I watch TV while I wait for Camila to be done cleaning upstairs. I make it through an entire episode of The Price is Right. That used to be Harry’s favorite game show, and we watched it together whenever we were home on a weekday. He was obscenely good at guessing the prices of the items.
I don’t get it, I would say to him. How on earth do you know what a sewing machine costs?
He would grin at me. The real question is, why don’t you know what a sewing machine costs? I feel like public education may have failed you, Tess.
He never quite explained his uncanny ability to know exactly what the retail price of every item was. Was he up late at night, studying online sales websites?
I’ll never know now.
While I’m waiting, I browse the Internet on my phone. I find myself googling My Home Spa. And… it turns out my little company has gotten quite large over the last decade. I had just gotten a few key endorsements right before Harry and I were engaged, and it looks like they paid off. Before my accident last year, I was kind of a big deal. I even discover an article about myself, talking about how I turned a simple idea for luxury spa items you can use at home into a multi-million dollar company.
No wonder we had the money to turn this house into a palace. And no wonder Graham had to rush off to meetings to keep things going.
After I google my company, I type my name into the search engine. Followed by the words “car accident.”
There are no hits. No mention of an accident.
In fact, after a slew of articles about me and my company, my name essentially vanished from the Internet
about a year ago. It’s like I just…
Disappeared.
I feel a twinge of panic. I bring up the saved numbers on my phone, wishing Harry’s name were on the screen. After our first date, I saved his number in my phone. So even after all the years we were together, I never bothered to memorize it. It never seemed important. But now I wish I had.
Of course, it’s seven years later. Who knows if he even has the same phone number?
My phone lingers over “Dad.” I already called him and left a message. He hasn’t called back. Wouldn’t he want to get in touch with me—his only daughter—after I’ve been in a devastating car accident? But then again, this information is only new to me. Everybody else has been living with the consequences of my accident for an entire year.
I click on his number. I wait as the call connects, and I hear ringing on the other line. One, two, three rings. And then a click.
Hello, you’ve reached Douglas Strebel. Please leave a message.
My father sounds stiff in his message, but that’s no surprise. My father is the kind of guy who manages maybe five smiles the whole year. And two hugs—one on Christmas and one on my birthday. He wasn’t always that way. When I was a kid, he used to smile all the time. Maybe every single day. That’s what losing the love of your life does to you.
“Dad.” I try not to sound like a complete wreck in my message, although I’m sure he’ll surmise I’m having a bad day based on the fact that I’ve left two of them and it’s not even lunchtime yet. “I… I really need to talk to you. So if you can call me back, I… please call me back, Dad.”
And I put the phone on my lap and stare down at it, willing it to ring. I don’t care if it’s Lucy or my father who calls—I just need to hear one familiar voice. Call, dammit!
As I stare down at the screen, I feel a jab of pain on the right side of my skull. I reach out and touch the C-shaped scar. I lift my eyes from my phone, overcome by a surge of dizziness. The phone slides from my fingers as my vision grows cloudy. The entire living room seems to fade away to white and…
I’m in a large office. I’m sitting behind a desk, and I hear a rap at the door. “Come in!” I call out.
The door cracks open, and a man enters the office. It takes me a moment to recognize that it’s Graham. A little younger, but with the same hair the color of sand and the same blue eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed frames. His face splits in a smile. “Hello, Ms. Strebel.”
“Please, Mr. Thurman,” I say. “Call me Tess.”
“Graham,” he says, as his hand fits into mine. He gives me a solid squeeze—not too hard and not like a limp fish— and very warm and dry. “It’s so nice to meet you, Tess.”
“Likewise,” I say. “Your references are amazing. I’d love to have you aboard.”
His eyes make steady contact with mine. “I’d love to work here. I read about your company in Entrepreneur magazine, and what you’ve done is amazing.”
It’s hard not to notice how attractive this man is. Obviously, I’m already engaged to Harry, but I’m not interested for myself. Maybe he’s someone I could set up with Lucy. He is smart and handsome and well-liked, if his references are to be believed. He’s a catch.
I gesture at the chair in front of my desk. “Please have a seat. Let’s talk more about your future here.”
“I’d love to.”
