I lie back on the pillow and blink up at the ceiling. Great. The last thing I need is more time on my sofa in my bathrobe, watching daytime television. I thought I was past that.

What’s next, Lord? What else do you have lined up for me? I’m chomping at the bit to find out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Despite the fact that I told my colleagues I didn’t want special treatment, Dr. Tremblay fast-tracks me into the sleep disorder clinic for overnight testing the following week. In the meantime, I’m not permitted to perform any surgeries, although I’m allowed to see patients in my office for diagnoses and follow-ups, and I continue to do rounds in the hospital.

While I wait to be tested, I research the heck out of my suspected condition and all the latest developments and treatments. My symptoms seem to grow worse, but I suspect that’s not truly the case. I’m simply more mindful of them now that I understand what’s wrong with me. When the fog enters my brain, I recognize it immediately, and I surrender to the urge to fall asleep, somewhere safe and appropriate for a nap.

On Sunday, after Zack’s hockey practice, he and I take Winston and drive to Lunenburg for dinner with my mom. While Zack is helping her set the table, I disappear into the bedroom for a few minutes to make a phone call, because there’s someone who’s been on my mind and I’ve been channeling him even harder since being in town.

“Hi, Nathan? It’s Abbie. I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”

“Not at all,” he replies. “The girls are watching a movie. I’m glad you called. How are you?”

“I’m doing okay. I’m at my mom’s place right now.” I move to the window and look out at the backyard. “How have you been?”

“Great,” he replies. “Work is good. We’re heading into dental health month at the clinic, so that’s keeping me busy. Girls are doing well. Marie just got a part in the school play this week.”

“That’s wonderful. What’s the play?”

“It’s a kid’s version of Macbeth. She’s playing the nurse.”

“How exciting.”

“Yes, it’s going to be fun. What’s up with you?”

I sit down on the edge of the bed and inch back against the pillows. “Funny you should ask. A lot’s happened, actually, since the last time we spoke, and that’s kind of why I’m calling. Remember when I told you about the dreams I was having, and you suggested I see my doctor?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, I made an appointment, but before I could get there, I passed out during a surgery.”

“Oh no. Are you okay?”

I pause and run my finger along the braided trim on the comforter. “Not exactly. On the upside, the surgical patient is doing fine, thank goodness, but it turns out that I might have narcolepsy.”

“Narcolepsy.” Nathan whistles. “Isn’t that where you can fall asleep unexpectedly? Even if you’re standing up?”

“That’s about the gist of it.” I cross my legs at the ankles. “I’m going for tests next week, but I’m pretty sure that’s what’s wrong with me. I thought you might like to know.”

He lets out a breath. “Gosh, Abbie, I’m really sorry to hear that. What kind of tests will they be doing?”

“It’s an overnight clinic where they’ll attach electrodes to my head and take measurements of brain activity while I’m sleeping. But the worst part is that I can’t perform any surgeries until we get this figured out. It’s too risky. So I’m just puttering around in my office at work. Not the best scenario right now, when I would prefer to be busy.”

“I totally get that.”

We’re quiet for a moment.

“But enough about me. How’s everything else? You said Marie’s in the school play. How about Jen?”

He laughs. “Oh gosh . . . let me just say that last night was not fun for me as a parent.”

“Why? What happened?” I glance at the clock and wonder if Zack is missing me yet and if he’s going to knock on the door anytime soon. I hope not, because I really want to hear about Nathan’s night.

“Jen had a friend sleep over,” he explains. “This is a new friend who moved to town recently, and she struck me as a bit rebellious. But anyway, they were watching movies in the basement, and I stayed up until about midnight just to make sure they were settled, but after I turned out the light to go to sleep, it seemed too quiet down there. And I can’t explain it, but I had a bad feeling because of a few looks they exchanged—like they were planning something.”

“This sounds bad.”

“It was. Although I suppose it could’ve been much worse. Anyway, I went to check on them at about one a.m., and the lights were out in the basement, as if they were sound asleep. But get this—those two little rascals had piled pillows under the blankets on the sofa bed and snuck out the back door.”

“Oh my gosh! What did you do?”

