“Fine. Do you want me to show you?”
Before I can answer, Graham gestures at me to follow him, and he leads me down the hallway to the downstairs bathroom. If this is a game of chicken, he’s playing it very well. He opens the medicine cabinet and pulls out two orange pill bottles.
“These are your seizure medications,” he says. “We have you on once-a-day medications because getting you to take them in the morning was impossible. I mean, I don’t blame you. You usually have no idea what’s going on in the morning, and you’re not eager to swallow a bunch of pills.”
I take the bottle of pills from him. My name and the name of the drug are written on the bottle and underneath in smaller letters, “FOR SEIZURES.” There’s a doctor’s name and prescribing number.
“You can call the pharmacy if you want,” he says. “I’m telling you the truth. And here…” He takes his phone out of his pocket, types something in, then hands it to me. It’s the website from Mt. Sinai with a photograph of the doctor whose name is on my prescription bottle. Dr. Leonard Sawinski. “That’s your neurologist. He’s not a quack. He’s the chairman of the whole department.”
I look in the bottle of pills. It’s about half full of large capsules. They would be easy to break open and pour into a glass of water.
“They make you pretty groggy though,” he says apologetically. “Usually you just want to go straight to sleep after you’ve had them. But sometimes you realize I slipped you something and freak out.”
Is that what happened last night? I thought he slipped me something and wrote the note to myself?
“I don’t know why Harry keeps bothering you,” he sighs. “Maybe… I don’t know, maybe he believes he’s doing the right thing. Or he’s still in love with you. But I’m the one taking care of you. I’m your husband. I’m just trying to do what’s right. It’s… hard.”
Graham’s head drops down. He almost looks like he’s going to start crying. And I realize at this moment that I believe him. These are real medications. Prescribed by a respected physician.
“Tess?” There’s a groove between his eyebrows. “Say something.”
“I…” I look into the bottle of pills again. “I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
He squeezes his hands together. “I’m not going to force you, okay? But I want you to take these pills. I’m scared about you having another seizure. Dr. Sawinski said if you have another bleed in your brain, it might affect your ability to walk… or speak.”
I close my eyes. I remember how panicked I was this morning when I woke up and realized nothing was the way I remembered it. What if I woke up and couldn’t speak? What if I woke up and one side of my body didn’t work anymore? This is bad, but it could be worse.
When I open my eyes again, Graham is still standing there. Patiently. Waiting to see what I’ll decide.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll take the pills.”
DAY THREE
Chapter 27
If you relax and try to have a good day, you will be much happier. Just remember that the people around you care about you very much, and only want you to be safe. Do what they say. You are in good hands. Trust me.
I repeat my own words to myself like a mantra as I sit in my palace of a kitchen, watching my handsome husband who I’ve never met before make me breakfast. This kitchen is unbelievable. I just wish I could remember how my kitchen got this way. And how I got this way.
I smell something burning on the stove while Graham takes a call on his phone. He obviously smells it too, because he rushes over to turn off the stove. I’m worried it’s too late though.
“It’s just a tiny bit burned,” Graham assures me as he ends his call and tosses his phone on the counter. “It still tastes good.”
That’s yet to be seen. “Do I have a phone?”
Graham hesitates a beat. “No. I’m sorry. You couldn’t figure out how to use it and you kept losing it.”
“Oh.” I’ve had a phone since college and it feels weird not to have one. Although it was nowhere near as fancy as Graham’s phone. “So what do I do if I want to call someone?”
He blinks at me through his wire-rimmed spectacles. “Who do you want to call?”
There is something in Graham’s voice that makes me uneasy. Something between patronizing and suspicious. But that might be unfair. He’s been nothing but kind to me since I woke up screaming when I saw him in my bed. I’m sure that’s got to be hard for him. “Um… I’d like to talk to my father. Is he…?”
“He’s still alive,” Graham tells me.
I let out a sigh of relief. My father is the only family I have left since breast cancer took my mother when I was a kid.
“He’s on a cruise though,” he adds. “So he’s pretty hard to reach by phone. We can try him later if you want.”
My father is on a cruise? That’s atypical behavior for him. But it’s been a while. Maybe in the last decade, he’s turned into a cruise kind of person.
“What about Lucy?” I ask.
“You’re still in touch.”
I clutch my knees under the table. “Can I talk to her?”
“Maybe later,” he says vaguely.
Graham puts down two plates of food on the kitchen island where I’m sitting. As I’m staring down at the blackened hash browns and sausage, a scraping noise comes from the back door. I’ve heard it several times now, but the sound is clearer since the stove is off. “What’s that?”
He hesitates. “That’s your dog. But we keep him outside most of the day. He chews up the whole house.”
“My dog?” Harry and I always wanted a dog. I take a bite of the crispy hash browns—they taste bitter. “What’s his name?”
“Ziggy.”
I almost choke on the burnt shredded potato. In my defense, it’s easy to do that because they are super dry. But that’s not why I was choking. Ziggy was Harry’s bird. Why did I name my dog after my ex-fiancé’s bird? That is a very, very strange thing to do.
Maybe I shouldn’t read too much into this. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.
“Graham?” I say.
He looks up from his plate. “Yes?”