Forgotten: A Novel

by Catherine McKenzie

  Time passes and I run out of problems. My mind feels clearer, and I finally feel connected to my brain in a way I haven’t in a long time. Ideas start to take shape, a path to where I want to go, and maybe the destination too. I open my eyes, pick up a pen, and pull a pad of paper toward me, making a to-do list like the one I made before Christmas.

  Maybe this time I’ll get it right.

  I spend the rest of the day working, formulating, happy.

  Yes, happy. I’m in a groove. My neurons are firing. All systems are go. I feel like I used to feel, and it feels good. This is why I worked so hard. This is what I love. This is what I’ve been looking for since I got back. I owe it to Matt, but also to Craig, which makes me a little sad but mostly grateful. Love can bring unselfish happiness to others. I’ve always known this, but now I feel it.

  When a good day’s work is done, I head home. And of course, because my life is what it is these days, I find something I’m not expecting: Dominic’s been here.

  I don’t notice it at first. There’s no extra coat on the hooks, no boots that shouldn’t be there. But there is something different, something about the air that tips me off. It feels less lonely than it usually does, even though I’m still alone.

  I walk down the hall listening for him, but the apartment is silent. The door to his room is ajar. I push it open. The boxes that were lined up neatly against the wall are askew. OLD CLOTHES seems to have disappeared altogether.

  I sit down on the edge of his bed, waiting for something, maybe for him to reappear, though I know deep down he won’t. And then, telling myself it will be only one more time, I crawl into his bed, drinking in the mixture of our smells until it lulls me to sleep.

  On Monday morning, I’m waiting for Matt in his office. The sky is dark. Small, hard pellets of ice are pinging against the window.

  “This is a pleasant surprise,” Matt says as he hangs his fawn-colored coat on the back of his door. “What’s up?”

  “I think I might’ve cracked something in the Mutual Assurance case, and I wanted to talk it through.”

  His face brightens. “That sounds promising. What is it?”

  I tell him as he settles into the chair behind his desk, rolling up the sleeves on his banker’s shirt into their customary union-negotiator position.

  “So if you’re right, we have a case for negligence against the museum?”

  “I think so. It’s kind of a big miss on their part.”

  “How can we prove that’s the way the painting was stolen?”

  “That’s why I need some help.” I tell him about the surveillance video.

  “Who did you have in mind?”

  “I thought I’d put the Initial Brigade to some good use.”

  He smiles. “Are you sure they’re up to the task?”

  “I can manage them.”

  “I’m sure you can.” He drums his fingers on the corner of his desk. “You know, if you’re right, more people than just our client are going to be interested.”

  “I know.”

  “Why not pass on your hunch to the police? Let them do the work?”

  I shrug. “The detective in charge of the case thinks I’m tilting at windmills. It’d be nice to prove her wrong.”

  “And the Management Committee?”

  I meet his intelligent gaze. “Them too.”

  “All right. Keep me in the loop.”

  “Will do.”

  Matt smiles at me proudly. “It’s nice to have you back, Emma.”

  “I’ve been back for weeks.”

  “Have you, now?”

  An hour later I’ve taken over one of the boardrooms and assembled my team. They sit scattered around the long cherrywood table watching me with a look of trepidation. I explain what needs to be done: I want them to watch the museum video footage to see if everyone who went in also went out.

  They gripe and grumble, but I can tell they’re interested.

  J. Perry puts up his hand.

  “Come on, J.P., you don’t have to put up your hand to talk.”

  He lowers it. “You really think the robber dude hung out in that box all night long?”

  “Well, I’m not sure, but I think so. That’s where you guys come in.”

  “So, essentially, you want us to watch hours of tape looking for something that’s not there, based on a hunch?”

  “That’s right. You guys game?”

  I. William shrugs. “Beats doing research for Sophie.”

  Amen.

  “All right, then. Why don’t you get started? Tell me if you find anything immediately. If you don’t, let’s meet here tomorrow at the same time for a status update.” I turn toward Monty, who’s doodling stars around the edge of his yellow legal pad. “Can you hang back a minute?”

  I wait for the others to leave. “Did you get that research done?”

  Monty shifts back and forth on his heels. “Yup. But it’s not looking good. If a landlord gets an expulsion judgment and the tenant doesn’t leave of their own volition, the landlord has the right to remove any property they find.”

  “They don’t have to warehouse the property anywhere? They can just give it away?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Damn.”

  “What’s this got to do with the museum thing, anyway?”

  I gather together my papers. “It’s another matter a client needed looking into.”

  “Sure enough.”

  I walk away from his curious expression and head back to my office. Jenny follows me in, wearing a conservative (for her) navy suit. She tells me that Stephanie called, as did the I-won’t-give-up-until-you-agree assistant from In Progress. “And Mr. Bushnell’s lawyer called. He wants to schedule a date for the depositions.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She gives me her innocent face. “Of course.”

  “Listen, Jenny, I know you didn’t give me those messages from Dominic.”

  She turns bright red. “I’m sorry.”

  “You know how important it is for me to get my messages,” I say as gently as I can. “And it’s not like you to forget. What’s going on?”

  “I didn’t forget. I did it on purpose.”

  “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

  “I was doing it for you.”

  “How so?”

  “You were just so totally sad the last time he called. I didn’t want you to go through that again. Not after everything that’s happened.”

  My throat tightens. “I wasn’t that sad, was I?”

  “You didn’t talk to me for two days.”

  I wonder, briefly, if that’s true, but the days after Dominic called to tell me he was leaving the apartment are a little hazy.

  “You have to give me all my messages, no matter who they’re from, okay?”

