The Forgetting (25 page)

Every year for as long as I could remember, my father brought me to his office on Take Your Daughter to Work Day. When I was little, he'd let me color or read or do puzzles on his office floor. As I got older, though, he'd let me audit classes, listening to lectures on great literature, Renaissance painters, or neurology.

A couple of years ago, he'd taken me to the lecture of a visiting philosopher who had opened the dialogue with one simple question. “When are you happiest?”

Later, after the lecture, over lobsters at Legal Seafood, my dad had asked me the same question. “When are you happiest, Georgie?”

And I answered without hesitation. “Any time I'm holding my oboe.”

The moment the adrenaline shot through my veins, I knew my happiest was gone. I didn't need to be reminded that I'd forgotten it. I knew, to the marrow of my bones and the bottom of my soul, that it was lost. If you were to place an oboe in my hands at that very moment, I would not remember how to play it.

•
• •

“Georgie. Georgie!”

I swam to the surface, pulled by Nate's voice. It was the only lifeline I had left. My eyelids fluttered open. “I know—”

“How could you do that?”

Nate's face came into sharp focus. His eyes flashed, his skin mottled red and white. He cradled me in his arms, but I could feel the tension in his body. I breathed deeply and slowly as the adrenaline worked its way through me. Somewhere inside me, a deep well of grief for what I had just lost threatened to bubble over. I shoved it down; I didn't have time to mourn.

Nate reached into his pocket. “I'm calling an ambulance.”

“No.”

“The instructions say seek immediate medical attention. I'm calling—“

“No,” I managed again. The effort of talking ached. “I had to.”

“You had to? You
had
to put your life in danger?” Now that things were clearer, I saw pinpricks of tears at the corner of his eyes. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“It was…a trigger.” I struggled to sit up. Nate didn't help. His breath was very short, in and out of his nostrils. “She needed me…to be…close to death…like she was…that night.”

“No.” Nate pulled himself away from me and sat straight-backed against the stairs. It was only then that I realized we were in his hallway, just outside his apartment. The light from the chandelier winked above us. “She did not need you to do anything. You did not need to put your life at risk.”

“How is this…any different than…the Warehouse?”

“You didn't know what we would find in the Warehouse,” Nate snapped. “This is completely different. You willingly ate something you knew could kill you.” His lips were so white that they almost disappeared into the rest of his face. “Do you have any idea what that was like? Holding your life in my hands?”

“I'm so sorry… I–I didn't think of that.” I reached out to touch him but he swatted my hand away, hard.

“You should have!” His voice bounced off the walls. “This isn't just about you, Georgie! I'm involved too!”

“I know that—”

“No, I don't think you do.” He dropped his volume, low but razor sharp. “You think you're the only one affected by this. You think you're the only one whose life is on the line. Well, you're not.” He shifted up a stair and pressed his hands over his face. “Every girl I have ever loved has been broken by this world. Sarah. Annabel.” He peered at me through his fingers. “
You
.”

“I have not been broken—”

“Georgie, I was holding you in my arms and you weren't breathing and I couldn't get a pulse—”

“That was the memory, not the allergy,” I cried. “I was in Annabel's memory…unconscious…”

“But I didn't know that!” Nate yelled. “All I knew was that you were dead in my arms and I was responsible!”

“You weren't—”

“And all I could think,” Nate said over me, “was
God
, I've failed this heart twice.”

I looked at the floor. “I'm sorry. But I had to. I thought—”

“You
didn't think
, period!”

He was right, of course. I'd stopped thinking that morning, letting the heart move me from point to point to point. I lifted my gaze to him, but he wouldn't look at me. He stared at the wall over my head, his chest heaving. I knew he had every right to be mad, but I couldn't wait for forgiveness. “I need my phone,” I said, looking around. “Where's my bag?”

Finally, he looked at me. Without taking his eyes off me, he reached behind him and pulled my bag into his lap. I held my hand out for it. He dug into the front pocket and drew out my phone. I scrambled up to my knees to grab it. He stood up so fast that I fell forward onto my elbows.

“Don't call an ambulance!” But by the time I got to him, he had already dialed.

“Liv? Hi, it's Nate.” I breathed out. It was just my mom he'd called. “Yes, she's with me.” He climbed higher and higher up the staircase. My legs quivered, betraying me as I tried to catch him. “Georgie had an allergic reaction. She's fine. I used her EpiPen. I'm sending her home in a cab. If she's not there in fifteen minutes, call me.” He gave my mother his number and hung up.