He maintains eye contact as he takes a seat. He’s good at that. I always look at the other person’s forehead, but Graham seems like the sort of man who wouldn’t have any trouble looking straight into somebody’s eyes.
“So could you tell me a little about yourself, Graham?”
He smiles at me now, and I can’t help but notice that his teeth are straight and flawlessly white. If I ask him what his biggest weakness is, he’ll probably be able to answer honestly that he’s just too perfect.
“I’m originally from upstate New York,” he says. “I got my bachelor’s degree in accounting from Ithaca. I’m CPA certified, and I’ve been working at a firm in the city for the last five years.”
“Are you still with that firm?”
He hesitates for a beat. “Unfortunately, they had to make some cutbacks recently, so now I’m looking for something new.”
And he didn’t make the cut.
But Graham doesn’t seem the least bit ashamed or apologetic about the fact that he was laid off. He still maintains that steady eye contact. I can’t help but think to myself that this man doesn’t look like an accountant. He’s too confident, too personable, to spend his days crunching numbers.
“So what made you go into accounting?”
Just as Graham opens his mouth to answer my question, the office fades away again to white. And then I’m back in my living room, sitting on my leather sofa. Except the difference is that Camila is standing over me, a worried expression on her face.
“Tess?”
I rub my right temple. I feel dazed, like I just woke up. “What… what happened?”
There’s a deep crease between Camila’s eyebrows. “I think you had a seizure.”
I suck in a breath. Graham had mentioned the possibility of my having seizures earlier, when he said I couldn’t drive, but I thought he was exaggerating. “A seizure?”
“You have them occasionally.” She looks worried, but not that worried, considering I just had a big old seizure. “They are like mini seizures. Graham calls them absence
seizures. You zone out for a few seconds, sometimes right in the middle of a sentence.”
I’ve never had a seizure before, at least none that I remember. I didn’t enjoy it. But the scene that played out before my eyes felt so real. It felt like something that must’ve really happened to me—like I was living it all over again.
But that doesn’t make any sense. Because in that scenario, I was meeting Graham for the first time while he was applying for a job at my company. But that’s not how we met at all. So obviously, my damaged brain is playing tricks on me.
“I need some fresh air,” I manage. “Do… do you think I could take Ziggy for a walk outside?”
Camila cocks her head thoughtfully—I’m relieved she hasn’t immediately rejected my request right off the bat. “Maybe in a bit. I’ll let him out into the backyard. It’s fenced in.”
Ziggy clearly understands the word “backyard” because he is nearly levitating with excitement. He follows her to the back door, and so do I, although my legs are unsteady after what was apparently a seizure. I watch as she pulls a key from a chain around her neck. She fits the key into the lock on the back door and turns it. Ziggy bounds outside.
“I’ll go sit with him,” I say.
At first, I think she’s going to slam the door shut and lock it again, but instead, she steps back. “Go ahead.”
I feel a rush of relief as I step out into the fresh air for the first time today. I feel almost as happy as Ziggy looks. The locked door was so claustrophobic, but maybe that’s just something they do at night. Obviously, I’m not a prisoner in the house.
I pick up a stick from the ground and I toss it into the air.
Ziggy goes wild with excitement.
While Ziggy retrieves the stick, I survey the backyard, which is different than it was when Harry and I bought the
place. It was mostly dirt back then with a few scattered blades of grass, possibly weeds, sprouting every few feet. But Harry loved it. He grew up in an apartment in Brooklyn and we lived in a shoebox in Manhattan for the entire time we’d been together. This was his first house. His first backyard.
We should put a hot tub out here, he said with a glint in his eyes.
And now I see it. The hot tub we dreamed about, surrounded by purple shrubs, at the far end of the yard. It’s empty now, but I can imagine it filled with piping hot water. I can imagine sitting in a hot tub with Harry, him grinning at me with that suggestive look that never fails to turn me on.
But no. I’ve probably never shared this hot tub with Harry. I’ve only been in it with Graham. But the thought of sitting in this tub naked with that man makes me sick to my stomach.
Don’t trust the man who calls himself your husband.
