Page 14 of Parallel

“No,” he says. “None. They gave her something for the pain that knocked her out, but she barely evendrinks.”

I walk to her bedside. She lies there like a beautiful present, waiting to be unwrapped and discovered. Her eyes are closed, but I already know their color—smoky green, like the forest seen through fog. I can picture them in my head, as familiar to me as my own. Her lids flicker and her hand trails along the side of the bed until it finds mine. Her fingers curl there, as if it’s something she’s done a thousand times. I slide my hand away quickly, hoping her fiancé didn’tnotice.

“Hey,” she says, the word slurred, half-asleep. “How was yourswim?”

I freeze, wondering if I’ve heard her correctly. “I… How do you know I wentswimming?”

She laughs, a throaty noise that strikes a chord inside me, like a song I’d forgotten I loved. “You’re cranky if you skip it,” shemurmurs.

My breath comes short. I can name on one hand the number of people who know this about me, so how the fuck does she? Across the room, her fiancé has gone rigid. It’s like I’ve walked into some soap opera without knowing my part. “Um…have wemet?”

Her mouth curves upward but she doesn’t answer, so I try again. “Quinn, howdid wemeet?”

“Hospital,” she says. “London.”

At last something makes sense. I’m still hard-pressed to imagine how I could have treated anyone who looks like her andforgotten, but I’m not sure there’s another explanation. “Right,” I reply. “Sorry it slipped my mind. I was a resident, so I saw a ton ofpatients.”

She smiles as she drifts back to sleep. “That’s okay,” she murmurs. “As long as I’m the only one youmarried.”

The words hit me like a hammer. Somewhere inside me they land, settle in and feel true, even though I know they can’tbe.

Her fiancé sits wide-eyed, his frown deepening. “You two know each other?” heasks.

For a moment my mind is blank.Do we?No. I know I haven’t met her. I know I’d remember her. I shake my head. “People can say crazy things when they’re sedated. I have no memory of meeting yourgirlfriend—”

He cuts me off. “Fiancée.”

I’m irritated by his outburst and ignore it. “—but I did my residency in London, so she must have been apatient.”

His frown deepens. “One problem. Quinn’s never been out of thecountry.”

The hairs on the back of my neck go up. She knew about the swimming, and she knew I was in London. How? I only got back to the States last summer and I’ve been dating Meg the entiretime.

The guy is staring me down like a detective waiting for the perp to confess. I grit my teeth. I have no idea what’s going on here, but their interpersonal drama is not my concern. “Like I said before, people say a lot of things when sedated. Anyhow, since this is the second episode in a week, I’d like her to remain overnight. I’ll get her on the schedule for an MRI in themorning.”

“She’s not going to like that,” he says. “She’s going to want to get back towork.”

I glance over at her. I’ve certainly encountered workaholic patients who insist they’re too busy to get a test that could save their lives, but she looks so calm right now, so peaceful, that it’s hard to imagine her being one of them. I think she’s an architect—I must have seen it in her chart—and not to demean her profession, but it’s not like the fate of the world rests in her hands. “She needs an MRI,” I reply, my voice hard and unyielding. “So I’d suggest you make sure she getsit.”

He looks taken aback, but I don’t care. I just need to get the fuck out of thisroom.

* * *

I’m not muchof a drinker, but I need a damn drink. I call Jace, a friend who was in med school with me and then wound up at the same hospital years later. His wife and Meg have become friends, which should make me happy, but instead makes me feel a littletrapped.

I meet him at Clyde’s, a few blocks from the hospital. It hasn’t changed since we were in school—same wood bar, tightly packed tables, dim lighting. He casts a glance at the double scotch in my hand and grins. “Heard you and Meg are moving in together. Is that why we’re hitting the heavy stuff beforedinner?”

For a moment, the words don’t even register, and then I laugh unhappily. “We aren’t moving in together. She’s going to stay at my place until she finds something else. But it appears you’ve heardotherwise.”

“Maybe I misunderstood,” he says with a smirk. A smirk that says what we both know, which is that he didn’t misunderstand anything at all. “So, what’sup?”

I take a sip of my scotch and then set it down, staring straight ahead at the mirror behind the bar. “I’m going to tell you something that soundscrazy.”

“I doubt it’ll sound all that crazy to me,” he replies. Jace is an obstetrician. Of all our friends, he tends to have the most bizarre stories—patients who’ve contracted sexually transmitted diseases from pets, a woman with a baby hanging between her legs by the umbilical cord as she exits theelevator.

“This may even top one of your stories,” I tell him, hesitating before I start to recount what happened this afternoon. It’s so surreal I’m starting to wonder if I’ve gotten the facts wrong. “I walk into a patient’s room today. A new patient. She’s sedated and her eyes are closed, but when I get to her bedside she seems to know who I am.” I pause, taking another sip of scotch. “She knew that I swim every morning. She knew I was in London for my residency. And then she says something about how we weremarried.”

Jace tips his head. “Come on, bro. She’s fucking withyou.”

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