The Forgetting

by Nicole Maggi

  • • •

  The next morning, I texted Ella to apologize. I didn’t expect to hear back right away; she was at school and Hillcoate had a strict no-cell-phone policy. That didn’t stop me from tapping my foot against my chair and glancing at my phone every other minute during Blowhard’s lesson.

  She still hadn’t texted back by her lunchtime, when I knew that she always sneaked a peek at her phone. Fine, I thought and went upstairs to grab Annabel’s file after Blowhard left. I texted Nate that I’d meet him at Starbucks instead of All Saints and headed out. I just wanted one of those delicious tea lattes, I told myself. It had nothing to do with what Ella had said last night.

  When I passed from the bitter cold sidewalk to the warm coffee shop, Nate emerged from the back. He’d taken off his green apron and was buttoning up a non-uniform shirt. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I nodded to the couch. “Can we sit for a minute?”

  “Sure. You want something?”

  “Can I get the same thing you made me last time?”

  “Sure.”

  I waited on the couch while he made the latte. A couple of teenage girls were hanging out at the table in the corner, but otherwise the place was empty. When Nate returned with my drink, I pulled my bag onto my lap and slid Anna’s file out. Without a word, I handed it to him. He flipped it open and his eyes went wide. “That’s Annabel,” he breathed. He scanned down the page and looked up at me. “How—where did you get this?”

  I shrugged. “I have my ways.”

  “Seriously, Georgie, this is a big deal.” There was shock in his tone but the expression on his face was impressed. A little squiggle of pleasure squirmed through me.

  “I wanted to know who she was,” I said. “For real. Not just her street name.”

  He sifted through the papers in the file for a few minutes, then lowered the folder to his lap. “You’re amazing,” he said, reaching for my hand.

  “No, I’m not,” I said, but I let him take my hand and stroke my palm. “I just need to know who she really was. For the article,” I added, but Nate raised his eyebrows.

  “It’s not just for the article, is it?”

  “What do you mean?” My heartbeat skittered.

  “You’re like me,” Nate said. “You have to get to the bottom of things. You can’t just leave it alone.”

  “No,” I murmured, and my heart returned to normal. “No, I can’t.”

  We sat for a long moment, our eyes devouring each other, distinctly aware of the two teenage girls and Jan, who stood at the counter reading a book. If we kissed, we’d have an audience, and I was definitely ready to make this a more private show. With a pang of reluctance, I picked up the file. “But the real reason I wanted to show you this was because it has the address of her last foster home.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want to go there. But I don’t want to go alone.” I squeezed his hand. “Will you go with me?”

  Nate sucked in a breath. “Are you sure this is a good idea? What is talking to these people going to accomplish?”

  I looked at our entwined hands. I couldn’t tell him the real reason I needed to go there, but lying to him so much made my insides twist. “I don’t know. I feel like…maybe they can give us a clue as to why she killed herself. Why she got on the streets in the first place.” I swallowed hard and met his eyes. “Maybe it won’t help much, but it might help us understand why a little bit more.”

  Nate lifted my hand to his mouth. “Okay,” he said, his lips moving against my knuckles. “Let’s go.”

  He led me up the street to the bus stop and wrapped his arms around me to keep the wind away. I leaned my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart. The old Georgie would’ve stopped to think this through, to question how wise charging off to an address would be without knowing what she might find there. Sense probably would’ve gotten the better of that Georgie, and she would’ve stayed home.

  But now I had this new heart, propelling me forward without stopping to overthink. Was that how Annabel lived her life? Was she teaching me to do the same? I couldn’t be sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Nate’s heart beat strong and solid beneath my cheek. At least I wasn’t charging ahead alone.

  The bus barreled up the street and screeched to a stop in front of us. We took two seats in the back, and I watched the streets blur by, boarded-up storefronts and liquor stores with bars on the windows. The houses were old and shabby here, like they’d once been great but had long since passed their prime. I thought of my old Victorian, like a grand old lady—but only because my parents could afford to replace the plumbing with copper pipes and install central air.

