Have You Seen Me?(30)

“Your theory would explain the tissues I found in my pocket,” I say, rolling the concept around in my head. “If someone near me was injured, I might have tried to stop the flow of blood.”

“Exactly.”

I circle the rim of my empty wineglass with a finger. Leave it to Gabby to see the matter from a fresh perspective.

“Okay, that’s definitely worth mulling over,” I say. “Now, if you’re so damn good at this, tell me why I ended up at Greenbacks Thursday morning.”

She takes a long drink of wine, then shakes her head. “Not sure on that one. Why do you think you did?”

“You sound like my therapist! I have no clue—but I’m hoping Damien might. I’m meeting him for coffee tomorrow.”

“Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.”

She knows how nuts I was over Damien, and how crushed I was when it ended.

“You think I’ll try to tear his pants off the minute I set eyes on him.”

“You said it, not me.”

“I simply want to find out if he has an inkling of why I went to his company.”

That’s not a hundred percent accurate, I realize as soon as I say it. Yes, I’m eager to learn what I can from Damien, but I’m starting to think it’s more complicated than that. I want to make sure that his most recent image of me isn’t of a totally unglued woman. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m curious as to what his life is like now.

“But you already said you checked your email and you two haven’t had any recent contact. What can he provide that’s more than a wild guess?”

“At the moment I’ll take anything I can get my hands on, including wild guesses.”

I reach for the bottle of wine and raise it off the coffee table, flashing Gabby a look that asks if she wants more.

“Un poco.”

I don’t add any to my own glass. I’d love more wine, but my better instincts override the urge. Instead I jump up, grab a bottle of Perrier from the fridge, and carry it to the table along with two glasses. While I pour us each a few glugs of water, Gabby yanks the tie from her ponytail and shakes out her hair so that it fans out around from her head like a wildfire.

“I admit, part of me wants to set eyes on Damien again,” I say, back on the couch. “The old touching-a-bruise thing. But if it wasn’t for the chance of getting information from him, I wouldn’t have responded to his text.”

“Have you told Hugh?”

I glance away. “No, but not because I’m trying to deceive him. I’m just having a hard time slipping back into a groove with Hugh again, and I don’t want to make it worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we’re together, it feels like we’re on one of those awkward third dates—you know, the kind when, despite the fact that everything seemed great on dates one and two, you can’t recapture the rhythm.”

“Have you slept together already?”

“What?” Her question catches me off guard. Is she asking if I’ve had sex with Hugh since this happened? The answer, of course, is no.

“I’m asking about this imaginary third date you’re on. Have you already fucked?”

“Gabby, it was just a dumb analogy.”

“I’m trying to determine what made those first two dates so good. Maybe you need to figure out whatever it was.”

“Okay, I see what you mean. Of course, there’s still the kid issue. I bet he’s terrified about bringing it up again.”

“Well, he’s going to have to chill on the topic for now.”

Gabby untucks her legs and reaches for her boots.

“You’re leaving?” I moan.

“I hate to bail, but if I don’t beat it home soon, I’m afraid I’ll pass out on your couch.”

“But I haven’t even asked about you yet. About London . . .”

“I’ll call you tomorrow and fill you in,” she says, stuffing her feet back into her boots. “And let’s have dinner soon—whenever you’re up to it.”

“What’s happening with that new guy you’re seeing—Jake? Any potential there?”

She shrugs. “Reply hazy. Ask again later.”

We rise and I thank Gabby profusely for coming by. After seeing her to the door and hugging her good-bye, I retreat back to the couch and further contemplate her theory: that I might have observed a traumatic event. That I was a witness rather than a victim.

I should have come up with that myself. I’ve always been intrigued with behavioral finance, the study of the influence of psychology on investors, including selective inattention, how we don’t always notice what’s going on around us and instead see only what we expect or want to see. I’ve been so focused on myself, on trying to figure out what happened to me, that I’ve failed to imagine a different scenario.

I quickly grab the pad on the coffee table and add a note about Gabby’s theory to the timeline I’ve drafted.

After traipsing down to the bedroom alcove, I open my laptop and do another online search for detective agencies, narrowing it to smaller operations, most of which promise a range of services—like determining the whereabouts of a loved one, digging for possible dirt on a new boyfriend met via the internet, verifying a potential employee’s references, or proving whether or not your spouse is shagging someone else. All the agencies promise discretion, a guarantee that no one will have to know you’ve hired an investigator.