“Why the hell did you do that?” I shouted. I grabbed the railing and hauled myself upright. “We do not have time for this!”

He threw the phone at my feet. It bounced off the thick carpet and landed a few stairs below. “You're done. I'll take it from here. You're done risking your life for this.”

“I don't have a choice!” I climbed up to the step just below him and hit him hard in the chest. He flinched but didn't move. “Do you have any idea how much I've lost?” My voice cracked as I thought of my oboe, sitting forlornly in its corner at home. “What I need to get back? I thought you understood that!”

Nate leveled his gaze at me. “I do. But I can't lose this heart again. I thought
you
understood
that
.”

He pushed past me on the stairs and picked up my phone. I listened to him call Manny to pick me up. At least he wasn't calling an ambulance. My body was still shaking, but whether it was from the allergy or the adrenaline or the memory, I didn't know. It could've been all three, jumbled up inside me. We didn't speak as we waited for the cab or as he put me into it once it pulled up to the curb. “Are you coming with me?”

“I'm too mad to even look at you right now,” he snapped. “Take her home,” he told Manny and slammed the door.

I watched him walk back to the house, his shoulders slumping more and more with each step he took. I knew the toll this was taking on him, because I was paying the same toll.

But as Manny turned the corner, I tore myself away from the window. My body might be jumbled, but my mind was not. “Change of plans,” I said.

In the rearview mirror, Manny raised his eyebrow. I tightened my jaw. Nate was wrong. I wasn't done. And he couldn't take it from here because I knew something he didn't.

The identity of Annabel's killer.

As the cab careened through winding streets, I dug into my bag and pulled out the little card I'd shoved into the front pocket all those days ago. My fingers shook as I dialed. There was a gaping hole in my heart for what I had just lost, and I didn't know which was worse, the oboe or Nate. I now had nothing to anchor me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. That wasn't true.

I had myself.

The phone on the other end rang and rang.
Please be there
, I begged silently. At last, on the sixth ring, she answered. “Detective Russell.”

“It's Georgie Kendrick,” I said. “I have more information for you.” I told her everything I knew and where to meet me.

“We're on our way. Stay in the car, Georgie,” she warned me. “These people are dangerous.”

“Okay,” I said, knowing as the word left my mouth that it was a lie. There was only one person who could finish this, and that was me. No one else had the stake in this that I did.

I hung up with Detective Russell just as Manny screeched to a halt in front of the graceful brownstone. I rocketed out of the backseat. The cops would be here soon, but it was just me and Annabel now, the way it had started.

At the top of the stoop, I saw that the front door stood wide open, almost like Annabel's killer was waiting for me. My heart ricocheted off my ribs, and I pushed up the stairs. By the second landing, pain wrapped my chest but I pressed upward one more flight. I slammed to a halt in front of apartment number three and knocked.

The lock clicked. The knob turned. The door swung open. I stared into the last face Annabel had ever seen. “It…was…you,” I gasped.

Michelle's eyes widened. She tried to slam the door, but I caught it against my palm and forced my way in. “What…are you doing here, Georgie?” she asked, her voice high and forced.

“You killed her. You killed Anna Isabel Leeland.”

Michelle froze. Late-morning light lengthened her shadow across the floor, elongating her figure. “How—how do you know her name?” she whispered.

“You tried to make her a Jane Doe,” I said, “but she didn't stay dead.”

“She was going to turn my father in.” Michelle's voice tremored like a million little earthquakes. “She was going to take him away from me.”

“Do you have any idea what your father is doing?” I stepped further into the apartment and Michelle backed up. I saw her glance at a desk behind her. “Do you know how many lives he's ruined?”

“What about my life?” Michelle edged backward. “My dad is all I have. He's struggled my whole life to give me anything I wanted. That's all he was doing. He did it to pay my tuition…so I could go to school and have a future.”

“And all Anna wanted was to help those girls,” I said. We were dancing a strange waltz, me stepping forward and her stepping back. “She didn't mean for you to get hurt.”

“She didn't care!” Michelle yelled. “She kept saying that I was collateral damage, that there were thousands of girls who would be saved.” Her face was hard. “What good is that to me? If my dad goes to jail, I'll have nothing. I'll have no one.”

And
no
one
understood
that
better
than
Annabel
. I felt her pain in my heart, a deep ache of understanding. She knew better than anyone what it was to be alone in the world.

