There’s a bit more to it than that. I like Hugh’s parents, who have been generally lovely to me. But they’re fairly high on the uptight scale, and I’m sure this news would wig them out.
Hugh and I eat breakfast at the table, watching the nearly cloudless sky brighten. At several junctures we seem oddly at a loss for words. Is he on pins and needles, I wonder, terrified I’ll unravel again?
After changing into a suit, Hugh tells me good-bye, promising to stop by an AT&T store this morning and outfit my old phone with a new SIM card so I can start making calls.
I pour myself another cup of coffee and, using my laptop, respond to the most urgent emails in my in-box, including the one from Glenda Payne, the interview subject I dropped the ball on. I apologize profusely and ask her if we can reschedule. I also shoot a response to Sasha Hyatt, a former beauty editor who’s convinced she can transform herself into a personal finance guru and has been foisted on me as an intern by an executive with the company that’s sponsoring my podcast. She’s written me three times since Tuesday, wondering if I received the research she’d emailed me for the next show. I tell her yes, I have it, but I’ve been under the weather and will need to follow up later.
Just as I’m finishing my coffee, the portable phone by the couch rings. When I lift the receiver, I see Gabby’s name on the screen and the sight of it triggers a rush of relief.
“Hot date?” I answer. “Or did you go to bed ridiculously early?”
“What? Wait, did you forget?”
My blood seems to freeze. “Forget what?”
“That I’m in London?”
“Oh gosh, sorry,” I say, suddenly recalling that she’d planned to leave this week on a trip for the jewelry business she runs. And it means that she probably won’t be able to offer me any clues.
“Is everything okay?”
“Uh—not exactly. But it can wait until you return.”
“No way. I’m just hanging out in the hotel until my next appointment. What’s going on?”
I spill it all then—about the fight with Hugh, how he assumed that I was at her place, my amnesia, my long, distressing day in the ER.
“Ally, this is so scary,” she exclaims. “Hughdidcall me, right before I left on Wednesday, but I never sensed anything was wrong. I’m supposed to fly back Monday, but let me call my assistant and see if she can get me out of here earlier.”
“No, please, don’t even think about it. You can answer a few questions for me, though.”
“Of course, fire away.”
“When was the last time we spoke?”
“Let’s see—it must have been Monday, late in the afternoon.”
That’s one thing I do remember now that she mentions it.
“Did I give you any hint I was coming undone?”
“No, you sounded fine. The only thing that seems odd in hindsight is that you promised to call me before I left for London, but I never heard from you. I just figured you were busy and forgot.”
My pulse quickens. “Have I been forgetful lately?”
She sighs. “To be honest, a little.”
“About important stuff?”
“Nothing like that. Maybe distracted is a better word. Like last weekend, you said you were going to swing by my apartment at three but you showed at three thirty.”
I picture her sitting at her wooden table, her long red hair fanned out around her shoulders. We chatted about a thrillerwe’d both read, a new guy she’s seeing, her search for a better publicist for her rapidly expanding business.
“I’m sorry I screwed that up. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It wasn’t a big deal. I know the baby stuff has been eating at you. Do you think all the stress caused this?”
“I’m not sure, but now I’m evenmorestressed, and I will be until I figure out where I was.”
