Page 52

Nicole

I am in a hospital bed. I am wearing a gown. I have an IV hooked up to a clear plastic bag of unknown fluids. The room is dim—overhead lights off, curtains on the window drawn. There is light in the cracks around the window, though. It is daytime.

My body hurts. My right leg is in a cast, but it’s not my leg that hurts so much as my midsection. It aches with each breath.

“Well, look who’s up,” a voice says.

It hurts to turn my head. It doesn’t turn as much as I’d like, but I see a woman, a nurse, coming toward me. She goes to the little computer station next to my bed, types something in.

“I told your husband you’d be up today,” she says. “I’m Jocelyn, your nurse.”

“Hi,” I say.

“Your husband will be back soon. He just stepped out for a bit.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

Do I? When I close my eyes, I see the car, my dad’s car, barreling toward a tree.

“A car accident?”

She nods. Her eyes go wide. “A big one,” she says. “It’s amazing you had such minor injuries.”

Whatever injuries I have do not feel minor.

“You broke your leg, just below the knee. A few cracked ribs. No internal bleeding, though. No head injury. We had you sedated to run a few tests. The doctors say it’s a bit of a miracle.”

“Oh” is all I can say.

“You must have someone looking out for you.” She tilts her head upward, toward the heavens, toward the angels she believes in. I remember that my dad is dead, and this fact startles me as if it’s one I’ve just learned.

I close my eyes again, see Elijah’s face right before we make impact. Pure terror.

“Is Elijah okay?”

“Hmm?”

“Elijah?”

Her brows furrow. “Sorry, love, who’s that?”

“The man who was in the car. In the passenger’s seat.”

She looks puzzled. One of the machines next to me beeps louder, probably alerting her to the sudden increase in my heart rate and blood pressure.

“You were alone, sweetie,” she says.

She is my age, so the sweetie feels condescending.

“No, there was a man with me.”

How bad was the accident? Was he wearing his seat belt?

I have horrific visions of him being ejected from the car, of his body lying on the side of the road.

Who would know to look for him there? Nobody in my life knew he existed.

They could have easily identified me by the car.

The license plate would be attached to my dad’s name.

A phone call would go to his phone. Merry would answer.

They would know to look for me, but not Elijah.

Jocelyn, who is beginning to irritate me, is still looking at me like I’m nuts when Kyle walks in.

He has more stubble on his face than I’ve ever seen on him.

He is a ritualistic shaver. The facial hair suits him.

Perhaps we could give our marriage one last go, with him sporting a beard.

He would have to forgive me for Elijah, though. How could he ever forgive me?

“You’re awake,” Kyle says, rushing to my side. He sits on the edge of the bed next to me. Has he ever been this happy to see me before?

“Hi,” I say.

My head feels like it is full of cotton candy, a big pink puff of it.

“God, you had all of us so worried.” He takes out his phone. “I gotta text Merry.”

He types a quick message, then looks at me again, scanning my eyes with intent, like he really wants to see me. Has he ever looked at me like this before?

“I’ll give you two some time,” Jocelyn says before leaving and pulling the door shut behind her.

“We’ll have to call the girls when you’re up to it,” he says.

The girls. Who is with them if Kyle is here?

“We all flew up here. They’re with Merry,” he says, as if reading my mind. Has he ever successfully read my mind? I sure as hell have wanted him to, have considered that a mark of true love.

What if I just don’t ask about Elijah? What if I just pretend the affair never happened? Could I live with myself knowing that Elijah may be dead off the side of Highway 35? I think of how close he is with his mother, how tormented she must be not hearing from him, her mama’s boy.

“Kyle,” I say. When I swallow, it feels as if a giant navel orange is sliding down my throat, attempting to block what is coming next. “There was a man with me in the car.”

He looks at me, and I watch his face transform from confusion to tentative anger.

“What?”

His voice is still calm. He is hoping I don’t mean what I mean.

“There was a man. In the passenger’s seat.”

“Who?”

I swallow what feels like another navel orange. “Elijah Baker.”

“Who?”

He is shaking his head now, shaking off the reality I am presenting to him.

“Elijah Baker. I met him when I was up here.”

I let the words hang. I don’t want to have to say it: We were having an affair. I wait for him to come to the conclusion himself. It is agonizing.

“What are you talking about?”

“I was involved with a man here. Elijah Baker. He was in the car. I just needed to go for a drive after my dad died, and ...”