“I couldn't let her,” Michelle said. “I couldn't let her take him away from me.” She took another step back. “And I can't let you either.” She was right up against the desk now. Her hands fumbled with the drawer.

My heart registered the black steel in her hands before my eyes did. I stilled, the barrel of the gun the center of my universe. Nothing else existed. “Michelle. The police are on their way here. I've already told them everything.” My lips moved but it sounded like someone else's voice. “If you hurt me, you'll have a lot more to answer for.”

Michelle's hands were rock solid, holding the gun steady at my head. “You have no idea what I'm capable of, Georgie.”

I felt Annabel's memory again, her desperation to live, her struggle to fend Michelle off. But Michelle's desperation was stronger, her need greater, her hands pushing pushing pushing until Annabel was gone… “I do, actually,” I said. “I know exactly what you're capable of.”

“How can you possibly?” Down the endless barrel of the gun, Michelle's eyes were pointed and sharp. “You've never had to fight for anything in your whole life, Georgie. You've always had everything handed to you. I've had to claw my way to where I am, over the trust fund babies at Hillcoate—”

“And that gives you an excuse to kill?” Anger bubbled over my fear. “God, you knew, didn't you? You knew what your dad was doing and you let it go because you think you're better than those girls. Who cares if some fourteen-year-old gets raped, as long as you get your tuition paid, right?”

“Shut up!” The gun wavered, just a fraction. I stepped back but she followed, the gun still level with my face. “I didn't know. Not until she made the report. I was at the station, dropping something off for my dad. We overheard her…and I could tell from his face that she was telling the truth…”

“And he went off to warn Jules,” I murmured. “And you went after her, to Emiline Way.”

“I didn't go there to kill her.” Michelle swallowed hard. I shifted oh-so-slowly so that my back was to the front door. Where the hell were the cops? How long ago had I called them? Ten minutes? An hour? Time had ceased to exist.

“I just went there to talk to her,” Michelle went on. “To stop her. But she wouldn't give in… I pushed her and she fought back and…and…she went over the balcony.” Her eyes slid between sharp and soft. “It happened so fast. I didn't know what to do so I called my dad and he told me to leave her, to take her identification and make her a Jane Doe…” She snapped her gaze back to me. “If she'd just given in…if she hadn't fought back…”

“She was fighting for her life.” The Catch flowed through me, and every emotion that Annabel had felt in those last moments flooded my veins. “She had just as much right to live as you did.” I breathed short and shallow. “You treated her exactly the way you think you've been treated by me. You treated her as less-than.”

“She
was
less-than!” Michelle's face contorted into an ugly mask. She tilted her head and leveled the gun at my nose. “Why do you—”

She broke off. We heard it in the same moment, footsteps in the hall, pounding up the stairs. Michelle narrowed her eyes at me. I leaped backward and collided with the door frame at the same moment that she lunged forward. The gun fired, a deafening, ear-splitting blast that made us both shriek. The bullet ricocheted off the opposite wall. I flung my arms over my head and crouched down. Michelle stood over me, her eyes wild, the gun still clutched in her white-knuckled grasp.

The footsteps came closer. I peeked through my arms. My heart knew who it was before he appeared. “It's over,” Nate said when he reached the landing. Michelle whirled around to face him. “I saw the cops coming down the street when I got here.”

I pushed myself up the wall to my feet. “Michelle, don't make it worse for yourself. Just give me the gun. I know it was an accident, that you didn't mean to kill Anna.” Nate's intake of breath was audible from where I stood. I'd forgotten that he didn't have the whole story. Michelle and I were the only ones who knew what had happened on the balcony that night. I stretched my hand out to Michelle. “Give yourself up now and it will be easier.”

She looked back and forth between me and Nate, the gun moving with her body as she turned. It was so close to my face that the acrid smoke from the shot singed my nostrils.

“What about my dad?” Michelle found my eyes with hers, and the fire in them almost burned me. “Do you really think they'll go easy on him?” I couldn't see anything but her forefinger, resting against the trigger. “He did it all for me.” Her voice rose into a keen. “I won't betray him.”

“He's already betrayed you by making you a part of this,” Nate said.

“No.” She shook her head. Her cheeks were splotchy with tears and sweat. “No. I won't let this happen. Not because of some fucking whore that no one gives a shit about.”

The Catch slowed my heartbeat. In one instant, I thought of all the people who did care about Annabel, all the people whose lives she had touched. Tommy. Kitty. The homeless woman around the corner from All Saints. Nate.
Me
. “I do. I give a shit about her.”

