Page 11 of Manhattan State of Mind

He’s the idiot. “No,” I repeat, stretching out each word. “I’m twenty-six. Like I said, I turn twenty-seven next summer.”

He glances at the clipboard again, then back at me, looking slightly rattled. “Okay, no problem, Lucy. The doctor will be in soon. Just… stay put, okay?”

With an IV drip in my arm, where does he think I plan on going?

“Hey, is my mom here?” I call after him weakly, but he’s already out the door. The hallway fills with hushed whispers. Lots of them.

“Hello, Lucy.” A brunette lady in a white coat saunters in. “I’m Doctor Ramirez.”

“Doctor.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “There’s a mix-up on my chart. Can you tell me what happened? How did I end up here?”

She gives me the same incorrect account as the nurse. Fell down stairs. Plaza hotel. Three nights ago. Apparently, she saw me come in with her own eyes.

For a swanky hospital, it’s a bit unnerving that they can’t keep track of basic details. What are they pumping into me through this IV? What if it’s meant for a different Lucy?

“I think you’ve got someone else’s chart,” I say, trying to hide my frustration. “Last night, I had a few drinks in midtown and went home. I must have… fallen down the stairs or something.” That sounds plausible.

Doctor Ramirez studies me as she stands at the side of the bed. “Lucy, I’m going to ask you a few questions that may seem strange.” She pauses. “Can you tell me what day it is today?”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. A tight knot forms in my stomach as I connect the dots from the last forty-eight hours: drinks with Matty, that horrible meeting with Wolfe, and the no promo news. “Thursday,” I say, my voice weak. “Yesterday was Wednesday.”

“It’s actually Sunday, but you don’t need to worry,” she replies soothingly. “You’ve been on medication for the bad bump on your head. Trauma often makes your memory foggy.”

I blink anxiously.I’ve lost four days?This is some twisted state of mind.

Keep calm. It’s okay.

“Just one more question. Try to relax. Can you tell me what month and year it is?”

I stare at her, taken aback. I’m beginning to worry about the patient care level in this fancy hospital. I quickly reel off the answer.

Dr. Ramirez hums like she’s debating something before asking her next question.

I gulp nervously. Do they think something’s wrong with my brain?

She proceeds to grill me like a weird bar quiz—who’s our local Senator? Can you tell me the names of your family members? What’s your mom’s name? Can you tell me the last few events you remember?

“Okay,” she finally says, resting her hand on the bed railing. “We need to run some more tests. We’ll pencil you in for an electroencephalogram and a PET scan this morning.”

She pauses.

I look at her with wide eyes; it’s never good when a doctor pauses.

“Lucy, it appears that you have a form of retrograde amnesia brought on by the trauma to your head.”

I swallow hard and nod. “I’ve completely blanked on the last four days.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” she says slowly. “We’ll need to assess the extent of your condition, but it appears you’re missing memories from the past year.”

“A year?” I scoff, a laugh erupting so abruptly that I feel a brief spray from my nose. “Christ, no way. I remember everything from the past year. It’s just these past few days that are foggy.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Lucy,” she says gently. “The inconsistencies in your memories hint at retrograde amnesia.” As she reveals the actual month and year, I stop breathing. “Once we’ve run our tests, we’ll know for sure.”

She smiles at me as if this news should cheer me up.

“What?” I screech, bolting upright in bed. “No.” I shake my head. “That’s not possible.”

That’s a whole year in the future.