I wander aimlessly for a bit, ending up in the den and praying for Gabby to respond. If she doesn’t, what in the world do I do next? As I stand there, phone in hand, a smear of memory takes shape in my mind, fuzzy and vague. I’m here in the den. But not today. On another day, in the evening. I’m looking for something—I’m not sure what—and when I approach the desk, I see Hugh’s phone lying on top of it. A text pops on the screen as I’m standing there, and mildly curious, I glance at it.
No apologies necessary. You can kiss me anytime.
I’m remembering the night of the fight, I realize. After we’d turned off the TV, he’d retreated to the bedroom, forgetting his phone on the desk. I close my eyes, trying to summon more, but that’s all there is. I step back, shuddering. And then, strangely, I’m studying the phone screen but from farther away. I’m up near the ceiling, in fact. Watching myself on the ground below.
Out of my body.
No, no. Don’t let this be happening, I think. I inhale to the count of four, hold it, exhale. And again. Stay present, I beg myself. Stay here.
The phone rings, startling me. Dr. Erling.
“Ally?” she says when I answer.
“It’s me.”
“I was calling to check on you. Is everything okay?”
“I think—I think it might be happening again. The fugue state. I came back to the city today, and I felt disconnected for a brief time during the car ride. I snapped back, but then a few seconds ago, it seemed as if I was out of my body, looking down from above.”
“Is anyone with you?”
“No, no one. I made Hugh leave. He admitted he’s been seeing that woman, the one I told you about.”
“We can talk about that later. Have you tried the breathing exercises, Ally?”
“Uh, yes.”
“And are you still having that sensation you described?”
“Not right this second. But I’m so afraid it will come back. I . . .”
“It’s essential we meet in person, Ally. Right away. However, I don’t want you taking the train. Can you arrange for a car, like you did when you visited your brother?”
“Yes, yes. I’ll come right now.”
“And you still have the address in Larchmont?”
“Yes, I remember it.”
“If the sensation comes back, call me immediately from the car.”
As she hangs up, a sob catches in my throat. Please, I pray. Please let her help me.
31
I order an Uber, but it’s going to take twelve minutes to reach me. I’m afraid of staying in the apartment for even a second longer, worried that I’ll be back on the ceiling again, staring down at myself. I quickly grab my purse and rush down to the lobby, where I perch on a leather bench, waiting.
When the car arrives, I nearly hurl myself into it. Once I’ve attached the seat belt, I grip the door handle as hard as I can, as if it’s the only thing holding me to the present moment.
Jarring hip-hop is being piped in from both the front and back speakers. “Please,” I nearly beg the driver after a minute, “can you turn off the music?”
“Yeah, sure,” he says, and then there’s only the sound of traffic outside the window and my ragged breathing.
The ride to Larchmont, even with unexpected delays, should take less than an hour, but right now, that seems unbearably, dangerously long. I can sense my mind itching to tear away from my body, making a sound like two pieces of Velcro pulling apart as it does so. I can’t let it. I can’t let it.
I’m beyond lucky that Erling can see me on such short notice, on a weekend no less. But I also need to make a plan for when I return to the city. I wouldn’t dare be on my own tonight, especially back in the apartment. I send another text to Gabby, telling her that I’m heading to meet with Erling now but would love to see her tonight—and crash with her if that’s okay. She answers immediately this time, apologizing for the delay and saying she’d love to have me stay.
And then, as if I’m being commanded by an alien force, I text Damien, too.
Would you have time to meet later? Going to my doctor’s in Larchmont but will be back around 7.
Rooting through my purse, I produce the tin of Altoids and realize I’m down to only two. I need to save them, I realize, for the car trip home, when I’ll be leaving the safety of Dr. Erling’s office.
I give myself a pep talk instead. I insist there’s no real reason in the world for me to detach from who I am. I made a mistake as a child, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of now. And no matter what happens with Hugh, I have good friends, a loving family, and work I’m crazy about. And even if I might have behaved stupidly during the two days I was gone—or done something I shouldn’t have—that doesn’t define who I really am.
Hugh. I know I shouldn’t be thinking of him now, since it will only upset me more, but my mind keeps rushing there. If he does want to make a fresh start—his words—could I? What if Erling was right when she suggested the other day that maybe I do want kids, just not with Hugh?
I take deep breaths. Knead my scalp as hard as I can with the tips of my fingers, paying attention to the sensation. Finally, there’s an exit sign for Larchmont, and minutes later we’re turning onto Erling’s street, with attractive clapboard and brick houses set graciously far apart from each other. It’s quiet today, with no one in sight. Maybe people are tucked inside doing Sunday kinds of things.
We pull up to the house. I was hoping the mere sight of it would quell my anxiety, but my dread seems to mushroom. I need to get inside and talk to her as soon as possible.
I fling open the car door, blurt out a thank-you, and deposit myself onto the sidewalk in front of the house. There are a couple of majestic maple trees in the yard, their leaves already vibrant shades of orange. I stare beyond them at the lovely gray clapboard house. There’s a light on in the office, as well as in what must be an upstairs bedroom.
Though I’m standing in front of the walkway to the front door, I know from my previous appointment here to turn right and head a few yards down the street to a second path, this one shooting to the separate entrance at the side of the house. A narrow conservatory serves as a waiting area for the office.
I hurry up the path, climb two steps, and enter the unlocked conservatory. The space has been winterized, so despite how brisk the day is, it’s warm inside.
I press the buzzer by the inside door. It works the same way the system does in the New York office, triggering a tiny click inside so that Erling is alerted to a patient’s presence with minimal disturbance to any ongoing session. But I’m sure I must be the only patient today. Praying it won’t be long before I’m buzzed into the house, I position myself on the edge of one of the white wicker chairs. With my head lowered, I try to still my thoughts.
It’s then, out of the corner of my eye, that I see a flash of something dark outside the conservatory.
I jerk my head up and run my gaze along the windows. There’s nothing there now. Was it simply a tree branch jostled by the wind? Or was someone moving around outside, dashing toward the back of the house? I rise and make my way slowly down the length of the conservatory. When I reach the end, I peer out of the far window, but all I see is an empty bird feeder and a cluster of trees behind it.