The Forgetting (21 page)

“By the way, it's really mean to wave that coffee around when I can't have any,” I said. He grinned and sidled out into the hall.

I touched my forehead. My skin was warm but not hot, and I didn't feel chilled at all. I laid my hand on my heart. Its beat was strong and sure, even as the Catch rose up. As I listened, I realized that my heartbeat and the Catch were in harmony. They were like two musicians in a duet—remove one and the entire melody would fall apart. We were entwined now, forever. Maybe it was time to stop trying to figure out where she ended and I began and just accept the whole of who I was now.

Dr. Harrison confirmed what I already knew inside: the meds had worked and the transplant had not failed. She adjusted my daily medication and released me. Nate walked out with me and my parents. He gave my hand a squeeze before loading me into the car.

“I'll call you later,” he said.

I smiled at him as he stood aside for Mom. Just before she got in the car, she hugged him. Nate's eyes widened so much that I almost laughed out loud. He patted her shoulder.

“Come for dinner soon,” she said and ducked into the car.

I gave him a little shrug as we pulled away. He waved until we had turned the corner. Mom twisted in the front seat to look at me. “He's a nice young man, Georgie.”

“Um, thanks?” I sank down in the seat, my cheeks burning. As we drove home, I looked out the window at the world on the other side of the glass. Dr. Harrison said I should rest for at least a few days, but I hoped my parents didn't keep me cloistered in the house for too long. My world was now on the other side of that glass, where Annabel's was.

My mother kept me housebound for five days. She canceled all my lessons with Blount. She did allow Joel to come by, because the Juilliard audition was right around the corner. I went out of my mind with restlessness. The only good thing was that I had endless hours to practice. By Day Two, I had mastered that tricky spot in the Poulenc. By Day Four, I sounded better than the recording. I played for hours every day just to drown out the Catch, which was louder than ever, trying to get me back on the case. By Day Five, I was dying to do just that.

“Mom,” I whined at breakfast, “it's fifty degrees out today. I need fresh air.”

“I don't know, honey. Dr. Harrison said—”

“Dr. Harrison said a
few
days. It's been five. I'm going to lose it!” I took a deep breath. “Please.”

“Well…” Mom set her coffee cup down. “Where you thinking of going?”

“Um, Nate's?”

Her face brightened. “Oh, I guess that's okay.” He'd stopped by a couple of times during my incarceration and had been so charming that Mom had had no choice but to join Team Nate.

I'm free!
I texted Nate on my way upstairs after breakfast.

Finally! Meet me at All Saints after my shift.

That gave me enough time to practice. I closed my bedroom door and went straight to my music corner. I wanted to show Joel how much I'd improved at my next lesson. Juilliard was ten days away. I wanted my life back on track by then with all the plans I'd made still in place.

I played until my fingers ached. When I put the oboe away, I touched it gently, like there was a glass bubble around the instrument that I didn't want to break. That I didn't want Annabel and her world to break either.

The air outside tasted delicious when I left the house a little while later. Manny picked me up at the curb and drove me to All Saints. Nate wasn't there yet and the basement was practically empty so early in the afternoon. The only other person there was Tommy, who sat at the kitchen table doing her nails. She gave me a smile when I sat down. “You're welcome to it,” she said, nodding towards the bottle of glittery purple nail polish.

I looked at my plain fingers, which I'd always thought were a little stubby. “I could use a little glam,” I said and reached for the bottle.

“Couldn't we all?” Tommy lifted her hand and blew on her fingertips. “Have any more breakthroughs?”

I accidentally brushed my cuticle with the base coat. Tommy pushed a bottle of polish remover and a box of Q-tips across the table to me.

“What?” I asked.

“A breakthrough. You said you had one the last time I saw you here.”

“Oh right.” It seemed so long ago that I figured out Annabel had been a foster kid. I'd had so many revelations since that one. “Actually, yeah. Practically daily.”

Tommy grinned. “You sound like me a year ago.”

I finished with the base coat and waved my hands in the air to dry them. “What do you mean?”

“When I first started the program, I think I had an epiphany every other day.” She gave a small shrug. “Eventually the epiphanies just become part of your life. Like, every day there's something new to learn.”

“But—is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I wondered out loud. A pit weighed in my stomach. I learned something new every day too…but it was knowledge I didn't want.

Tommy scrunched her face up and thought about it for minute. “I don't know. I guess it just depends on what you do with the new information. You can choose to hate it or embrace it.”

