A Curve in the Road(37)

I smile at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay until you find someone. I’d never leave you in the lurch.”

He wipes the back of his hand across his forehead. “Phew.”

I laugh, and we chat for a few minutes. Then I return to my office to work on some files. Eventually, I feel an overwhelming urge to lay my head on the desk and close my eyes. Thankfully, it’s a good time of the day for it. I have a full hour before my next appointment, so I get up, close my door, lock it securely, and lie down on the sofa to take a quick power nap.

A short while later, I wake to the sound of a knock at the door. It’s my receptionist, Janine.

“Dr. MacIntyre, are you in there? Please answer. Your door’s been locked for two hours. Are you okay?”

Oh God, has it really been two hours? I missed my appointment?

I try to get up, but I can’t move, and this time, I know exactly what’s happening.

Janine knocks again. “Dr. MacIntyre?”

I want to answer her, but I can’t even lift my hand off the leather sofa or open my eyes or call out. All I can do is lie there like a corpse, listening to the sound of her rapid knocking on the door.

Her voice grows more panicked. “Dr. MacIntyre! Are you in there? I know you are. Please answer me, or I’m going to get security to open the door.”

Please don’t do that. Just give me a minute or two. The paralysis will pass soon . . .

But it doesn’t pass, despite my intense efforts to push my eyes open and roll off the sofa.

I hear keys jingling and Janine talking to someone, and I prepare myself for the security guard to walk in and find me drooling on the sofa cushions.

The lock clicks, the door opens, but it’s not the security guard. It’s Troy—the young firefighter who rescued me from my vehicle on the night of the accident and later found Winston in the ice storm. He’s wearing heavy gear and carrying the Jaws of Life. Despite my embarrassment, I’m overjoyed to see him because he saved my life and Winston’s too.

And that is the moment I know that I’m dreaming.

He kneels down beside the sofa. “Dr. MacIntyre, can you hear me? Just try to relax. You’re going to be fine.”

I want to tell him that I’m already fine. I know exactly what’s happening to me. It’s just narcolepsy.

He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “Don’t be afraid. We’re going to get you out of here. We’re just setting up the equipment. Can you hear me?” He presses his fingers to the pulse at my neck and says to Janine, “She’s alive. But barely. We just need to get her out of here.”

No! I’m fine! And you don’t need to get me out of here. Just wait a minute or two. I’ll be able to move soon.

And you’re not even here.

Two more firefighters come running into my office to operate the Jaws of Life. Troy tosses a heavy blanket over my head to protect me from flying glass and steel. I feel panic and fear.

The noise is deafening, and my heart is racing. Then it occurs to me that maybe I’m not here at all. Maybe I’m back in the wreck, and all of this agony in my life has been a nightmare, just like I imagined it was on the night Alan died. Maybe none of it’s real. Maybe I’m truly dying. Maybe I’m already dead. Is this the afterlife?

Please, don’t let it be that. I don’t want to die. I want to live.

Suddenly my strength returns, and I can move my fingers and toes but not the rest of me.

Am I stuck under the dashboard? Is that the weight that’s pressing down on my legs, or is it just the paralysis? Am I truly unconscious?

I draw in a quick breath and force my eyes open.

It’s bright.

The middle of the day.

I’m staring at the ceiling in my office.

The room is quiet and empty. The door is closed. Troy isn’t here, and Janine isn’t knocking at my door.

But my heart is pounding like a drum, and I can’t stop shaking as I try to sit up.

It was just a dream, Abbie. You’re not back in the ravine, trapped in your car. You’re not dying.

But it felt so real . . . the sound of the machines, Troy’s voice in my ear, the fear of death. I truly thought I was back there.

I wasn’t, thank heavens.

I survived the wreck, and I’m still here.

I’m here. I’m alive. And I’m so grateful for that.

Slowly, I sit up and try to work some strength back into my limbs. I rest my elbows on my knees and rake my fingers through my hair, shake my head to try and clear away the fog.

I glance at the clock on the wall, worried that I’ve missed my appointment, but evidently I’ve been asleep for less than twenty minutes, not two hours, although it feels like ages.

My body is heavy as lead, but I manage to drag myself off the sofa and move to my desk to send Dr. Tremblay an email. I want to tell him about this latest hypnagogic hallucination.

He responds immediately to let me know that it’s unlikely I’ll ever be completely free of hallucinations during my daytime naps, but the sedative at night should at least allow me to get the sleep I require and lend some normalcy to my life.

Life.

Normalcy.

By some miracle, I survived the accident, and I have my entire future still ahead of me. I didn’t die that night, like Alan did. How lucky I was! I feel so happy and relieved I’m completely breathless.