She turned and faced me fully. The hallway, Nate, the world all dropped away. “Why? Why the hell do you care about some dead hooker?”

I reached out and grasped the gun, my hand over hers. I pulled her to me so that the barrel pressed right into my chest, right against my heart. “Because she saved my life,” I said. “Because if you hadn't killed her, I would've died.”

I only had time to see Michelle's eyes spill over, and then she was on the floor, crumpled in a heap. The gun dropped from her fingers. I kicked it away and knelt beside her. “So in a way,” I said, low so that only she could hear, “I owe you my life too.”

Michelle stared at me, her face a question. I wanted to tell her that part of me understood, that what she'd done had been out of love for her father, that there were no winners here. But I couldn't make myself say the words, because in the end what she had done was unforgivable.

From three floors below, doors banged open and voices filled the hall. Police officers swarmed up the stairs, led by Detective Russell. She walked over to Michelle and squatted down beside us. “Your dad's in custody,” she said, gentle and low like she was comforting a scared kitten. “He tried to protect you, but we knew what had really happened.” She put her hand on Michelle's shoulder. Michelle flinched and curled into herself. “You need to come with us now.”

One of the officers came over and helped Michelle to her feet before handcuffing her. He walked her downstairs, reading her rights as they descended. I watched them go, the air thick around me. When Russell touched my arm, I jumped.

“I thought I told you to stay in the car,” she said, her deep brown eyes flashing at me. “You could've gotten hurt.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “But I had to—see it through myself.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I get that,” she said. “I'd been tracking Detective Lowell ever since that girl—Anna—made that report,” she said. “But I'd been doing it on the sly because I knew I wouldn't get approval from the force. It wasn't until you called me this morning that I had solid evidence—and a witness—against him.” She glanced at Nate and back at me. “We went to the place you called the Warehouse. We found Jules there, along with enough evidence to bring down his whole operation.”

“The girls,” I said. “What about the girls?”

She smiled. “They're safe. Thanks to you.”

Something inside me broke open. I bent over, shaking with sobs, tears streaming down my face. I would have collapsed, but I felt strong arms come around me and hold me up. Nate. I twisted into him and buried my face in his neck. His hands stroked my hair, my back, my arms, his breath soft on my cheek.

“It's over now,” he whispered. “She can rest in peace.”

And I knew he was right, and that the thing I'd felt breaking inside me was Annabel, finally letting go of my heart. I'd done what she needed me to do, finished what she had started. I clung to Nate, my raft, my lifeboat, my anchor in this storm…my lifeline.

Russell led me to the living room couch. Another detective took Nate into Michelle's bedroom, and they wrote down our separate statements of what had happened. As I talked, I felt my body settle into itself, everything in its proper place. I hadn't been this comfortable in my own skin since before my surgery. When at last Russell had enough, I was breathing calmly.

Nate emerged from the other room and I stood up. “I'll be in touch,” Russell said to me.

“Anything you need,” I told her.

“Next time you leave this to the professionals,” she added.

“I hope there won't be a next time,” I said, and she smiled warmly at me. I followed Nate out of the apartment and down the stairs. More officers swept in with boxes and bags and other evidence-gathering equipment. When we reached the front stoop, a forensic team was on their way in. I watched them disappear into the building and dropped to the top step. The stone was cold beneath me but somehow it felt good. Real. Alive.

Nate sat down next to me. I knocked his knee with my own. “How did you know where I went?”

“Please. Like I trusted you to actually go home,” he said, knocking me back. “I got in a cab a minute after you left and followed you.” He swallowed. “I never even thought of Michelle.”

“Neither did I.” I hunched my shoulders. “But I guess people are capable of anything when they're backed into a corner.”

Another squad car pulled up to the curb. The passenger door popped open and an officer got out, waving over her shoulder at the driver. As the car rolled away, I saw a familiar figure in the backseat.

It was Jules.

He looked out the window at the same moment I recognized him. Our eyes met. He stared at me and I could almost see the wheels turning in his brain, a furious understanding that I was responsible for him being handcuffed in the backseat of a cop car. I lifted my chin and smiled at him. He turned away and slid down the seat, out of sight, a silent acknowledgment that Nate had been right, and his empire had crumbled. I exhaled long and slow.
The
girls
were
safe.

The officer jogged up the stairs. Nate and I squished into each other to let her pass. I stayed pressed into Nate even after the officer was out of sight. Nate took my hand and traced his thumb across my palm. “What did you lose to get the memory of her death?” he asked softly.