Chapter 1 #3
“Well, Mrs. Treder, again, your husband appears perfectly healthy apart from the cuts and bruises. We might see something more serious with an MRI—”
“More serious?” Amy asked, straightening. “Like a tumor?”
Lyle took this all in with his usual calm, his eyes flicking between the doctor, me, and Amy.
“I wouldn’t want to speculate, Mrs. Treder,” the doctor said. “But I doubt we’d find anything. Your husband’s health record is clear, and he’s had no other symptoms.”
Amy sat back and blew out a long breath.
The doctor turned to me. “So, you can’t remember yesterday, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And this memory loss started after the accident?”
“I—” I looked at Amy. “Yes.”
The doctor raised his eyebrows but didn’t push further.
Instead, he stood. “I think you’re fine.
The memory loss may be temporary and stem from the shock of the accident.
It can surprise people. Even minor fender benders can be terrifying.
And you certainly took some knocks. If you want, I can refer you to a psychologist for an evaluation. ”
“No, thank you, that’s okay.”
“Okay. You can get dressed, Mr. Treder. Feel free to take aspirin for any discomfort in the next few weeks. And the antibiotics?”
“Thanks, I’ll get some aspirin and Neosporin at the pharmacy.” I stood and shook the doctor’s hand, and he left the room.
Amy didn’t say anything as I dressed. She met my gaze. “I’ll get the van.” Her eyes flicked to Lyle.
I caught the motion and gave her a tiny nod. “Thanks.”
Lyle and I watched her leave. I turned to Lyle. “Ready to go, bud?”
“What happened, Dad?”
I crouched to his level. “Bud. I don’t know for sure.
But I’ll tell you the truth. I was driving to work yesterday morning.
Then, in an instant, in an eyeblink, it was today, this morning.
The car was gone, but I was still traveling as fast as I’d been when I was driving.
I got all these”—I held one arm up and nodded at the bandages scattered over my skin—“from falling on the road.”
He studied me a moment. “Okay, Dad.” He hopped off the chair and walked out.
I bit my lip and remained crouched there, reviewing what I’d said to him and his simple acceptance of something so outlandish.
I was struck, not for the first time, that I might not have much time left to enjoy that side of him, that childish belief in his father’s authority and infallibility.
He was seven already, seven going on thirty it seemed sometimes, and soon enough he’d be an adolescent and informing me in no uncertain terms how much of a fool he thought I was.
I’d certainly let my father have it when I’d been a teenager.
He’d deserved it—even growing up and becoming a father myself hadn’t changed my mind on that score.
But I couldn’t bear the thought of my gentle and trusting Lyle doing that to me.
I stood, grimacing, and followed him.
When we got home, Amy changed clothes and asked if I wanted to take Lyle to the park. I was stiff and sore, and I wanted to do some investigating of my own, so I told them to go ahead without me.
Amy touched my shoulder as Lyle got his shoes on. “Take it easy, okay? Just focus on getting better.”
“I will.”
Lyle gave me a tight hug before they left.
I made myself some coffee and sat in front of the computer.
Time to figure things out. I entered “missing time” into Google.
Aside from blows to the head, the top result was stranger than I had imagined: alien abduction.
I was admittedly a little more credulous than I would have been two days ago, but still, the idea that I was snatched out of my car and deposited, traveling the exact same direction and speed, exactly twenty-four hours later by some advanced species from the stars was ridiculous.
Although, if the websites I perused were to be believed, I was dealing with utterly impenetrable alien psychology.
I moved on.
I uncovered other, potentially more reasonable, explanations.
One cause of missing time was multiple personality disorder.
Another possibility was syncope, or fainting, often caused by low oxygen levels, hypertension, or extreme exercise.
None could explain how I ended up traveling twenty-five miles per hour through the air with no car.
Overindulgence in alcohol was another potential and no doubt common cause of a blackout.
Again, unlikely. The blackout would have to have been retroactive, assuming I started drinking later in the day.
I hadn’t slipped vodka into my orange juice that morning.
And I wasn’t much of a drinker. I never had been.
Two stiff drinks and I was asleep on the couch.
I sat back and put my hands behind my head. I stared at the off-white spackled ceiling. I was forgetting something. My Honda. It had crashed into a parked car without me at the wheel. Twenty-four hours later, I fell out of the air.
I took a deep breath, let it out in a long rush, and closed the unhelpful billion-plus entries on “missing time.”