Leaning back in my chair, I cover my face with my hands and begin to weep. These are tears of joy and gratitude—passionate tears that flow like a waterfall down my cheeks as I laugh and cry at the same time. I feel an exhilaration I never imagined I would ever feel again. I am positively euphoric, and I can’t believe how lucky I am to be alive. I feel reborn. Who ever knew that my narcolepsy could turn out to be such an unexpected gift?

The exhilaration continues into the night. I feel euphoric again when Zack skates past the center line and passes the puck to a teammate, who scores a fast goal. I cheer and clap with my mittens on, jumping up from my seat in the bleachers while the game horns blare and the other hockey parents cheer alongside me. Maureen and I high-five Gwen and Kate and shout over the boards, “Way to go, Citadel!” Rock music shakes the arena while the players congratulate each other, and the referees give the signal to start another play.

The game ends with a score of three to two, with Zack’s team coming out on top, and I feel lighthearted as I exit the arena with Zack beside me, hauling his giant equipment bag over his shoulder. I’ll definitely miss the excitement of these games when he goes off to college in the fall, but he plans to try out for the team at Western, so it’s nice to know there may be more hockey in our future. But even if there isn’t, I’m happy today.

Later that night, as I settle into bed, I scroll through messages on my phone and feel an urge to text Nathan, just to tell him about the game. Nothing more.

Hey there. Just got home from the rink. Zack’s team won and they’re going on to the finals. A good day!

Nathan responds a few seconds later. That’s great! Cheers to more good days ahead. And I’d love to see him play sometime.

Suddenly, there’s a disturbance in me, because I can’t imagine inviting Nathan to one of Zack’s hockey games. How could I introduce him to the other hockey parents who sat in chilly arenas beside Alan and me for years? What would they think of that, so soon after Alan’s death?

And how would I explain to Zack why Winston’s veterinarian—who just so happens to be a very handsome man—is sitting in Alan’s place, watching and cheering?

I don’t respond to the text. Later that night, I toss and turn in bed. I flip from side to side, thinking about my friendship with Nathan and wishing I could be a normal grieving widow who wouldn’t feel the confusing desire to send personal text messages to a man she barely knows and reveal intimate details about her marriage. And then feel guilty about it.

Why can’t I just be the kind of widow who idolizes her late husband and believes he was the best man in the world? But I’m not that kind of widow because that’s not the hand I’ve been dealt. I’m still angry with Alan, and if anything, I wish he were still here, if only so that I could tear a strip off him, tell him how badly he hurt me, and then kick him out of the house. Or at the very least banish him to the sofa until he comes groveling and begging for my forgiveness, telling me he made a terrible mistake with Paula and it’s over forever. Then I may or may not take him back.

But I probably would, because despite everything, I still love him, and I would do anything to have our life back.

The following day, I stare at my phone on my desk at work, and I can’t stop thinking about Nathan’s message: I’d love to see him play sometime.

That simply can’t happen. Not now. I’m doing well, so much better lately, but I’m not ready to bring another man into my life, even as a friend, because I need to respect these stages of grief. I need to get through it all, not just for my own sake but for Zack’s and for everyone else who loved Alan.

With a sigh, I pick up my phone and begin to type a long-winded message to Nathan:

Hi again. I have something to say, and I’m not sure how to say it. But first I want to thank you for being so kind to me, and especially for saving Winston’s life. You’ve become someone who lifts my spirits during the darkest moments, and I am grateful that you’ve been a part of my life these past few months. But I’m going to be honest. I have to confess that I feel uncomfortable with how much I like you. Sometimes I feel uneasy when we text each other because you make me feel happy, and that makes me feel guilty, because it’s only been a few months since I said goodbye to Alan, and I shouldn’t be feeling happy and excited when my phone chimes with a text message from a man I can’t help but care for. Is this making any sense? I guess you can probably tell that I’m still an emotional disaster, and I don’t want to screw up my friendship with you. I’m afraid that I will—that in a moment of weakness or insecurity or loneliness, I’ll cross a line and do something, or say something, that I’m not ready to do or say. I’m also terrified that Zack will see our messages and get the wrong idea. I need to think of him and put him first, so I can’t be forming friendships—however innocent they may be—with handsome new men. Zack wouldn’t understand it. And he’s leaving in the fall, so I don’t want to do anything that might cause upheaval in our relationship, or arguments during our last few months together. I want to help him get over the loss of his father, not create heartache or confusion for him. This is hard, because I like you so much and I enjoy talking to you. You’re like my secret happy place. But I have to think of Zack. I hope this is making sense and you don’t hate me.