“I saw you slip,” the man says. “Are you okay?”
“I slipped?” Glancing around, I recognize the signposts of my suburban neighborhood. Azalea bushes whose flowers were bright violet and neon pink a few weeks ago, now brown and wilted in the June heat. The sound of a sprinkler system hissing to life. I pat the pockets of my dress. “Where’s my phone? What day is it?”
“It’s Sunday. I’m actually on my way to a job interview.”
“A job interview,” I repeat, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. I feel funny, zonked, the way general anesthesia left me in a dreamlike state after I had my appendix out.
“Never mind,” he says. “I can be late.”
I turn to look over my shoulder at the house behind me. I know this house. The Allards built it a few years ago and rent it out. My eyes travel to the front door. That’s where that nanny was killed, right there in the foyer. What am I doing here? “I don’t know how I got here. God, I’m thirsty.”
The young man takes a water bottle out of his messenger bag and offers it to me. I take it, gulping the water greedily as some of it dribbles down my chin.
“How did I get here?”
“Not sure. What’s your name? I’m Finn.”
“Caren. I’m Caren Costa.”
“Do you need me to call someone?”
“What? No. What time is it?”
“It’s ten after six.”
“Six in the morning? That makes no sense. Did I spend the night here?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” he says hesitatingly. “Maybe I should call someone.”
“No. I just want to go home.” I wince from a sharp pain in the back of my skull. “I think I hit my head.” I pull my hair up off my neck and tilt my head so he can look. “Anything?”
“Oof,” he says, recoiling a bit. “I think you’re right. You have some dried blood on your neck. Maybe you should go to a hospital.”
“No. Please. I just want to go home.” As a wave of nausea hits me, I grab his arm to steady myself. My head feels like it’s going to explode. “I’m not usually like this.”
“It’s okay.” He pats my arm. “I’ve got you.”
I grab onto him more tightly, grateful for the support, and we begin walking. “Which way?” he asks when we get to the corner.
I gesture to the left. I know the way home. Everything is coming into focus for me now, except what happened last night. From the moment I left the Allards until about ten minutes ago is a complete blank for me.
We walk along in silence. We pass an older man on the walkway of his house, stooping to pick up his paper. He waves at us, and we both wave back, as if we are on a perfectly normal morning stroll. But nothing about this morning is normal. Not the way my head throbs, or how dry my mouth is. Not the way my thoughts stick together like wet leaves.
When my house comes into view, I point to it. As we walk up the front path, the door opens and Miguel steps onto thestoop. As soon as I see the concern on his face, tears fill my eyes.
“There you are!” he calls as he meets us halfway up the walk, enveloping me in a hug. “I was wondering where you were.” He pulls back a few inches to examine me. “I was starting to get worried. I called you but your cell is in the house. I was about to call—” He stops mid-sentence and jerks his head back. “Caren, are you okay?” When I don’t respond right away, he looks to Finn. “Uhm, hi, I’m Miguel.” He holds out his hand.
“Finn.” Finn shakes it. “I’m just walking her home.”
“What’s going on?” He turns back to me and glances down at my dress. “Did you fall in the mud?”
“She slipped and fell,” Finn says. “I saw it happen.”
“My God, where did this happen?”
“I just want to go inside,” I say.
“I think she should see a doctor,” Finn says. “I think she might have hit her head. There’s some dried blood back there.”