  At last, Nate reached up and pushed the stop button. We came out of the bus onto a deserted sidewalk with a vacant gas station and a doughnut shop that had gone out of business who knew how long ago.

  “It’s a couple of blocks from here,” Nate said. “Come on.” He held my hand tight and kept me close to his side. Across the street, a couple of guys in hooded jackets watched our progress. Nate nodded to them, and they turned away.

  We headed up a hilly street lined with crumbling brownstones, the yards out front patchy and covered with piles of trash. I hugged in closer to Nate. My neighborhood, with its pristine facades and English-garden lawns, was just a handful of miles from here. How could one city contain so much contradiction?

  Nate halted in front of a brown and white house, its paint peeling so that raw wood showed through. One of the windows on the second floor was broken and boarded up. Yet a BMW sat in the driveway. I stared at it until Nate nudged me. “This is it.”

  My belly coiled itself. I touched the chain-link fence that ringed the lot, expecting a flood of memories to rush in. But my mind was blank. Annabel was curled inside me, hiding from this place. She didn’t want to remember.

  We walked up the path to the front porch. Inside, a television blared. My hand shaking, I raised my hand and knocked.

  A moment later, the door opened a crack and the sliver of a man’s face appeared. “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Sutton?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  I found Nate’s hand. He clenched my fingers. “My name’s Georgie and this is Nate. We’re friends of Anna’s.”

  “Anna?” The single eye that was visible through the crack squinted. “Anna who?”

  I jerked back, my insides cold. “Anna Leeland. Your foster daughter.”

  “She don’t live here anymore.” He started to close the door, but Nate put his hand flat against it and pushed. Sutton stumbled back to avoid getting knocked over by the door. “Hey!”

  “Can we come in?” Nate stepped over the threshold without waiting for an answer. I followed him, listening closely to my heart. But the Catch was silent. I touched the wall just inside the door. Still nothing.

  “I didn’t say you could come in.” Sutton planted himself in the middle of the living room.

  “We need to talk to you about Anna,” Nate said, squaring off to him. He glanced at me.

  I didn’t say anything, just turned in a small circle to take in the room. A large HDTV hung on the wall across from a leather couch and a fancy armchair, one of the ones that had a cooler built into the bottom. A plush rug covered half the floor. I leaned forward and peeked into the kitchen off to the side of the room. The cabinets seemed new but the appliances were old and a stack of pizza boxes sat on the small seventies-era table. I rubbed my arms. Something was off here, and I didn’t need the Catch to point it out to me.

  I looked back at Sutton. “Where are the kids?”

  “They’re around. Not that it’s any of your business.” He crossed his arms. “What about Anna? I ain’t seen her in—”

  “Since her birthday, right?” I said. “Since you kicked her out on her eighteenth birthday.”

 
Sutton narrowed his mud-brown eyes at me. “Now wait a minute. I didn’t kick her out. The State don’t give me money to keep them here after they turn eighteen. That ain’t my fault.”

  “And that’s all you care about,” I said. “The money.”

  Sutton’s jaw tightened. “Get out.”

  “She’s dead.” Nate’s voice was strangled. I tore my gaze away from the strange luxury of the living room to look at his face. His skin was mottled, his brow knitted together with anger. “Did you know that? She died over a month ago. All alone.”

  “How was I supposed to know?” Sutton ran his hand through his thinning hair. “I hadn’t seen her in months. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Care about her!” Nate roared before I could even open my mouth. “Did you have any idea what she was doing? That she was a prostitute, even when she lived here? Did you?”

  “Don’t fucking yell at me in my own house!” Sutton bellowed back.

  Beneath their furious voices, I heard the Catch. Annabel unfurled inside me. I tiptoed away from the two men. They were so preoccupied with yelling at each other that they didn’t notice me creep upstairs.

