Twisted by Andrew E. Kaufman Page B

some giant lever, putting our turbulent world into reset. This amazing child finds forgiveness so easily, is so secure in his love.
    “It’s okay, Daddy,” he says, voice weakened by sleep. “It was just an accident, that’s all.”
    I run my hand over his head, watch him surrender to repose.
    And I smile—I can’t help it—because despite what I’ve been through tonight, despite everything, I still have him. Right at this moment, that seems like more than enough.
    I take an extra few seconds to enjoy the comfort of that feeling, then head for the door.
    “Daddy?”
    I turn back.
    “I want you to be okay now,” Devon says.
    I’m not sure whether he’s talking about the accident or my outburst downstairs, and I’m afraid to ask, so I simply say, “Me too, buddy . . . Me too.”
    He slips away again, the only sound now, his soft and easy breaths falling into a tranquil, sleepy rhythm.
    I move toward our bedroom, the weight of information overload heavy on my mind. So much happening, so much of it I don’t understand.
    I want you to be okay now.
    If only it were that easy.
    Just an accident.
    There have been a lot of those lately.
    Joining Jenna in bed, I wrap myself around her and take in her scent. The warmth of my wife’s body feels like a needed layer of comfort. She stirs, and in a whisper I say, “I’m sorry for tonight, sweetheart. I was wrong, and I’m . . . well . . . I’m just so sorry.”
    Moving into my arms, covering my hand with hers, she looks up at me. Through the dim light, I see forgiveness in her half-awake smile. I bury my head in her shoulder, feel her body flex and relax into the contour of my arm. I become one with her.
    And there you have it. Why each day, without fail, and with astounding strength, I find more reasons to love my wife in ways no words could come close to describing.
    I kiss her lips, and she reciprocates, and in this moment, we are again good. No, we’re better than good.
    We are amazing.

26
    Just a few feet into the hospital parking lot, something yanks at my nerves. At first, I’m unable to peg it, then I pull into my space and feel a peculiar sense of absence.
    I look out my window at more empty parking spots than I’ve ever seen before.
    Odd.
    At least for this time of day, it is. Thinking I’ve perhaps arrived a bit earlier than usual, I check my watch, but I’m actually a few minutes late.I peruse the lot once more, then get out of my car and hurry toward the building.
    Inside, I head directly for Adam’s office.
    “Got a minute?” I say, my steps unsteady as I enter.
    He looks up at me from the screen and abruptly closes a red folder on his desk. “Sure, pull up a seat.”
    Eyeing the folder, I lower myself to the chair and try to think for a moment before speaking.
    “I need your help,” I say.
    “Done. What’s up?”
    I drop my gaze, fuss with my hands, then look up at him. “I wasn’t going to involve you in this, but you’re the only person I can trust.”
    Adam’s lids flutter with one part apprehension, one part concern. He leans forward and gives me his full attention.
    “What we talked about yesterday—my edginess over the accident—it’s all true, but there’s a little more to this. I’ve got some concerns about my head injury. There have been other symptoms. I didn’t mention them yesterday, because they seemed to be going away, then last night . . .”
    Adam pulls back a few inches to study me. “What symptoms? And how serious?”
    I tell him about my sudden and furious outburst at dinner. I confess the reason for changing my hair, how my perception seems inexplicably distorted. I explain how my thoughts at times are confused. That I’m scared. But I play down the hallucinations, the distracting sounds, and flashes of light. The loss of time and the voice in my head. I don’t like hiding the truth from Adam. I trust him like a brother, but this isn’t just about protecting myself. While I know he’d keep things