“None of your business,” she snaps. “Hasn’t been in a long, long time.”
“My understanding,” the doctor cuts in before we can go into full battle mode again, “is that Katherine’s taxi was T-boned at an intersection by another driver who mistakenly hit the accelerator instead of the brake. The medics said that based on the state of the crumbled cab, she got pretty lucky.”
“Yeah. I’m feeling real lucky,” Katherine mutters, though the sarcasm lacks her usual trademark edge. “How’s the driver?”
“He’s fine. Treated at the scene with just a couple scratches.”
“Good,” Katherine says, distracted. “That’s good.”
“I’d like to keep you for at least a day. Then we can assess,” Dr. Palmer says.
“An entire day!” Katherine exclaims. “For what’s basically a paper cut and a headache?”
The doctor is impressively patient. “Well, in addition to the standard postconcussion observation, you’ll also need someone to change the gauze on your back every few hours. To keep an eye out for infection. Unless you have someone who can stay by your side around the clock for the next few days to help you out?”
Neither the doctor nor Katherine so much as glance at me as a possibility for this role, and I’m relieved. I think.
Katherine hesitates only a moment before nodding emphatically. “Not a problem. Once I get my phone back, I’ll give Joel a call.”
My head snaps up. Joel? Who the hell is Joel?
And why do I have the nagging sense that I should know that name?
“Oh. Well, great.” The doctor smiles, looking a little relieved. “I’ll figure out where your things are and have them brought in.”
The doctor pauses in the doorway and turns back. “I can’t release you until Joel gets here. We’ll need to explain to him how to change the bandage, which symptoms to watch for.”
“Sure, absolutely. He’s probably out of his mind with worry and waiting for me to get in touch.”
It’s because I’m watching Katherine closely. And because I once knew her as well as I know myself that I see the lie.
And abruptly remember why the name Joel is so familiar.
My heart sinks in resignation. There will be no Joel coming to Katherine’s rescue. It’s me or no one.
There’s little doubt in my mind that if Katherine had it her way?
She’d go with no one.
ELEVEN
KATHERINE
December 23, 12:57 p.m.
“Joel, Katherine? Really?” Tom says.
I keep my expression serene, even though my brain has just berated me with that exact same phrase.
Joel, Katherine? Really?
Why did I have to go and use that name?
Why not Pete or Devon or Jack? Why did I have to use the one name that would expose my lie in front of Tom? Maybe my head injury is more severe than the doctor thought because I know better than to let my guard down around my ex.
Still, I do my best to preserve the lie. I lift my chin and give Tom a dismissive look. “Yes. Really. New lover. Very virile.”
“Uh-huh,” Tom says, moving closer to the bed. “Would you also describe him as . . . succulent?”
Damn it. “Don’t be weird, Tom.”
My deflection doesn’t work. Not that I really expected it to.
Tom sets both hands over his face for a second, then drags them slowly downward, looking exhausted and exasperated. “Katherine, we both know your Joel is a cactus. Why do you even still have that thing?”
“You said I couldn’t keep him alive. I wanted to prove you wrong. It’s what I live for.”
“Fantastic. I’m glad to see you’ve given up being the most stubborn, proud, and ridiculous person I know.”
I ignore this and reach around to try to touch the bandage on my back. Before the doctor brought it up, all my attention had been on my throbbing head. But now that I know about the cut, it’s all I can think about. I want to know what we’re dealing with since I’ll have to take care of it myself.
After a moment, I let out a frustrated huff and drop my arm because I can’t reach it. For a woman determined to be self-sufficient, the bandage could literally not be in a worse place.
Tom is watching my every move carefully, and I don’t like that one bit. I scowl at him. “What are you still doing here, Tom? Don’t you have a plane to catch? Homemade marshmallows to make, your mom’s famous December twenty-third Bolognese to eat?”
His chin snaps up in surprise.
Yeah. I remember, I want to say. I don’t want to remember any of it. But I do.
Tom apparently remembers things too. Even the name of our cactus. Which is not exactly working in my favor. The only thing worse than confronting the realization that I have nobody to call is Tom having that realization as well.
“What’s your plan, Katie?” Tom asks, a little wary.
“That’s not really your concern, is it?” I say. “It hasn’t been for a long time. Just the way you wanted it.”
His eyes flash in anger. “That isn’t fair.”
Maybe it isn’t. But my head hurts way too badly to have this conversation now. Or ever.
“What about Irene?” Tom asks.
“Good idea,” I say quickly, latching onto it. “I’ll give her a call as soon as I get my phone and she’ll be right in. Bye now!”
“Except,” Tom says, his frown deepening, “she always goes to Boston for the holidays to visit her daughter.”
I lean back against the pillows tiredly. “I hate your memory. Like an elephant.”
“What about Ana?” Tom asks.
For a moment, I feel a flare of hope. My best friend from law school lives out on Long Island. Which isn’t exactly close, but she usually sticks around for the holidays, and I know she’ll come into the city for me if I really need her.
And I really need her.
My heart sinks as I remember that Ana took her in-laws on a European cruise for the holidays this year.
Before I can think of a convincing lie to tell Tom, Nurse Jell-O returns. She holds up a plastic bag. “Found it!”
I reach for the bag, recognizing the clothes I was wearing earlier and, more importantly, my phone.
I immediately begin fumbling for the device, then pause when my hand brushes shredded black fabric.
“Um.” I pull out the shreds. “What happened to my bra?”
The nurse purses her lips and takes the bra out of my hand, studying it. “Sometimes the medics have to cut it off.”
“Cut it off?” I stare at her. “Why, was the clasp too tricky? And did they use a machete?”
Tom lifts a hand to his mouth as though to cover a laugh, and I narrow my eyes at him. “What are you laughing at? As I remember, you weren’t exactly a wizard with these things.”
He rubs his forehead, looking bemused. “Look. Katherine. If you want me to leave, just say so.”
“I want you to leave,” I say, and I mean it wholeheartedly. Having him this close after all this time . . . It conjures up all sorts of crap I can’t deal with. Not right now. Not ever.
Tom studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Alright, Katherine. Alright.”
“Finally,” I say with feigned relief, trying to ignore the pang that, with him gone, I’ll be really, truly alone in the hospital. At Christmas.