Page 139 of Woman on the Verge

“Groggy.”

“They said you’ll feel the sedation effects for a day or so. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I feel like you’ve been through more. This all seems like a dream to me.”

“It seems like a dream to me too,” he says. “Or nightmare, rather.”

I shift, sit up straighter in bed, my back sore and creaky.

“You hungry?” he asks. “They came by with dinner, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

He juts his chin in the direction of the door, where my dinner tray is pushed up against the wall.

“Not particularly hungry,” I say. “Can I talk to the girls?”

“I told them you’d talk to them tomorrow. Probably best to wait until you’re a little more back to normal.”

“They’re okay, though?”

“Yes. They know you were in a car accident, but I didn’t give them details. I told them you’re okay and the doctors just want to keep you for a little while.”

They are too young to understand the seriousness of anything, and this is a blessing.

Kyle comes to the bed, sits on the edge of it, his hand on my leg.

“So I did what you asked,” he says. “I messaged this Elijah Baker. On LinkedIn.”

My heart starts thudding away.

“Did he respond? Is he okay?”

“Do you want to see?” he asks.

My hands are shaking as I take the phone from him. He has the LinkedIn message thread displayed, ready for me.

Kyle’s message:

Hello, Elijah. This may be the strangest message you ever receive. My wife is in the hospital after a car accident just outside Half Moon Bay yesterday. She said that you were in the passenger’s seat of her car and insisted I message you. Do you mind replying, even if it’s just to say this is crazy? Thank you.

Elijah’s message:

Hey man. Wow. That’s wild. I definitely was not in a car accident yesterday or anywhere near Half Moon Bay yesterday. I’m at a conference in Phoenix actually. It could be another Elijah Baker. Not me, man. Sorry.

I take a closer look at the photo. It is definitely my Elijah Baker. He’s trying to cover it up. He doesn’t want Kyle to know about us. But at least he’s okay, I guess.

“Happy?” Kyle says, peering over.

I shake my head. “He’s lying.”

“Nic, this is getting insane. He’s not lying. There was nobody in your car.”

I add a message to the thread:

Elijah, it’s me. Katrina. Kat. I told Kyle everything so you don’t have to pretend. He thinks I’m nuts. Just please confirm you’re okay. I don’t have my phone. You may be trying to text me. This is all a mess ...

Kyle looks at what I’m writing, then looks at me.

“Katrina?” he says.

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