I’m about to tell him about the journal I found, but then don’t want to get into it. Has Merry already told him about that?

“Honey, are you sure you’re thinking clearly right now? Nobody said anything about another person in the car.”

I start to cry. “What if he’s on the side of the road? Did they look?”

He puts his hand on my leg, and that’s when I know he doesn’t believe me. If he did, he wouldn’t want to be within ten feet of me.

I touch my belly.

“I could be pregnant. Am I pregnant? Is the baby okay?”

“Nic, slow down. You’re not pregnant. They’ve done a ton of blood work and tests. You thought you were pregnant ?”

Did I? Nothing is making sense.

“You need to find out about Elijah. He could be on the side of the road,” I repeat.

“Honey, look, I’ll contact the police department and ask whoever was on the scene, but I think it’s more important that we ask the doctors about your head.”

Jocelyn just said they checked my head, though. A bit of a miracle.

“Wait, do you have my phone?” I ask.

“Your phone? I don’t know where—”

“Or log into our Verizon account on your phone. You’ll see his number in there.”

“Whose number?”

“Elijah Baker’s,” I say. “Maybe he’s at a different hospital or something. I need to try to call him.”

“Nic, look, I think you’re mistaken, okay? But if you want me to try the police department, I will.”

That will have to do. For now.

“Okay,” I say. “Call them.”

He looks dumbfounded. “Really?”

I guess he thought I was going to say, “Never mind, you’re probably right, I’m mistaken.”

I’m not mistaken, though.

“Please,” I say. “Please call them.”

He sighs heavily, then takes out his phone. He googles, then lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hi, yes. My wife was in a car accident last night, and I’m wondering if I can talk to the officer that was on the scene first.”

He looks at me like Happy now? I just stare at him, waiting for information.

“Sure, I can hold.”

He sighs again. If there’s one thing Kyle can’t stand, it’s making a fool of himself. I’m sure he thinks I’m forcing him to do exactly that.

“Yes, hi,” he says after a few moments. He stands from the bed, starts pacing.

“Right, the accident on Highway 35. My wife just woke up from some fairly heavy sedation, and she’s saying there was a man in the car with her.”

“Okay, yes. That’s what I told her.”

He looks at me like I told you so .

“Ask him to please drive by, to look around the area, to make sure. There was a man with me. Elijah Baker.”

Kyle tilts his head back, looks at the ceiling, seemingly in agony.

“She’s asking if you can go by the scene and make sure someone else isn’t there,” he says.

There is an “Uh-huh” and an “Okay” and a “Thanks,” and then he ends the call.

“He said it’s on his patrol route so he’s happy to look, but he’s quite sure nobody else was in the car, honey.”

He has called me honey three times since walking into the room. It may be more times than he’s called me honey in the entirety of our marriage.

“Okay,” I say. “Thanks.”

I’m not settled, though.

“You were alone, hon.”

Hon.

I shake my head.

“Give me your phone,” I say.

“Why?”

He looks distrusting.

“Just give it to me.”

He acquiesces. I google Elijah’s name, just as I’ve done before. I find the image of him from the LinkedIn page.

“That’s him,” I say, turning the phone to Kyle.

He leans in, squints.

“Log in to the Verizon account. You’ll see his number. We’ve called, texted ... for weeks now.”

I never thought I’d be here, not trying to hide my affair but instead trying to prove its existence.

Kyle takes back his phone, taps the Verizon app, logs in, humors me.

“Here,” he says, handing it back to me.

I tap the link to the records associated with my phone number.

I’ve worried about Kyle doing this, about him sensing my distance and investigating, coming face to face with the reality of my betrayal.

I knew if it got to that point, I would have no defense.

I would have only weak apologies, perhaps relief.

I look for Elijah’s number, his 415 area code.

It’s not there, though.

There is one 415 number, repeated a few times. Merry.

I look up, and Kyle is staring down at me. “Well?”

“Something’s wrong,” I say.

“I agree.”

“No, I mean ... something’s really wrong.”

“Again, I agree.”

He seems suddenly exhausted.

“You have LinkedIn, right? Message him there. See if he’s okay. Tell him I’m in the hospital.”

There’s a knock at the door. It opens to reveal a woman bringing me a tray of plastic-wrapped food.

“Lunch!” she says.

As she arranges the tray in front of me, I feel Kyle’s eyes boring into me. He thinks I am deranged.

Am I deranged?

“I’m going to the nurses’ station,” he says. “I think we should talk to your doctor.”

