notations on the forms, referenced the new name, then handed the clipboard to Duncan. “Go ahead and look over the paperwork and feel free to make any other corrections. Once you’re through, just go ahead and give it to the doc. And don’t forget to go by the front desk and give those folks the right info. They’ll want to know what insurance to bill, as well.” He stepped out of the “bay” and began pulling the curtain closed. “Constance Strickland is the ER doc on duty. She’s already checked Amy out. I’ll see if I can track her down for you.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said.
“Yes, do that,” Duncan urged.
The nurse drew the curtain closed, leaving them to their privacy.
Duncan shuffled through the papers, wanting to confirm for himself what the nurse had just told them.
Rachel leaned over and cooed into Amy’s ear. “Mommy’s here, baby. Everything’s all right now.”
Amy stirred restlessly but remained asleep.
“They’ve got everything wrong,” Duncan said, comparing documents. He was seething now. “Fucking incompetents. None of this is right. Christ! This is someone else’s information! The phone number’s all wrong, the address—” He stared at the address.
Rachel glanced back at Duncan with a look that said she was growing a little perturbed with his seemingly misguided concern.
“I wonder why she’s sleeping so hard,” she said. “Did they give her something, you think?”
“Hawthorne Avenue, Rock Bay,” Duncan said, more to himself.
“Uh-huh,” Rachel said, obviously not listening. She was craning over Amy, looking like she wanted desperately to grab her shoulders and shake her out of her stupor.
“Rock Bay,” he repeated, louder. “Little coastal town in Massachusetts. Your home town, my dear. You know, the one we were married in.”
She turned, giving him her full attention. “What?”
He showed her the papers. “Katherine Bently, 1402 Hawthorne Avenue, Rock Bay, Mass.” And as he spoke those words, heard his own voice say them, an ambiguous memory glittered in the deep darkness of his mind, like a lone firefly trying to illuminate a vast, starless night. It was so brief, so transitory that he barely noticed it before it was gone.
“Small world,” Rachel said.
Duncan, however, wasn’t ready to believe the world was that dinky.
*****
Doctor Constance Strickland was a tall woman, lanky, and had a face that Duncan instantly labeled a “Two-Hundred Yarder,” an old cop expression for homely women: not nauseatingly ugly, but definitely a few football fields away from ever gracing Vogue .
She entered ebulliently, so much so that Duncan wondered if she was writing her own prescriptions for amphetamines.
The doctor introduced herself, extending a hand to Duncan, then Rachel. “I understand that there’s been a mix-up with your daughter’s name?” She regarded them with subdued suspicion, as if they might be impostors.
“The paramedics apparently got her confused with another patient, or something like that,” Duncan said, bewilderment having tempered his anger.
Doctor Strickland took the clipboard from Duncan’s hand. “Strange,” she said. “I saw her when she first came in, and she clearly told me her name was Kathy Bently.”
Duncan lifted his eyes to the ceiling.
“Oh, you know,” Rachel offered suddenly, “I don’t know if this means anything, but Amy had an imaginary playmate by the name of Kathy for…well, a good while.”
Strickland didn’t seem concerned. “About how old was she when you stopped hearing about this playmate?”
Rachel looked at Duncan. “Oh, say four? Maybe five?”
Duncan had forgotten all about “Kathy” until just now. He thought a moment, needing to catch up with Rachel. He finally nodded. “Yeah, four or five.”
“Well,” Strickland said, “it may be coincidental, it may not. But I’ll make note of it.”
“Why is she sleeping so hard?” Rachel said. “I can’t seem to rouse
“Thank you,” Rachel said.
“Yes, do that,” Duncan urged.
The nurse drew the curtain closed, leaving them to their privacy.
Duncan shuffled through the papers, wanting to confirm for himself what the nurse had just told them.
Rachel leaned over and cooed into Amy’s ear. “Mommy’s here, baby. Everything’s all right now.”
Amy stirred restlessly but remained asleep.
“They’ve got everything wrong,” Duncan said, comparing documents. He was seething now. “Fucking incompetents. None of this is right. Christ! This is someone else’s information! The phone number’s all wrong, the address—” He stared at the address.
Rachel glanced back at Duncan with a look that said she was growing a little perturbed with his seemingly misguided concern.
“I wonder why she’s sleeping so hard,” she said. “Did they give her something, you think?”
“Hawthorne Avenue, Rock Bay,” Duncan said, more to himself.
“Uh-huh,” Rachel said, obviously not listening. She was craning over Amy, looking like she wanted desperately to grab her shoulders and shake her out of her stupor.
“Rock Bay,” he repeated, louder. “Little coastal town in Massachusetts. Your home town, my dear. You know, the one we were married in.”
She turned, giving him her full attention. “What?”
He showed her the papers. “Katherine Bently, 1402 Hawthorne Avenue, Rock Bay, Mass.” And as he spoke those words, heard his own voice say them, an ambiguous memory glittered in the deep darkness of his mind, like a lone firefly trying to illuminate a vast, starless night. It was so brief, so transitory that he barely noticed it before it was gone.
“Small world,” Rachel said.
Duncan, however, wasn’t ready to believe the world was that dinky.
*****
Doctor Constance Strickland was a tall woman, lanky, and had a face that Duncan instantly labeled a “Two-Hundred Yarder,” an old cop expression for homely women: not nauseatingly ugly, but definitely a few football fields away from ever gracing Vogue .
She entered ebulliently, so much so that Duncan wondered if she was writing her own prescriptions for amphetamines.
The doctor introduced herself, extending a hand to Duncan, then Rachel. “I understand that there’s been a mix-up with your daughter’s name?” She regarded them with subdued suspicion, as if they might be impostors.
“The paramedics apparently got her confused with another patient, or something like that,” Duncan said, bewilderment having tempered his anger.
Doctor Strickland took the clipboard from Duncan’s hand. “Strange,” she said. “I saw her when she first came in, and she clearly told me her name was Kathy Bently.”
Duncan lifted his eyes to the ceiling.
“Oh, you know,” Rachel offered suddenly, “I don’t know if this means anything, but Amy had an imaginary playmate by the name of Kathy for…well, a good while.”
Strickland didn’t seem concerned. “About how old was she when you stopped hearing about this playmate?”
Rachel looked at Duncan. “Oh, say four? Maybe five?”
Duncan had forgotten all about “Kathy” until just now. He thought a moment, needing to catch up with Rachel. He finally nodded. “Yeah, four or five.”
“Well,” Strickland said, “it may be coincidental, it may not. But I’ll make note of it.”
“Why is she sleeping so hard?” Rachel said. “I can’t seem to rouse
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