  A print of Monet’s Water Lilies hung at the top of the stairs. There was only one bedroom up here, and it was just as comfortable as the living room, with a rich mahogany sleigh-bed and a huge vanity that I’d seen in Pottery Barn. The master bathroom had a Jacuzzi tub and a marble sink. I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the gold faucets. What the hell?

  I closed my eyes and listened to the Catch. The basement. My eyes flew open. Of course. How could I be such an idiot? One of my first memories from Annabel was of her dank, windowless bedroom…in the basement.

  I galloped down the stairs, past Nate and Sutton.

  “If you had cared one tiny iota, maybe she wouldn’t have turned to the streets—”

  “That girl was whack from the minute she got here! She wouldn’t listen to nobody!”

  “Because nobody ever talked to her—”

  I raced through the kitchen and pulled open the basement door. The stench of dank sorrow washed over me. My insides cracked open and Annabel flooded in, her pain and loneliness saturating every nook and cranny of my being. My knees buckled and I caught the rail before I could fall. It shook beneath my grip as I made my way down into the dimness.

  An old couch stood in the middle of the room, its cushions stained and sagging. There was no rug on the floor down here, just the cold concrete. My toes are always cold… I squeezed my eyes shut but I couldn’t keep the memories from tumbling over one another. Having to pretend we’re allowed upstairs in the living room whenever a social worker comes over…getting screamed at for daring to touch the BMW…sneaking in to take a bath in the Jacuzzi when the Suttons are out…

  I opened my eyes. My ribs ached with the effort to breathe. Five doors ringed the basement, one room for each of the kids they always had in rotation, bringing in six figures a year from the state that they spent on themselves while the kids had holes in their shoes.

  All I needed was love, and there was never any to spare here.

  The darkness closed in on me. I fled up the stairs, my scar searing like a physical manifestation of everything Annabel had endured in this house. I collided with Nate and clung to him, my body racked with sobs.

  “Georgie! What’s wrong?”

  “Get me out of here,” I moaned and Nate half carried me to the door. Just before we escaped, I turned back to Sutton. “Someday you’ll pay,” I whispered. “Someday you’ll pay for what you did to her.”

  We made it to the sidewalk before I sank to the ground, fighting for breath, fighting to find myself inside Annabel’s abyss. I couldn’t contain her; she had come out of hiding and was everywhere. The darkness was going to swallow me whole, eat me alive…

  “Georgie. Georgie.” Warm hands cradled my face and I opened my eyes. Nate pulled me close and kissed the tears that had frozen on my cheeks, my eyelids, my forehead, my temples. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  “No,” I gasped. “It was never okay. It was never okay for her here.”

  “But you’re not her,” Nate murmured into my hair. “You’re okay.”

  I hung on to him, trying to bring myself back to the surface. Nate kissed my lips, soft and gentle, and light began to edge out the darkness. Bit by bit, breath returned to my body. I was Georgie. I had a home with two loving parents. I forced everything else out as Nate held me, his hands moving slowly up and down my back. I am Georgie. I am Georgie. I am Georgie.

  Somehow, Nate found a cab and got me inside. I curled into him, not paying attention as the cab wound through streets I didn’t know. I was going to make sure Sutton paid. I’d tell Sally Klein about him the next time I saw her. I’d get him investigated…

  The cab ground to a stop and I looked up. “Where are we?”

  Nate helped me out onto the sidewalk in front of a purple-and-red Victorian house. Neat boxes filled with holly adorned each of the windows, and the front lawn had a burbling koi pond. It looked like an Alice-in-Wonderland version of a gingerbread house. “This is my place.”

  I started and pulled back from him. “What, the whole house?”

  Nate laughed. “No, just the parlor level. My landlords live on the upper floors.”

  I peered down the street. “What neighborhood is this?”

  “Hyde Park. Come on.”

  I followed him through the intricate wrought-iron gate and up the front steps. “I guess I just assumed you still lived with your parents.”

