Page 88 of Mistaken Intention

“Oh… okay.” She starts eating again, happy with my answer, I guess… not that I’ve decided what to do with the photographs yet. I need to know the password for my laptop first, and I’ve got no idea how to go about working that out.

“Have you ever done any photography?” I ask her, taking a sip of water.

“Not really. I don’t have time. Obviously, I’ve taken pictures on my phone, like everyone else, but…”

“Your phone?”

She nods her head. “Yes.”

I sit back, a memory flashing through my mind… a screen, long and narrow, different to the one on my camera. It’s fleeting and I can’t quite grasp it or see the image on the screen, but for the first time in ages, I feel the need to ask a question. “Do I have a phone?”

Josie drops her fork this time, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Yes, you do.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I think I might have taken photographs on it, and if I did, there might be clues… things, or people, or places I’ll recognize. I checked the disk that’s in the camera while you were asleep earlier, and there’s nothing on it, other than the pictures I’ve taken today.”

“I see.” She frowns. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“Done what?”

“Checked the camera, without me being present… and awake.”

“Why?”

“What if you’d found something? What if it had triggered an adverse reaction?”

“It didn’t, though, did it?”

“No,” she says. “But that’s not the point, Drew. I know things have changed between us today, but you’re still my patient. I’m still supposed to be managing your recovery.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

She smiles, although it’s a little half-hearted. “It’s fine. There’s no harm done.”

“Maybe not, but I’d still like to know where my phone is.”

“Your brother has it. He was given it at the hospital after the accident, and he’s had it ever since.”

“And I’m guessing you’re not gonna let him give it back to me?”

She sighs, leaning forward. “I thought you said you were gonna let things happen naturally.”

“I know. But isn’t this a natural progression?”

“No. This is you, trying to force a progression.” I shake my head, looking at the salad bowl. “Don’t be mad at me, Drew… please,” she says.

I look up again, then reach across the table, taking her hand in mine.

“I’m not mad. I’m frustrated.”

“I know. But can’t you see? You’re asking me to do something that has the potential to send you into a spiral of confusion. There could be names and numbers in your contacts list, and pictures on your phone that mean absolutely nothing to you… and they’ll just add to the list of things you’ve already got rattling around your brain. You need to process what you’ve got before you add anything new.”

She’s right, and I know it. Overloading my brain won’t help, and based on what happened the last time I tried too hard, it could even hinder my recovery.

“I’m sorry.”

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