“Well . . . first I thought I was going to have a coronary. I was ripping mad but also terrified because I didn’t know where they were or what they were up to. Then I called Jen’s cell phone, and surprisingly, she answered. Sounded pretty nervous, though. I don’t think she expected me to get up and check on them.”

“Where was she?”

“Just down the road at the playground,” he tells me. “Perfectly safe. They thought it would be fun to go hang out there in the middle of the night without anyone knowing.”

“What did you do next?”

“I ran out to get them, of course. I brought them home, and we had a serious talk about how dangerous that was. Then I said the sleepover was over, and I drove her friend home and had to explain to the girl’s parents what happened. Not a fun moment. They were pretty good about it, but they grounded her, and she went to bed in tears. Then I took Jen home and banned sleepovers for a while. She feels pretty bad. I can tell. She’s normally such a good kid. She’s not the type to break rules, and she doesn’t like disappointing me. She apologized about a dozen times today.”

“That’s good, at least. Oh, Nathan. That’s rough.”

“Yeah. So there we have it. What a weekend. I can hardly wait for the teen years. More of this to come, no doubt.”

I push a lock of hair behind my ear, remembering what it was like with Zack. Of course, I wasn’t a single parent back then. I feel for Nathan, heading into that territory on his own.

“I won’t lie,” I say. “It’s not easy. You just have to do your best to love them through it.”

“Love them through it. I’ll try to remember that.”

The conversation soon meanders into the subject of kids with cell phones and how to manage that particular hornet’s nest.

I jump when a knock sounds at the bedroom door. I whisper to Nathan, “Just hold on a second.” Then I cup my hand over the mouthpiece and call out, “Yes? Come in!”

Zack opens the door and peers in at me. “I thought you were asleep.”

“No, I’m just talking on the phone,” I explain.

“Okay.”

He watches me for a few seconds, as if he wants to ask who I’m talking to.

I pray that he won’t ask that question, which makes me squirm inwardly, as if I’m doing something wrong by sneaking into the bedroom to call Nathan about something personal.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Zack finally says. “You should come out to the kitchen.”

“Sure,” I say with some relief that he’s not going to interrogate me. “I’ll be right there.”

He shuts the door, and I try to shake off my unease before I return my attention to Nathan. “I’m sorry. I have to get going. It was good talking to you, though.”

“It was good talking to you too, Abbie. I’m glad you called. Have a nice visit tonight.”

“I will.”

I quickly end the call and go take a seat at the kitchen table, where I ponder the fact that I felt like I had something to hide when Zack caught me on the phone with Nathan just now. I tell myself there’s no need to feel guilty. We’re just friends. But I’m not sure Zack would understand that. I’m not even sure I understand it myself. It makes me think about how Alan behaved over the past few years. How he kept so much hidden from me. I can see now how it was possible, and I don’t like how that makes me feel.

The following week, I report to the sleep lab for my overnight analysis. Electrodes are attached to my head and body to measure things like heart and respiratory rates, electrical activity in my brain, and nerve activity in my muscles. The tests reveal exactly what we suspected: significant abnormalities in my sleep cycle, with REM occurring at inappropriate times.

Upon my next meeting with Dr. Tremblay, he shares the results with me. He is somber as he explains that I am indeed afflicted with narcolepsy.

Seated in a chair on the opposite side of his large desk, I take a moment to digest this news. I close my eyes, rub at my temples, and can think of only one thing, which I say out loud.

“I want to kill my husband right now, but unfortunately for me, I can’t because he’s already dead.”

Dr. Tremblay says nothing, and I realize it was a harsh statement and he’s probably shocked. But I don’t care because I’m mad as hell. And he doesn’t know the half of it.

I let my hands drop to my lap and clasp them together. “I suppose we should start talking about treatments.”

He agrees and launches into a long description of all the medications available, what they can do to help improve my symptoms, and what side effects I can expect.

He also informs me that I should stop driving until we get everything under control, because statistically, people with untreated narcoleptic symptoms are ten times more likely to get into an accident. He assures me that it’s only temporary, because once we find the right balance of medications, I’ll be as safe and capable as anyone else on the road—outside of philandering husbands who are lying to their wives and driving drunk, of course.