I thought about all the nights I'd lain awake, angry at Annabel for stealing my memories. Where had that anger gotten me the next morning? Nowhere. “Maybe you're right.”

“Eh, what the hell do I know? I'm just trying to figure it out along with everyone else.” She laughed at herself, a deep sound that came right from her gut.

I reached for the polish. “Hey, let me see your hands,” Tommy said. Before I could say anything, she took my hands in her own. Instead of examining my nails, she peered at my palms.

“Huh.” She traced one of her purple nails from the base of my knuckles to my wrist. It tickled; a giggle escaped me. She glanced up. “Sorry, hon. I've just never seen a heartline like yours.”

My breath caught. “A what?”

“A heartline. See?” She held my palm up so I could see, and ran her finger along one of the grooves in my palm. “This is your heartline. Most people's come to about here.” She jabbed her fingertip lightly into the middle of my palm. “But yours keeps going. Not only that, but you have a break in it.”

I leaned in to see where she indicated. There was a tiny space near the top of my heartline, and then it continued on, all the way down to the base of my wrist. “What does that mean?”

“Major transformation,” she said. “Like a rebirth.”

A shiver ran through me.

“Anyway, I think that's what it is. I read a book about palmistry a few months ago, and ever since then, I can't stop looking at people's palms.” Tommy gave my hands a little shake. “It's amazing how different everyone's are,” she continued. “Like snowflakes.”

“Have you ever seen someone with a really short heartline?” I asked.

Tommy froze and her fingers went cold against mine. She looked up at me from under her eyelashes, which had grown wet.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Annabel's.”

An icy chill swept over me. “I'm sorry,” I said softly. “I shouldn't have asked.”

Tommy shook her head. She blinked fast and a tear escaped down her cheek. She brushed it away and looked out the window for a long time. A quiet stillness stretched between us. I finished painting my nails in the silence. When I laid my palms flat on the table, she looked back at me, her eyes bright but dry.

I didn't want to upset her, but there were so few people I could talk to about Annabel. “Do you mind if I ask you something? About Annabel?”

“Are you
trying
to ruin my mascara?”

“It's okay. We don't have to talk about her.”

“No.” Tommy rested her chin in her hand, her nails brilliant against her skin. “Talking about people who've died keeps them alive. Besides, you need stuff for your article, right? Ask me anything.”

Anything?
There was so much… I remembered the story Nate had told me about Annabel the first time I'd come to All Saints on my own. Even though I knew that story from Annabel's memories, I still loved hearing it from Nate's point of view. “Tell me about the last time you saw her.”

Tommy sat up straighter. “I remember it exactly. I think about it a lot. It was the middle of January. She came in here late, which was weird because she was usually out working at that time of night.”

“Why do you think she wasn't that night?” My brain was whirring and clicking. Middle of January was close to the time she had been killed.

Tommy shook her head. “I don't know. We don't ask those kinds of questions, you know? But she was upset about something. And I guess I figured that's why she wasn't out working, and I didn't want to pry.” Tommy's eyes looked sad. “I probably should've pried. But with Annabel, you just never knew how deep you could dig. She was touchy.”

“How did you know she was upset?”

Tommy raised her forefinger to her mouth and was about to bite it when she spotted her fresh polish and snatched it away. “She had this really strange expression on her face. Like freaking
Sophie's Choice
.”

“Like
what
?” In the files of Annabel's memories, this one was not there. I needed Tommy to remember it for me.

“You've never seen that movie?” I shook my head. “Oh, you really should. Meryl Streep won an Oscar for it. Anyway, the Nazis make Meryl—Sophie—choose which of her kids to send to the gas chamber. And she gets this look on her face. And that's the look Annabel had that night.”

I wanted to shake, to shudder, but I was frozen. “Why? Why did she look like that?”

Tommy's deep eyes narrowed. “Because I think she did have a Sophie's Choice to make. She's looking at me like that for a long time, and I'm just quiet, waiting for her to talk. Finally she asks, ‘What do you think is more important, your own life or the greater good?' And I said that depends. If you think you're gonna go on to do great things, then your own life. But if you think you're gonna spend the rest of your days turning tricks on the street, then the greater good.” Shadows darkened Tommy's face. “That's why I think about it all time. That was a really mean thing to say, given what she did.”

