I bolt out of bed, or try to anyway, but as soon as my legs hit the floor, they crumble. Joe calls out, and I wave him away when he reaches for me. I grasp the corner of my bedside table, my face sweating, my hands clammy. I get slowly to my feet, head spinning. Am I hungover? I don’t remember drinking last night.
“Are you sick?” Joe calls from far away. His voice rolls in and out of my ears.Are you sick? Are you sick? Are you—
I swallow down a wave of nausea and step into a pencil skirt that has a jam stain on it. I zip it up, feeling slightly breathless. Something tugs at my mind, something important about last night. I throw a work blouse around my shoulders and fumble with the buttons, trying to remember. I feel more asleep than awake, and I give my stomach a sharp pinch as I dress, making certain I’m not still dreaming.
Then I remember. My hands drop to my sides.
Hi Sarah Slade!
Is that the name you’re going by these days?
Oh God. Oh God. That wasn’t a dream. I step into my work shoes, grasp the ornate bedpost to keep myself from toppling over. I lace up a camel boot, try to act normal. “Did you sleep here last night?”
Silence. I look up at him, tying my boot with a sharp knot. He scratches the back of his neck with restless hands and looks longingly at the door. I bet he wishes he hadn’t come in. I’m sure he won’t make that mistake again. “No,” he says finally. “I didn’t. Haven’t been here for a few days…”
“Well, where the fuck have you been, then?”
Silence.
He doesn’t look guilty, and I wonder if I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe he’s been working late. Maybe he’s been sleeping at Andy’s.
“Joe?” I demand.
My phone goes off. I glance at the caller ID: Emily. Joe snatches the moment to leave the room.
“Wait,” I call, trying to tie my boot and answer the phone at the sametime. “Joe,” I yell, but he’s already gone. Shit. I answer the call and shove the phone to my ear. “I’m coming, Emily,” I tell her, throwing my jacket on. “I’m coming.”
—
I burst into the Mercy Community office, fumbling with my jacket and smoothing my hair at the same time. I knock on Adria’s door, my mouth crammed with apologies. But no one answers. Shakily, I walk down the navy hallway, reaching out to steady myself against the wall. I breathe hard, sweat dripping down my nose.
I stagger into the coffee room. It smells like melted cheese in here, and my stomach heaves. I press a clammy palm against my stomach. Tim’s stirring sweetener into his coffee mug, the one that says,I never asked to be the world’s best athlete, but here I am, absolutely crushing it.Emily cradles her vet nurse mug in her left hand and nibbles on a piece of toast held in her right.
“Hey,” I murmur weakly.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up for work!” Tim bellows.
Emily cries, “Lovie! My God, I’ve been trying to ring you for days!”
I wipe my forehead with the back of my jacket sleeve. “Is Adria in?” I ask breathlessly.
“Lucky for you, no.” Tim smirks, placing a dripping teaspoon on the counter. Emily points to the kettle, raises an eyebrow. I nod gratefully, and she pulls another mug out of the cupboard, starts making me a coffee.
“I’m in the shit, aren’t I?” I groan, leaning against the doorframe. “I slept in this morning. Didn’t mean to get here so late.”
Tim gulps the coffee like it’s a tequila shot. “And what’s your excuse for yesterday, then?”
I narrow my eyes at him. My mind is unfocused, blurry. But fragments of yesterday come back to me. I was here in the coffee room yesterday morning with Tim, Benita, and Emily. I went to my office, and Darren messaged me, telling me to meet him outside the pub. Andlater that night…I wince at the memory. Later that night, I found the note in the attic.
“Yesterday?” I ask Tim. “I was here yesterday.”
Silence. Emily’s busy pouring milk into my mug, but she gives me a strange look out of the corner of her eye. I breathe shallowly through my mouth. No one’s talking, and my stomach twists with nausea and nerves.
Tim gives me a sideways glance that says,Are you pulling my leg?For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks unsure of himself.
“You weren’t here yesterday,” he says finally, giving me a quizzical look, like he’s still not sure if I’m joking. “Adria was pissed, to be honest.”
My stomach churns like I’m making butter in there. I frantically sort through my memories of yesterday, but my mind’s working so slowly. I was here, in this kitchen with them and Benita. I’m sure of it. I asked Benita about the cleaner, and then I met up with a strange man in a pub parking lot and went home to a note in my attic.