Completely deranged, that’s what he thinks.

He leaves, and I unwrap the turkey sandwich. It’s the saddest sandwich I’ve ever seen—dry deli meat accompanied by a single piece of wilted lettuce and a mealy tomato slice. It makes me think of my dad again, of the rubbery chicken they served him that day I took him to the hospital.

I take a bite of the sandwich because I’m starving, wash it down with a sip of apple juice.

The apple juice makes me think of the girls.

What has Kyle told them? Are they worried?

Scared? When they are older, will Kyle tell them the truth?

Mommy was having an affair with a man named Elijah Baker, and they got in an accident . ..

I guess he would have to come to terms with that truth first.

Maybe I’ll have to be the one to tell them. Or not. Maybe my dad had it right. Maybe there are certain things children should never know.

My head still cotton-candy-like, I doze off after lunch despite all efforts to stay awake and figure out this Elijah thing. When I wake, the light around the window is gone. The clock on the wall says seven o’clock. Somehow, I have slept seven hours.

“Hey,” Kyle says.

I startle, had no idea he was here. He is sitting in a chair just out of my peripheral vision. I turn to him.

“Hi,” I say.

“How you feeling?”

“Groggy.”

“They said you’ll feel the sedation effects for a day or so. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I feel like you’ve been through more. This all seems like a dream to me.”

“It seems like a dream to me too,” he says. “Or nightmare, rather.”

I shift, sit up straighter in bed, my back sore and creaky.

“You hungry?” he asks. “They came by with dinner, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

He juts his chin in the direction of the door, where my dinner tray is pushed up against the wall.

“Not particularly hungry,” I say. “Can I talk to the girls?”

“I told them you’d talk to them tomorrow. Probably best to wait until you’re a little more back to normal.”

“They’re okay, though?”

“Yes. They know you were in a car accident, but I didn’t give them details. I told them you’re okay and the doctors just want to keep you for a little while.”

They are too young to understand the seriousness of anything, and this is a blessing.

Kyle comes to the bed, sits on the edge of it, his hand on my leg.

“So I did what you asked,” he says. “I messaged this Elijah Baker. On LinkedIn.”

My heart starts thudding away.

“Did he respond? Is he okay?”

“Do you want to see?” he asks.

My hands are shaking as I take the phone from him. He has the LinkedIn message thread displayed, ready for me.

Kyle’s message:

Hello, Elijah. This may be the strangest message you ever receive.

My wife is in the hospital after a car accident just outside Half Moon Bay yesterday.

She said that you were in the passenger’s seat of her car and insisted I message you.

Do you mind replying, even if it’s just to say this is crazy? Thank you.

Elijah’s message:

Hey man. Wow. That’s wild. I definitely was not in a car accident yesterday or anywhere near Half Moon Bay yesterday. I’m at a conference in Phoenix actually. It could be another Elijah Baker. Not me, man. Sorry.

I take a closer look at the photo. It is definitely my Elijah Baker. He’s trying to cover it up. He doesn’t want Kyle to know about us. But at least he’s okay, I guess.

“Happy?” Kyle says, peering over.

I shake my head. “He’s lying.”

“Nic, this is getting insane. He’s not lying. There was nobody in your car.”

I add a message to the thread:

Elijah, it’s me. Katrina. Kat. I told Kyle everything so you don’t have to pretend. He thinks I’m nuts. Just please confirm you’re okay. I don’t have my phone. You may be trying to text me. This is all a mess ...

Kyle looks at what I’m writing, then looks at me.

“Katrina?” he says.

“It’s such a long story ...”

He does one of his heavy sighs. “Look, I talked to the doctors. Convinced them to do another scan of your brain to make sure nothing is going on.”

His phone dings with an incoming message. We both stare at the screen. It’s Elijah.

Katrina? You mean from the bar a while back? I remember the name. Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about though. We talked for a half hour and then I left to meet my girlfriend for dinner. Not sure what the confusion is, but wish you well. Peace.

I just shake my head. This doesn’t make any sense. Is he breaking things off? Ghosting me or whatever the young people call it?

“Hon, look at me,” Kyle says.

I do.

“The doctors said they’ll do another scan before discharge tomorrow. But they said there were no abnormalities on the first scan. They think perhaps this is more of a ... psychological issue.”

“What?”

“You’ve been under so much stress,” he says.

“A psychological issue?”

He puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry, okay? We’re going to get you some help.”