I reached across the table and touched her hand, careful of our fresh paint jobs. “Annabel didn't kill herself, Tommy. She was murdered.”

She stared at me, her face streaked with shock. “What? How—who?”

“I don't know, but I'm going to find out.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Did she say anything else after that?”

Tommy shook her head. “I couldn't get another word out of her. But her face—that expression went away. Like she knew what she had to do and she was okay with it.”

I swallowed, trying to digest this, trying to fit this piece with the parts of the puzzle I already had.

The basement door opened. Nate came in with a gust of wind behind him. “Hey,” he said when he saw me and Tommy. “It's my two favorite girls.”

“Oh stop it,” Tommy said. She pointed a long purple-polished finger at me. “You've got yourself a good one there.”

“Yeah, I know,” I murmured, my cheeks warm. I got up and met Nate halfway across the room. He caught me in his arms, tilted my head back with his hand, and gave me a long kiss. Behind us, Tommy whistled. I smiled against Nate's mouth, wanting to draw out the moment before I had to pull away, before the real world intruded.

When he finally drew back, Nate asked, “Are you up for a little walk?”

“Sure.” I tucked myself close to his side. “Where are we going?”

“Our strawberry friend hasn't shown up for the last few days,” Nate said. “I think we should go looking for her.”

“I think you're right,” I said. “She's the only connection we know of to the Warehouse.”

“We'll start at the halfway house I sent her to. It's not far from here. Bye, Tommy!” he called over his shoulder as we headed to the door.

I turned. “Thanks for the palm reading. And the conversation.”

Tommy waved her hand. “Anytime. And don't mess up your manicure!” she called after me just before the door closed behind us.

Nate looked down at me as we walked across the lawn. I wished I could live in the softness of his gaze. “Any more lost memories?”

I hunched my shoulders. “If there are, I wouldn't know I'd lost them. Would I?”

“I guess not.” He squeezed my hand. “We'll figure it out.”

By his side, with his warmth emanating through me, I truly believed we would. We were an army of two, and we would win. How could we not?

After walking for about ten minutes, Nate nudged me to a halt. “This is it.”

I looked up at the old Victorian. It had been painted a cheery yellow with red shutters. Nate and I climbed the steps and rang the bell. A middle-aged woman with long braids opened the door. “Nate! How nice to see you.” She gave him a hug. “How are things at All Saints?”

“Fine,” Nate said. “This is my friend, Georgie.”

“Lovely to meet you.” She hugged me too. She was all soft and squishy, like a well-loved teddy bear. “I'm Susan. Come on in.”

“Susan's a hugger,” Nate muttered to me as we followed her into the house. She jangled as she walked, and beneath her flowing skirt, I glimpsed ankle bracelets with little bells on them just above her clogs. She took us right back into the kitchen and poured two cups of dark tea without asking if we wanted any. When she handed me mine, I looked into it and sniffed.

“It's ginger root,” Susan said. “I make it myself.”

Of course she did. I took a sip. It tasted like a cozy cabin in wintertime, like the Christmas memory I had forgotten. I buried my face in its steam and took a long drink.

Susan smiled. “So. What brings you here?”

Nate set his mug down on the counter. “Wanted to know what happened to the girl I sent over here a couple of weeks ago. We haven't seen her since then.”

“Yeah, she was here.” Susan sighed. “A few days ago, I caught her shooting up in the bathroom.”

“Shit.” Nate gritted his teeth and leaned back against the counter. “Do you know where she went?”

Susan shook her head. I looked back and forth between her and Nate. “Wait—you just kicked her out? No second chance or anything?”

The corner of Susan's mouth turned up in a sad half-smile. “I had to. Our policy is one strike, you're out. I've learned that if you give second chances, addicts will take a third, fourth, fifth, and so on.” Her eyes rested on my face. “I don't enable here. They have to
want
help. She didn't.”

“But she could be in real trouble.”

“It's not Susan's fault,” Nate said to me. “She did what she could.”

Except
turn
her
out
on
the
street
again
, I wanted to say, but I kept my mouth shut. It was obvious that Susan was a caring person and knew a lot more about this than I did. But this girl was our one lead to the Warehouse, and now we had no idea where she was.

“Why are you looking for her?”

Nate glanced at me. “We think her pimp might be involved in something big. Trying to figure out what that is.”

Susan leaned her head back and took in a deep breath. “Nate, don't go poking around. Leave it to the authorities. If you know something, tell the police and let them handle it.”