“Oh! Good morning!” Martina waves from halfway down the corridor. Her dark brown eyes sparkle at me, and she’s holding a plastic bag with containers inside.
I wave back enthusiastically, seeing a way out. “Martina!”
“Yes, yes.” She shuffles to me, her grin wide enough to reveal one gold tooth. “It is good to see you up and about, J.”
“Dr. Kenji, this is Martina. She’s… a friend of a friend. Sort of. You can consider her my guardian for now.”
Dr. Kenji opens his mouth to protest.
I back away from him. “Tell her whatever’s wrong with me, and she’ll loop me in later. Okay? Martina…” I gesture to Dr. Kenji.
Martina, the lifesaver, hooks her arm around Dr. Kenji’s. “Doctor, how old are you? I have a beautiful niece who just got her law degree. Her name is Jesusita, and you seem just her type. She loves the K-pop songs and she’s even been to Korea…”
“I’m Japanese,” I hear Dr. Kenji dryly informing Martina as I escape to the elevator and respond to Courtney.
ME:I’m not from Netflix. I’m a friend of Kelly’s. She’s going through a divorce right now and her husband is dragging her character through the mud. I want the friends who knew her to write a statement standing up for her.
ME:Can we meet?
The elevator lets me out on the first floor, and I plod through the busy emergency room.
COURTNEY:Is this a prank?
ME:What do you mean?
COURTNEY:Kelly went missing six years ago. Her body still hasn’t been found.
COURTNEY:I thought Netflix was doing a documentary about it.
What?
I stop in the middle of the lobby.
Kelly isn’t dead or missing. She’s alive and well, and she’s in a horrible marriage with a rich hedge-fund-managing jerk named Shawn who wants to divorce her.
So what’s up with that story about Kelly being in the psych ward?
Something isn’t adding up.
ME:Can we meet somewhere? I have more questions.
Courtney stops responding.
I grit my teeth. Why is she ignoring me?
She might be at work, J,my rational side argues.
I don’t care if she’s at work. I want answersnow. Can’t she put me out of my misery and tell me where we can meet?
At that moment, a familiar figure walks through the automatic double doors at the hospital’s entrance.
My watch beeps at the sight of her.
It’s Kelly.
I backpedal as quickly as I can and press my back against the wall around the corner. Kelly’s steps are light and urgent as she jogs to the elevator at a speed I can only dream of.
I peer around the corner. Kelly puts her phone to her ear as she waits for the elevator to arrive.