  “No, I moved out after I got my GED.” He unlocked the front door. The main hallway was brightly lit by a dangling crystal chandelier. A Persian-style runner ran along the floor, and a massive walnut sideboard stood against the wall. “This way.” He unlocked the first door in the hallway. Before I followed him inside, I peeked up the stairs. Another chandelier hung on the second floor.

  “Nice apartment building,” I said.

  “It’s not really an apartment building,” Nate said. “It’s more of an illegal duplex that my landlords converted so they could get a little income to pay their mortgage.” He flicked a light switch, and the room lit up with a warm, golden glow. Another crystal chandelier hung in the center of the room. Nate caught me looking at it and flushed. “That’s more my landlords’ style, not mine.”

  “I like it.” I plucked my gloves off. The room was sparsely furnished—exactly what you’d expect from an eighteen-year-old guy—but it was comfortable and lived in. Nate took my coat and hung it on a peg by the door. I sat on the couch—which was actually a futon—and curled my knees up to my chest. I could still feel Annabel swirling inside me, her pain an ache in my chest that would not ease. All she had wanted was love, to feel safe and cherished like she had before her mother had shot it all to hell. My throat tightened again and I laid my cheek on the top of my knees.

  Nate handed me a glass of water and sat down next to me. His eyes never left me as I took a long sip and set the glass down on the floor next to the futon. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded even though I was far from okay. “It was just…upsetting.”

  “I know.” Nate ran his hand through his hair but I still felt his eyes on me. “But that was still a, uh, pretty extreme reaction.”

  I swallowed and didn’t say anything. I couldn’t lie to him anymore—but I couldn’t tell him the truth either. I took another sip of water. I felt stretched in all directions, like my skin couldn’t quite cover my bones.

  “Georgie,” Nate said, and I looked up to meet his eyes. “What was that back there?”

  “What was what?” I asked, even though I knew exactly what he meant. My insides squirmed but I didn’t look away.

  “Look, maybe this is just too overwhelming.” His brow furrowed. “I love that you’ve gotten so into the program at All Saints. But you’ve got to have enoug
h info to write your article by now. Maybe you should…take a break from coming to the church.”

  “No!” Nate started; I hadn’t meant to speak so loud and sharp. “I don’t want to stop coming to All Saints.”

  “Why?” He shifted closer to me, his eyes searching deep into my own. “Why does it mean so much to you?”

  Time slowed, and the only thing I could hear was his breath. I had stopped breathing, and I couldn’t even hear my own heartbeat. Now was the time to tell him. Now. Tell him…

  “Because I love you,” I said instead. Nate blinked. I still couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t a lie. There was love inside me for him, but whether it was my own or Annabel’s, I still didn’t know. I reached out and took his hand. “I–I’m sorry… I shouldn’t—”

  He grasped my hand and pulled me onto his lap. “Don’t apologize,” he whispered and kissed me. His lips were gentle at first, but it was almost like we became aware at the same time that we had nothing and no one to interrupt us. With one breath, we closed in on each other. I wrapped myself around him and let him devour the darkness out of me. In his arms, there was no Annabel. There wasn’t even Georgie. I could just disappear into his light.

  Warmth spread to the outer reaches of my body. He tilted me backward until we lay pressed together on the futon. His mouth descended to the hollow of my throat and I twined my legs through his. I arched up into him and a moan escaped me as his hands crept up under my sweater. His fingers were like butterfly wings on my skin—soft, warm, and impossibly gentle. I kissed the side of his neck.

  “Don’t stop,” I murmured into his ear, my voice little more than a breath that raised goose bumps on his skin. I slid my hands up his back and under his shirt, feeling every curve and contour of his muscles and bones.

  He didn’t stop; there was no one to tell us no, and all my barriers were down. I’d just told him I loved him. Those three little words had broken down any walls I might have still had up. You still haven’t told him the real truth, niggled a little voice in my brain, but I told it very firmly to shut up and pulled my sweater off.