Page 5 of The Wishing Game

"You might be misremembering because of your head injury," the other one continues. "But back to the purpose of our visit. We wanted to let you know that the injured party will not press charges and has decided to settle with your family lawyer for the damages."

I stare at them, flabbergasted.

They say a few more things, but I tune them out.

"We wish you a speedy recovery, Mrs. Archibald," the words barely register in my brain. I don't reply, staring at their retreating figures until the door snaps shut.

Am I remembering it wrong?

That can't be, can it?

Did my injury change my perception of the events?

But no, I can remember everything clearly up to the moment of collision. I know what I saw and what I felt. The truck hitus, and we were both catapulted out of the cockpit.

My brows furrow as I try to focus on the events of that day. Had Nikki seemed weird? Had he behaved out of the ordinary?

Well, he'd certainly surprised me with our outing, but could that be the effect of heavy drugs?

I bite my lip in uncertainty, but I quickly shake myself.

He's my Nikki. Iknowhim.

Coincidentally, not long after the policemen are gone, the new phone Noelle had gotten for me rings—it's our lawyer.

"Hello, Mr. Daniels. I understand you've settled with thevictim?" I add sarcastically.

"Always straight to the point, Mrs. Archibald. Yes, indeed. We've given him enough to cover all the damages, both material and emotional."

"Is that so..."

"But that is not what I wanted to discuss with you," he continues blithely. "I've been told you will be discharged from the hospital tomorrow."

"That is correct," I speak slowly, alarm bells going off in my brain.

"I will have a car waiting for you to take you to the penthouse. The entire family will be present for the reading of the will."

"What?" I ask in a clipped tone. "I don't wantanyof those people in my home."

"Then perhaps you'd be amenable to coming to our office?"

"Why would they be needed there anyway? Nikki assured me they weren't included in the will."

"I cannot say, I'm afraid. This is the protocol."

"I'll meet you at the office," I add dryly.

"Three o'clock," he says in a sing-song voice, and before I utter any profanities, I hang up.

Oh, Nikki, what the hell happened?

I'm slow to react due to my brain injury and the sedatives that have kept me in a state of drowsiness. My mind is starting to awaken and ask all sorts of questions.

Nothing makes sense. Absolutely nothing.

But practical as I always am, I force myself not to dwell on my husband's death—if I did, I doubt I'd ever be able to get out of this goddamn bed—and focus on the matter at hand. The suspicious accident. Nikki's supposed drug use. My alleged faulty memory...

Could any of this be possible?

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