He had left, telling me I needed to rest, though we could both tell he was the one who was exhausted. Now he’s back and I’m pleasantly surprised that I both remember his name and feel almost happy to see him. He has brought me a change of clothes. Black yoga pants, an oversize cable-knit sweater the color of cinnamon. The clothes don’t appear instantly recognizable to me. And yet, when I hold them to my nose and inhale . . . A flash of memory. I am curled up on a chocolate-brown leather sofa. A book is in my hands, a cup of tea on the glass coffee table near my feet. While across from me, Thomas sits in a matching chair, deeply engrossed in the morning crossword puzzle. I’m suddenly hungry for oatmeal, but I don’t know if that makes any sense. Dr. Celik appears in the doorway, carrying a brown paper bag. She glances at me absently, then focuses her attention on Thomas. They resume their low-voiced huddle across the room.
