Noah looked at me.
I stayed near the wall.
“You can ask him to leave,” she said.
His gaze moved back to her.
After a long pause, he shook his head.
Relief left me dizzy.
Leah sat on one side of the bed. I took the chair near the window, far enough away that Noah would not feel surrounded.
“Can you tell me your full name?” Dr. Whitcomb asked.
“Noah James Bennett.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital.”
“Which city?”
He hesitated. “Denver.”
“You’re in Greyhaven, Oregon.”
His mouth tightened.
“What year is it?”
He gave the year he believed it to be.
Dr. Whitcomb placed a laminated calendar on the table.
Noah read the date.
His face lost color beneath the bruises.
“That’s wrong.”
“The calendar is current.”
“No.”
“What feels wrong about it?”
“All of it.”
Leah shifted, but Dr. Whitcomb gave her a small signal to wait.
“How old do you believe you are?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“You are thirty-three.”
Noah stared at the calendar.
