Did she sit there, too, the first time I was here? When they erased Rory?
“Sleep is our main tool for the consolidation process, so we’ll be giving you a sedative and you’ll feel fairly groggy afterward.” Dr. Overton goes through a list of things to expect during the procedure, then some side effects: the worst are headaches, a rash from the electrodes, nausea, and drowsiness. I get to go home afterward, but because I’ve had complications in the past, he’s given Mom his number and will be on standby for the next forty-eight hours in case anything goes wrong.
“It’s not an invasive procedure, so I truly don’t expect any problems,” Dr. Overton says to reassure me.
Finally I am lying on a hospital bed, all hooked up to electrodes, Dr. Overton and the nurse looking at the computer, which shows an active picture of my brain. My fingers tingle with nerves, with fear.
I tell myself I am ready to forget. That I am ready to start again.
“I want you to think of the first thing you remember from that Saturday, the Saturday from the bus,” Dr. Overton says.
I grasp for the moment I woke up the morning of the crash, before I met the boy.
“Just relax. You’re doing great,” Dr. Overton encourages in a soft, distracted voice.
“Picking up the cingulate cortex,” the nurse whispers.
“Posterior?” the doctor asks. “Are we getting a read on the hippocampus?” They quietly discuss whatever they’re seeing on the screen.
“Doing great, Addie,” Dr. Overton says again, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him nod at the nurse. I’m thinking about packing up my viola case and my mom dropping me at the bus stop the day all this started. And then the nurse wipes something cold on my arm and there’s the prick of a needle and everything slowly gets a little blurry.
Dr. Overton says, “I had a Zach once.”
I manage to glance sleepily at him, surprised.
“Her name was Nina. First girl I ever loved,” he says. And I relax again, realizing he’s just making small talk. I wish he wouldn’t talk about Zach, though. I wish he would talk about something that doesn’t matter.
“Shift a little left, Leslie,” he says, peering at the computer screen. Then he keeps talking to the nurse or me or maybe to himself. “I haven’t seen her since senior year of high school atleast,” he says. There seems to be a tinge of sadness in his voice. But I’m feeling so foggy from the procedure that it’s hard to say.
“Every now and then, I’ll think I see her in the market or at the gym. It’s the oddest thing.” He chuckles, and the nurse laughs with him.
“Sometimes I’ll think about her, wonder if she looks the same. What she did after college, whether she ever thinks about me, wonders about me.” His voice gets fainter and fainter. “Where she is right now.” He pauses. “And what she’s done with her piece of my heart.”
BEFORE
December
In the car outside Overton, I’m shaking and terrified and beyond grateful Katy drove. Beyond grateful she’s doing this with me.
“Here,” she says, dropping an envelope in my lap after she cuts the engine. “For today.”
When I open it, I find a whole bunch of bills. After a moment of confusion, I understand what she’s doing and shake my head vehemently. “I can’t take this, Katy. No way.”
“Well, youcan’tuse all your savings and then get stuck in Lyndale. I’d have to go to New York by myself. That’s not happening.”
“It won’t. I’ll figure it out, but there’s no way I’m taking your money. Where did you evengetall this?”
“Robbed a boy—I mean a bank,” she says, and I snort. “Fine. I pawned something my dad sent me. Some stupid pearl set that would work if I was the First Lady or something.”
“Katy!” I exclaim. “Why would you do that? A gift from your dad? You have to go get it back!”
“I don’twantit back. I want you happy. I want you in New York. And I don’t want shit that reminds me of how little my dad knows about me. I mean, it’s fine he doesn’t remember my exact birthday, but he’s, like, three decades off with my age.”
I point to her wrist. “You like the silver bracelet, though. You never take it off.”
She shrugs. “ ’Cause it’s cute, which means his new wife probably picked it out. I can pretend he knows me well enough to know it’s something I’d like. But apearl set? Anyway, I might have enough money left over to get a new Stentor. I’ve had my violin for, like, four years.” She faces me now and says, “Just take it, okay? If you’re going to do this, if you absolutelyhaveto, then I want to help.”
I eye her for several seconds, blinking to hold back tears, then throw my arms around her. “I’m paying you back.”
