Page 135 of Manhattan State of Mind

As we approach our desks, I’m dismayed to find Dwayne lurking by my workspace.

He nudges his glasses higher. “Lucy, I understand amnesia must be difficult, but could you restrain the physical outbursts in the office?”

My jaw clenches. “What are you talking about?”

From his desk, Matty smirks and suppresses a laugh.

Dwayne shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Violently throwing an object at Matty. Though given your recent penchant for heated disputes, I can’t say it’s entirely unexpected.”

I stare daggers at him. “What disputes?”

“I don’t want to have to write up another incident, but chucking things around the office is a health and safety violation.”

“Dwayne.” I give him another withering look. “What did you mean by heated disputes? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Let’s see, first there was your altercation with Mr. Wolfe. Then you threatened to strangle me. And now this outburst.”

I freeze. “Altercation with Mr. Wolfe? The one where I supposedly challenged his deadlines?”

“Not the deadline dispute. The nasty confrontation at the Plaza.” His eyes glint behind the lenses. “Right before your accident.”

My stomach drops. “What are you talking about?” I ask slowly.

“The rather heated disagreement that took place at the top of the staircase.”

“You saw me?”

“Yes. Arguing quite inappropriately at that.”

JP and I were arguing at the top of the stairs at the Plaza? The same stairs that I fell down?

There’s a bizarre sensation taking root in my stomach. My mind strains like an old TV set struggling to tune in to a forgotten station, static mingling with flickers of images.

A memory striving to claw its way to the surface.

My pulse thunders in my ears. JP never mentioned an argument. Only that I fell.

Dwayne goes on, relentless, “You stormed away, and that’s when it happened. I heard rather than saw the fall.”

Bile scorches my throat. That lying bastard. JP and I had a fight moments before I fell.

And he conveniently forgot to mention it.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Lucy

I sink into the plush sofa, its cushions embracing me. The clinic room is all soothing sage and dusty rose clearly meant to calm. But I’m immune to such psychological tricks, the pit of unease in my gut growing by the second.

I told Taylor I had to leave work early and called for an emergency session with Dr. Ramirez.

I clutch one of the velvet pillows like a security blanket. “Okay, Doc. I’m ready to revisit that night at the Plaza. I suspect some of my much-needed answers start there.”

Her lips curl into a smile, a silent applause of support. “Okay. I agree, you’re ready. You can do this. Remember, you’re in control and I’m right here with you. And no matter what, you have the strength within you to face it and come out the other side stronger. Are you ready for that, Lucy?”

Am I?

I nod, sucking in a shuddering breath. The walls feel like they’re closing in, tight as a corset two sizes too small.