Pari didn’t lie. And she didn’t make up stories.

I was the storyteller in the family. The professional liar.

My foot twinged, reminding me of another nocturnal walk, another memory blank.

“Your stepmother also hesitantly confessed something else when she realized who I was.” Dr. Binchy closed the file, dropped it onto his lap. “According to her, a neighbor’s seen you wandering about half-naked at night.”

Anastasia wouldn’t have spilled the beans. Had to have been Elei. Always watching.

“Are you saying I’m sleepwalking every night?”

“The implication was that it was a regular occurrence.” Dr. Binchy took off his glasses again, began to use the edge of his sweatshirt to wipe the lenses. “It’s probably because you’re playing fast and loose with your meds.”

Jaw grinding, I picked up my phone again and forwarded him the file I’d sent Gigi. “You read what I’ve been writing—that’s not the work of someone with a fucked-up brain.”

“The brain is an interesting organ. It could be that some parts of you are working with brilliance, while others are failing.” He held his glasses by one of the stems. “You need to be under constant neurological care until we’ve stabilized the levels of medication in your system. We also need to monitor your brain trauma more closely.”

“Not a chance, Doc.” No one was going to keep me from finishing what I’d started.

“I thought you’d say that. And since—at this point—you appear in control of your faculties, I’ll allow a heightened regime of checkups in lieu of inpatient care. Twice a week, my office. No room for negotiation.” His expression didn’t soften, but his voice was quieter as he added, “I won’t threaten you with any kind of forced medical intervention, but I will tell you that if you keep going as you are, you’re going to do permanent damage to your system.”

He’d said nothing about my license to drive and I decided not to remind him. If another migraine came on while I was driving, I could stop before I became a danger to anyone. Because I needed my car now more than ever.

If my brain was getting screwy, I had to finish this before I couldn’t.

Transcript

Session #13

“It feels as if I’m always apologizing to you.”

“Your reaction wasn’t violent the last time. That’s progress.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes, and you know I’m honest with you.”

“Even though I’m paying you, I think you might be one of the few people in my life who is honest. Everyone else wears masks, their own skin suits.”

“What makes you believe that?”

“People hide things all the time. And when you start looking under rocks, you find a whole bunch of venomous insects.”

43

Diana drove me home an hour later, after I’d agreed to Dr. Binchy’s terms, and convinced him I’d sleep better at home than in the constant low-level buzz of the hospital.

“I’m sorry.” Her hands strangled the steering wheel. “I didn’t want to say anything, but he’s a neurosurgeon and he kept pushing . . .”

“It’s fine, Diana. I must’ve freaked you out with the repetitive questions.”

“No, I thought it was just stress, you know? Because of how they found Nina.” A shaky smile. “You’re really not angry?”

I shook my head; it wasn’t her fault I had a brain injury and had screwed up my meds. “Mia told me that Beau was going for his piano exams. How did he do?”

“Oh, he passed with flying colors.” Her voice was dazzling now. “You see that boy—all slouchy and grumpy—and you think he does nothing but play video games, but then he goes and pulls off something like this. I swear, I have to beg to get him to play on the baby grand we got for him, but he obviously does practice.”

“I’ve heard him,” I told her, amused that Beau went to such lengths to hide his industriousness. “Mostly on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons after school.”

“That’s when I go to watch Mia’s netball and hockey practices. The sneak!” But she was smiling. “He did say he’d play for my birthday.” Reaching over to touch my hand, she squeezed. “Will you come? It’s not for another month.”

“Yes, of course.”

It was only as she turned into the Cul-de-Sac that I suddenly remembered something. “My car.” I should’ve noticed it on the drive home.

“Oh, it’s fine.” She used her remote to open the gates. “Shanti drove it home earlier, after Anastasia gave her a lift. She’s lovely, you know. Adores her twins—just looks high maintenance with her hair and nails.” A pause. “Like Nina. That’s who she reminds me of and maybe that’s why I keep avoiding her overtures of friendship. Because she isn’t Nina, isn’t the person I miss.”

We sat in silence the rest of the way to my father’s house. The sedan sat parked on the main drive rather than our private area. Unsurprising if Shanti had been the driver—she hated any kind of precision parking. “Thanks, Diana—and please thank Calvin, too.”

“I’m so glad we were there.”

I watched after her as she followed the curve of the Cul-de-Sac to her home. Someone had lit up the house against the night. Golden light poured out of every window. Even Diana’s winter-bare rosebushes looked softer in that light.

Shadows passed in front of the glass panel beside the door soon after Diana had gone up her drive. Then two silhouettes came together in a kiss. It looked like Calvin had done his surgery and beaten Diana home. Must’ve caught a cab from the hospital so she’d have the car.