Chapter 2
The alarm intrudes on my peace.
I turn to hit the clock but can barely move. Wow, my back is bad today . . . And why so bright?
I open my eyes cautiously, squinting.
“I think she’s awake.”
The man’s voice is low. Peter? No. That’s not his voice.
There are other voices, quieter ones. And the alarm persists — an unfamiliar, intermittent beeping. No, the sounds are all wrong for home.
The room comes into focus. Suzie looms over, beaming at me, her trademark red lips close to my face. “There you are! You’re in the hospital, sweetie — Bellevue.” Her voice is uncharacteristically gentle. “You crashed your bike. Electra’s toast, but you’re okay. How are you feeling?”
“Ah,” I croak. “A bit early to say.” I attempt a smile that probably translates as a grimace.
“Of course, Josie.”
She squeezes my left hand. Except . . . she’s on my right. I turn my head to see who else is there.
Sitting by the bed, holding my hand in both of his, is a large man with light brown skin, thick, black hair and a dark, dense, neatly trimmed beard.
I have never seen him before.
I pull my hand away, and the man’s brow furrows.
“You okay?” He leans in as if to show me his face better.
“Do I know you?” I whisper. I’m drawing a total blank but feel bad about it, as he seems kind. Nice brown eyes.
“Josie, it’s me. Rob.” He says it as if that should mean something.
“I’m sorry. I can’t . . .” I twist away, but the movement sparks shooting pains across my torso.
I look at Suzie for help.
“Josie, honey, that’s Rob. Rob. You don’t remember him? Shit, Rob, she could be worse than they think. Amnesia . . .”
None of this makes sense. “Should I know him?” I’m starting to panic. “Do you know him?” My head now hurts, along with my body.
“Of course, sweetie. It’s Rob. Your husband. Wait . . .” She holds up a hand. “You know who I am, but not who Rob is?”
I am still trying, but failing, to catch up. “Husband?”
“Baby, you’ve got to remember.” The man’s voice breaks. “We love each other. We’re married. For over two years. You have to . . .” He grabs my hand again, tightly.
“I’m sorry.” And I mean it. He sounds so heartbroken. “I don’t know you — and you’re hurting my hand.” I tug it free. “Please go. I need to rest and I don’t understand what’s going on. Suzie?”
“Rob, give us a few minutes. Find a doctor? They need to do, like, a brain scan. You hear about it all the time, right? People have amnesia and then it comes back. It’ll be fine.”
She doesn’t sound like it’ll be fine.
The man gets up and leaves, closing the sliding door gently behind him. Through the glass, he raises his palms to his forehead, unaware of nurses and gurneys pushing past. Then he turns and disappears from view.
“What’s going on, Suzie? Who is that guy, and why are you saying he’s my husband? What the hell?” My voice is coming back, panic raising its pitch.
“Josie, that’s Rob. The love of your life. The man you stood up with in front of us all in Hawaii and promised to love forever. The man you live with in domestic bliss, just a few blocks from here. Your husband.”
“What? I’ve never even seen that guy! I’m not married, you know that, Suzie. And I don’t live near here. I live in Brooklyn — you’ve only been to my place a million times.”
“No, honey. You’ve never lived in Brooklyn, you’ve lived in Manhattan ever since—”
The door opens. It’s the man again, this time with a doctor in scrubs.
“Hello, Josie. I’m Dr. Lin.” The doctor’s toothy smile doesn’t reach her tired eyes. “I hear there is some confusion. You’re having a hard time remembering your husband?” She flips through a chart.
“No, I don’t recognize this man. He isn’t my husband. I’m not married.”
She looks up at me, then pointedly down at my left hand. “Well, you’re wearing a ring.”
On the fourth finger of my hand are two exquisite rings — one a plain wedding band, the other displaying a rectangular, pale-blue gem flanked by two diamonds in an art deco design.
It’s the ring I’ve dreamed of.
The doctor folds her hands. “So, Josie, you’ve been in an accident.
You were unconscious but didn’t sustain a major head injury.
Normally when we see memory loss, it’s because of brain trauma.
You have bruising on your ribs, hip and leg, and your right wrist is sprained.
We’ll do a scan to ensure there’s no brain damage.
Most likely, the trauma of the crash is causing your confusion. ”
“Thank you, doctor,” the man called Rob says. “Will she be okay?”
“Memories usually come back, but we’ll have to monitor her.” The doctor turns to leave.
“Wait.” My voice sounds weak. “I’m not suffering memory loss. I haven’t lost any time. I remember waking up this morning, going to work . . . Hold on, what’s the date?”
