Dr. Adler leaned forward, put his fingers in a steeple under his chin. “I’d like to send you to the ER for more thorough testing. They’ll no doubt order an MRI or a CT scan, and blood tests. We need to be thorough. Rule out as many reasons for your memory loss as we can.”

“Dr. Adler,” Maya said quietly. “We’ve no clue if Ash has insurance. Neither of us ever have.”

“I understand,” he said, drumming his fingers. “Let me see what I can do.”

Hours later, after a visit Dr. Adler had arranged at a free clinic, and which involved me being poked, prodded and tested repeatedly, we now sat opposite the ER doctor, a tall, wide-shouldered woman called Gwen Soares. She read over the notes that had been compiled as I’d undergone a CT scan, too many blood tests to count, a psychiatric evaluation and an in-depth discussion about family history. I had to bite my tongue and swallow my frustrations as Maya helped me with almost all of the questions, clarifying there were no strokes, aneurysms or brain tumors on my side of the family. She gave my hand a squeeze as she told them about my mother’s suicide, which she concluded with, “But Ash has never been depressed. Never.”

Dr. Soares nodded once, looked up at us and smiled. “How are you feeling, Ash?”

“One hundred percent arsed off,” I wanted to say, but settled for, “Bushed.”

“I understand,” she said. “Here’s the good news. All your blood work was clear. No signs of drugs, alcohol or any kind of infection in your system. Not only that, but your semantic memory is in good working order.”

“What’s that?” Maya said.

“The part of your brain that understands things such as words, colors, places and so forth,” Dr. Soares said. “Things not necessarily drawn from personal experience but which are common, as well as general knowledge you’ve accumulated throughout your life.”

“And that’s a good thing?” I said.

“Exceedingly. You’re functioning normally: walking, talking. You know how to eat, for example, and what you’re eating. You know how to take care of your personal hygiene. I’d say, along with the other symptoms you’re presenting, it’s possible your memory condition is temporary.”

“It’ll come back?” Maya said, her voice going up. “All of it? When?”

“It could be days, weeks, perhaps more,” Dr. Soares said. “And I’m afraid it’s impossible to say if everything will return. There are signs of concussion, more than likely from the blow to your head, but there’s no bleeding in your brain.”

“But it won’t stay like this,” I said. “Thank Christ.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet, Ash,” Dr. Soares said. “The mind can be a tricky thing, and I need to caution you about false memories caused by confabulation.”

“Confabu...what?” I said.