Ziggy is looking up at me, the stick in his jaw, nudging my hand so that I’ll take it from him. He wants to play. At least I know my dog isn’t lying to me. Dogs aren’t deceptive the way people are.
I’ve got to meet the stranger who’s been texting me.
Maybe I can go now.
I take the stick from Ziggy and I toss it one more time, all the way across the backyard. While he runs to get it, I go around the side of the house, to the fence out of the backyard. There wasn’t a fence here when Harry and I first moved in. But now it’s around the entire backyard, and it goes up higher than my head.
And on the gate to get out of the backyard, there’s a big thick padlock.
They have got to be kidding me.
I can’t leave the backyard. I’m trapped here.
A sob forms at the base of my throat. What’s going on with my life? Yes, my memory isn’t what it used to be. And I
had that strange episode this morning, which, okay, I’m going to admit might’ve really been a seizure. But I’m not so bad that they need to keep me locked away like a prisoner. I should be allowed to walk around the neighborhood.
My phone vibrates inside my pocket. At first, I think it’s another text message, but the vibrating doesn’t stop. Somebody’s calling me.
Maybe it’s Lucy. Or my father.
But then when I pull my phone out, Graham’s name is on the screen. My stomach sinks. I’m not sure I want to talk to him. But what can I do? He’s my husband. So I jab at the green button to take the call.
“Tess!” His voice is upbeat. “How are you doing? How is your day going?”
A tear escapes from my right eye and I wipe it away with the back of my hand. “You locked me in the backyard.”
There’s a long silence on the other line. “Tess…” “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m coming home.”
In the background, he’s telling somebody to cancel a meeting. I feel a sting of panic in my chest. I don’t want him to come home. If he comes home, I will have no chance of getting to the dog park on my own. I swallow the lump in my throat.
“You don’t have to come home,” I say to him. “You’re upset though.”
“I… I’m okay.” I take a breath. “Camila will take me out later, right?”
“Of course she will.” Graham’s voice is gentle. He doesn’t sound like an evil person. He sounds like he’s genuinely worried about me—his wife of four years. “Are you sure you’re okay though? If you need me—”
“I’m fine.”
He’s quiet on the other line as he considers this. “I’m sorry this is scary for you, Tess. I wish I could be there for
you all the time. I hate that we have to lock up the backyard. I really do. But last month you—”
“It’s okay,” I say. “You swear?” “Yes.”
He sighs. “Okay. I’ll try to get home early.” “Okay…”
I squeeze the phone as I stare at the padlock on the door to the backyard. I take a deep breath, trying to push back the panicked feeling. It’s okay. I’ll get out of here soon. I just have to wait until the afternoon. I can’t do anything to jeopardize that meeting.
“Tess,” Graham says. “Mmm?”
“I…. Listen, I…” He coughs. “I love you.”
I blink at the phone. I’m not sure what to say to that. It’s the last thing I expected him to say.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I know it’s weird to hear me say that. And you don’t have to say it back—I don’t expect that at all. I know you feel like you don’t even know me. But I know you. And… I just want you to know that… I love you. You’re my wife and I just want you to be safe.”
His voice breaks on the last few words of his little speech. He sounds like he means it. He doesn’t sound like some psychopath who is holding me hostage in my own home. He sounds like a man who is just worried about his memory-impaired wife.
“Tess? Are you still there?” “I… yes. I am.”
“Okay, good.” He clears his throat. “Just hang in there. I know you’re having a rough day, but I’ll be home early and we’ll have a nice dinner together. Then we can watch The Princess Bride.” He laughs. “For the jillionth time.”
The Princess Bride—my comfort movie. The one my mother and I always used to watch together. He knows my
comfort movie. And he’s willing to sit and watch it with me for the jillionth time. My husband is a good guy.
“As you wish,” I say.
There’s silence on the other line. “Um, okay,” he finally says. “Anyway, I better go. But I’ll see you later, Tess.”
That was strange. He has apparently watched this movie with me many many times, yet he didn’t seem to recognize the famous line from it that I just quoted. As you wish. Is that strange? I don’t know. Graham certainly doesn’t seem like any kind of monster from what I can tell. He sounds like he genuinely thinks he’s doing this for my own safety. And maybe he really does.
But either way, I intend to find out the truth.