“November 30, 2017. Your thirty-sixth birthday.” Suzie examines my face, gauging whether the information will shock me.
“Exactly! That’s what it is. Trump is President, right?
And, Suzie, I was meeting you and the choir gang tonight, at that new restaurant in SoHo.
I haven’t forgotten my life, but I don’t know this man.
I’ve never seen him before. I’m not married.
And these are not my rings. Beautiful as they are.
” I tug them off, the setting catching on my knuckle, and let them fall from the bed.
The man — Rob — bends to pick them up, his expression bleak.
Suzie shakes her head. “We weren’t going to dinner tonight — you and Rob had a gallery thing. But I did tell you about that restaurant—”
“Let’s not fuss over details,” Dr. Lin interrupts. “We don’t want Josie getting distressed. We’ll run tests. For now, you need to let her rest.” She makes a rapid exit.
“Suzie, does my family know I’m in hospital?” Mum, David, and my sister, Laura, wouldn’t lie to me. “I do have a family in your crazy version of my life?”
“Of course,” Suzie replies in a small voice. “I called Laura, and she told your mom. They’re flying out from Heathrow now.”
A relieved sob catches in my throat. I tilt my head away from the stranger who says he is my husband, and a fat tear drips down the side of my face.
“Come on, Rob, we need to let Josie rest.” Suzie’s tone is kind, but I can hear the strain. She leans forward. “Honey, I understand you’re confused, but we’ll get you better. Try to sleep, sweetie. We love you.” She strokes my hair, then rises, crossing to the door, where she waits.
The man is still sitting at my bedside, and I can almost feel him wondering what to do next. Finally, he scrapes his chair back and, in silence, walks out with Suzie.
This is messed up.
I lie in the hospital bed, unable to sleep as I replay my conversation with Suzie and that man. Nothing makes sense. What’s more, there’s no way my health insurance would cover this fancy private room, with its plush armchairs and hotel-style curtains over a massive window.
What seems like hours later, I’m taken in a wheelchair to have an MRI, which is loud and unpleasant.
A nurse helps me back to bed and gives me “something to help you sleep, honey,” as the lights in the corridor dim.
Before the pills kick in, I struggle out of bed to the private bathroom.
Switching on the light, I catch myself in the mirror and step back in shock.
The woman looking back at me is . . . not quite me. She’s me, but different. Hair a paler, more golden blonde, much longer and thicker than my own. And my body . . .
I take my gown off, ignoring the stab of pain that causes, and examine my body under the fluorescent light.
It’s bizarre. This is my body, these are definitely my generous breasts, that’s the mole on my stomach, but I’m now so much slimmer.
About 30 pounds lighter. And my pubic hair!
It’s nothing more than a tiny landing strip, perfectly presented.
This is my body as I always wished it would be — aside from the strapped wrist and reddish bruising down my side.
Yep, this whole thing is seriously messed up.
I pee for the first time in hours, my butt bony on the seat, and I’m overcome with fatigue. I climb back into bed and fall asleep instantly, disturbed by strange dreams that my sister can’t find me in the old attic of our family home.
In fact, she’s calling my name, “Bosie! Hey Bosie!” — her nickname for me since childhood, over and over. It feels so real.
“Bosie! Bosie—”
And there she is, Laura, looming over me. For a moment, everything seems okay. Then I remember.
“Laura, oh, I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t understand what’s happening.” My voice is thick with emotion. “Where’s Mum? Is she here?”
“Talking to the doctor. How are you? Suzie told us all about your accident. She said there was some memory loss? How are you feeling? You poor thing . . .”
“That’s the thing, there isn’t,” I protest. “I know the date, who I am, and where I live. But people keep saying I’m married to this man, Rob.
But you know I’ve never been married! I was supposed to be seeing Peter and my choir friends last night.
I have to text Peter. I’ve no clue what’s going on. ”
“Bosie, I’m sorry. I don’t know who Peter is, and it’s a couple of years since you left the choir.
It must be the trauma, right? Some amnesia has set you back?
Mum and Rob are asking the doctor about what care you need, so you can go home.
’Cos you’re fine physically, and I’m sure you don’t want to stay here. ”
“That guy — he’s here?”
My question goes unanswered as my mother walks in, her shoulder-length hair even grayer than the last time I saw her, its strawberry-blonde colour almost leeched out.
Impeccably dressed, as always. The dark-bearded man, easily more than a foot taller than my petite mother, follows just behind, his hand on her shoulder.
Rob says something and Mum smiles, then he visibly starts as he meets my eyes.
“You’re awake, baby — how are you feeling?” He pulls an armchair up to my bed.