Page 83 of See You Next Tuesday

“How are you feeling?” Dr. Cheng eyed Anya as they stood on the ferry deck, watching the sun dip below the mountains.

“Fine, really,” Anya said for what felt like the millionth time. “Just tired.”

“Hmm.” Dr. Cheng sounded skeptical. “You’ll sleep in my guest room tonight. I want to keep an eye on you.”

Dr. Cheng’s late wife, Lois, was an artist, so their home was strewn with handmade bowls and candlesticks, the walls all covered in paintings—tiny watercolors of wildflowers, giant oils of crashing waves. The guest cabin had been Lois’s studio, so it was open and bohemian, full of light. The main house was cozier, with woven blankets and rogue dog toys everywhere. The hounds were overjoyed to see Anya, as always. No matter whether she’d been gone five minutes or a day, they always seemed to find it equally miraculous that she’d returned.

“Hey, guys.” Anya crouched down, and they bounded over to lick her face.

“No jumping!” Dr. Cheng admonished. “Anya had a hard day.”

The hounds looked at Anya seriously, seeming to understand, and proceeded with gentle sniffs and kisses. Dr. Cheng made Anya eat another slice of the pizza Gabe had sent and drink two full glasses of water before she allowed her to retire to the guest room, which was barely bigger than the full-sized bed inside it. It had been hours since Anya’s fall, and she’d exhibited no signs of a concussion, so there was little reason to worry. She was happy to be down the hall from Dr. Cheng all the same—even if the feeling of being looked after did squeeze her heart in slightly the wrong way.

As she crawled into bed, she tried not to think about the hospital—the beeping sounds, the antiseptic smells. She pushed open the window next to the bed; it was chilly outside, but that was okay. She focused on the scent of pines, the water lapping gently at the shore, and her own breath, in and out. Even the slight pain throbbing from the bruise on her right temple was good; it kept her in the here and now. She sank into the mattress, and her eyes felt heavy. When she woke up, it was already past ten, and the room was filled with sunlight. She could hear Dr. Cheng cooking downstairs, banging about with pots and pans and listening to the same oldies station she always had on the radio.

The house smelled incredible—like coffee and bacon—and Anya’s stomach gave a low growl. The bruise on her head still smarted, but otherwise she felt much better than the previous night; the long sleep had done her good. Anya pulled on a hoodie and padded downstairs, preparing for a barrage of questions from Dr. Cheng about every possible symptom she might have. The second she reached the hallway at the bottom of the stairwell, the dogs bounded over to her, noses wet, tails wagging.

“Good morning, angels.” Anya knelt down to greet them as usual.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Anya looked up sharply at the person standing in the kitchen doorway.

Gabe.

Chapter 13

Anya stood too quickly, and her lovely clearheaded feeling evaporated instantly; her mind felt cloudy and out of sorts. Bright sunshine streamed through a window behind Gabe, making him backlit and blurry. He looked different from the last time she saw him: His hair was shorter, darker, and his facial hair was grown out—more than stubble, but not quite a beard. He wore faded jeans with a brown T-shirt and an olive-green jacket. He was smiling, but he looked exhausted.

“I don’t understand.” Anya shook her head. “Where’s Dr. Cheng?”

“Groceries,” Gabe said. His smile faded into a look of concern, or maybe fear. “Anya, are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” She took a shaky step backward. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, like this couldn’t be happening. How was he here? Why was he here? The dogs sniffed rapidly, and their tails wagged too quickly, that frenetic motion between happiness and alarm.

“What is it?” Gabe stepped toward her, immediately worried. “Anya—”

“Just stop.” She put her hand up to keep him from coming closer. Her chest hurt. What was he doing here? “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Because you’re fine?” Gabe didn’t break eye contact. “You’re not fine.”

“I’m—”

But Anya didn’t know what she was, because she couldn’t breathe. She sat too hard on the bottom step, took in great gulps of air, but it didn’t feel like enough. Her lungs were burning. It struck her as almost funny, the thought that she might die from a bruise on her head and a man showing up in a kitchen.

“It’s okay,” he said, moving closer. “Let it out. This is what’s supposed to happen.”

“What do you mean?” she gasped. Was she hyperventilating? “None of this was supposed to happen! I wasn’t—and she wasn’t— It’s all wrong.”

Anya knew she wasn’t making sense. She felt so embarrassed, so out of control.

“It’s all wrong,” Gabe agreed, his voice gentle. “Yesterday was your first time in a hospital since last year, right? That’s why you passed out?”

Anya shook her head. “The heat—”

“And you didn’t eat, I know. But Sierra says you haven’t been eating all summer, and I’ve seen you canvass in Las Vegas in July. Don’t bullshit me, okay? You know I’ve been where you are. You know I know what really happened.”

Anya squeezed her eyes shut, like she was five years old and maybe if she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see what a pathetic mess she’d become. He knelt down and reached for her hand, but she jerked her arm back, the sudden movement startling the dogs.