“Okay, the doctor will be right in.” The nurse left me alone, and as I shifted to get comfortable, the thin paper topping the exam table crinkled. Seconds later, the door opened.

Dr. Webster was in her early sixties, wore her gray hair short, and never used makeup to brighten her pale skin. She extended her hand. “Marisa.”

I was always surprised by her strong grip. “Dr. Webster.”

“Is your sister Brit here today with you?”

“I’ve graduated to solo trips. Just bought a new car, so I’m mobile.”

“Good to hear that. Step in the right direction.” Dr. Webster glanced at her pad. “Not sleeping well?”

“Like I told the nurse, that’s normal for me.”

“How many hours a night?”

“Three. Maybe four.”

She frowned. “What about dreams?”

“Always.”

“Anything from around the time of the accident?”

“One,” I said. “I’m driving with my foot pressing hard on the accelerator, and I’m confused, having trouble focusing.”

“So the same dream.”

“Yes.”

“Any memories?”

I thought about the smoothed bed comforter. If that had been a memory, I didn’t want to share it. “No.”

“And no alcohol, correct?”

“That’s right.” Two sips of beer still weren’t enough to check the yes box.

The doctor removed a small penlight, clicked it on, and moved in front of me. She flashed the light back and forth, turned my head from side to side, and then inspected the spot on the side of my head where she’d made her incision two months ago. “How do you like the short hair?”

“Okay once I had a hairdresser even it out and the bald spots filled in. I keep thinking more hair should be there.”

“I wish I could’ve saved it.”

“Better my brain,” I said.

“When you were first brought in, you were terrified. Do you remember that?”

“A car accident will do that, won’t it?”

“This was different. You thought someone was chasing you.”

Chasing me. My mind flipped back to sitting in a booth. There was a nearly full cola in front of me. My head was heavy, my vision blurring.

“You okay?” Dr. Webster asked. “Got a far-off look.”

“Hazard of being an artist,” I joked. “Our minds drift.”

“Where’d it go?”

“What does it matter?”

“I want to make sure you can articulate your thoughts.”

“Thinking back to a time when I was in a bar. I felt drunk, confused.” Hearing the words made it all feel uglier and dirtier. And then more hopefully: “Not a first for me.”

“Do you think it happened prior to the accident?”

“I don’t know. Past and present memories mingle these days.”

Dr. Webster’s gaze softened as she clicked off the penlight and pushed it in her pocket. “Something trigger this thought?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you remember the incident?”

Incident. Made it sound like a line item in a report. “No.”

“When did this happen?”