However, she was puzzled by the one question I asked her.

“Where is Nighthawks?”

I asked it several times, and finally, she called in Karly for help. My wife gave me a strange look, but she answered the question. “It’s in the Art Institute, where it always is. Thanks to Edgar, of course. He’s been by to visit you several times. Every time he was here, he told you the story again.”

That was what I needed to hear. All was right with my world. With that, I was able to sleep.

I recovered for another full day before Karly said, “Do you remember what happened at the river?”

I shook my head. What I remembered I didn’t trust.

“Do you want me to tell you about it? We don’t have to do this now. We can wait until you’re stronger.”

“Please,” I murmured.

“Okay. Well, we were driving home from our weekend away. The river had overflowed the highway, and we—we drove right into it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Karly put a hand on my cheek and stared at me with a deep regret in her eyes. “Don’t use that word. That’s my word. Dylan, there’s so much I need to say to you, but let me get through this first.”

“Go on.”

“The car submerged. We were both trapped. I’ve never been so terrified. A tree came through the car window and nearly took our heads off. You were able to get out, but as you pulled me with you, the river ripped the car away. We were separated.”

She described the experience in a monotone, as if it had happened to someone else. I think that was the only way she could talk about it.