  “Does this mean I’m not fired?”

  “Of course you’re not fired. You’re the only one keeping me sane around here.”

  She flashes me a bright white smile. “I do my best.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What for?”

  “For . . . trying to protect me. I appreciate it.”

  “Anytime.”

  She bounces out of the office, and I take a seat at my desk. Almost instantly, my email pings. It’s from Jenny telling me the dates and times that Dom
inic called. There’s a PS at the bottom of the email that reads: Are you going to call him?

  I pick up the pink slip with Carrie’s number on it and add Dominic’s below, doodling a box around and around it until the ink makes a deep impression.

  Are these numbers a path to peace or disaster?

  If only I knew.

  Chapter 23: As Per Usual

  I’m at home working on the Mutual Assurance file, killing time until a late dinner with Stephanie. I’m going through the investigator’s report Sophie ordered on Victor Bushnell. It’s not generally something I enjoy doing, but since he took the time to learn all about me, I thought I’d repay the favor. It’s fascinating stuff really, like seeing behind the curtain in the Land of Oz. Many of the details are in the public domain, of course, but others are not. Like the fact that Bushnell has a massive personal loan that’s guaranteed by the painting, and that he doesn’t have enough unencumbered assets to pay it back if the insurance money doesn’t come through.

  The doorbell rings. I get up to answer it, rubbing the crick in my neck along the way. Our insurance plan covers ten massages a year, but I never manage to take advantage of it. I should get Jenny to book me one tomorrow. I definitely deserve it.

  I open the door as Stephanie presses the bell a second time.

  “Are we late for something?”

  She smiles at me from the middle of her fur-lined hood. “It’s freezing out here.”

  The air swirling in is freezing, at least ten degrees colder than earlier. I step back to let her in, then close the door behind her quickly.

  She looks me up and down. “How come you’re not ready to go?”

  I’m wearing a pair of sweatpants captured from Dominic’s OLD CLOTHES and a cream V-neck wool sweater I’ve managed to get yellow highlighter all over.

  “You think I should change?”

  “If you still want to go to Studio.”

  “Right, I forgot. You wanted to go fancy tonight.”

  “What I want is to dig into their old-fashioned mac and cheese.”

  “Why don’t I make us some Kraft Dinner and save you the thirty-six bucks?”

  She shakes her furry head. “Uh-uh. You agreed to go out, and we’re going out. You’ve been hiding in here for too long.”

  “I’m not hiding.”

  “Whatever. Go. Change.”

  I leave her in the entranceway and search through my closet for something that’s chic/warm enough for this month’s fancy restaurant on a freezing-cold night.

  “What are you wearing under that coat?” I call to Stephanie.

  “My wool sweater-dress.”

  That means my wool sweater-dress is out. I stare at my half-filled closet. I really need some more clothes. Fucking Pedro. I can’t believe I can’t sue him. Maybe I should have someone a little more thorough than Monty look into it? No, no, that’s silly. I need to accept that I don’t have a case against him. Though . . . he doesn’t know that . . . I could take him to small-claims court. Maybe that’ll make him think twice before he does what he did to me to someone else.

  Man, will you listen to yourself? You sound like Sophie.

  “Come on already, Em! Just put on a nice pair of jeans and one of your new sweaters and be done with it!”

  I follow her instructions and run a brush through my hair, checking my reflection in the mirror. My tan is almost gone. Only the extra freckles across the bridge of my nose and the faint outline of my sunglasses around my eyes betray where I’ve been.

  I walk into the hall. Stephanie’s standing in front of Dominic’s room. She turns toward me with a quizzical look on her face. “I thought you said Dominic wasn’t staying here?”

  “He isn’t.”

  “Then how come his bed’s unmade?”

  I knew I forgot to do something this morning.

  I shrug. “He’s a guy. It’s been like that since he left.”

  “His bed was made the last time I was here.”

  Ah, hell.

  “Do you have to notice everything?”

  “Will you spill already?”

  Is there any way I can tell her what I’ve been doing that won’t make me seem pathetic and weak?

  “I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been sleeping in his room?”

  I nod.

  She starts to laugh. “Hoo boy, you’ve got it bad.”

  “Yes, yes, are we going to dinner or what?”

  “Was it just once?”

  I walk to the entranceway and lift my coat from the hook.

  “Twice? Please tell me it wasn’t more than twice.”

  I pull on my boots.

  “Now I really need to see that pro list.”

  I open the door and gesture to the dark outside. “I’m hungry. Do you want to keep mocking me, or are you ready to go?”

  “Oh, I’m ready.” Her eyes twinkle as she pulls her hood around her face. She hops from the step onto the snowy walkway.

  I start to follow her, then think better of it. “Hold on a sec, okay?”

  “What the—?”

  I sprint down the hall to Dominic’s room. I pull up the sheets and fluff the pillows. I tug the comforter into place and smooth my hand over it, eliminating the creases. That’s better. Now . . . a quick glance around reveals a half-drunk glass of water on the bedside table. I pick it up and put the glass on the table in the hall. I join Stephanie outside, locking the door behind me.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Covering my tracks.”

  “To think, people pay you hundreds of dollars an hour to solve their problems.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “And she has a mouth too.”

  I flash my teeth. “You’d better believe it.”

  I get home around ten, my stomach full and my ears ringing from the too-loud music. The restaurant was one of those half-club, half-restaurant places, and the DJ was spinning disks at club-level volume. It made conversation difficult, but the upside was that Stephanie gave up on quizzing me about my recent sleeping habits when I pretended I couldn’t hear her.

  As I hang up my coat and scarf, I can feel a bout of brain-won’t-turn-off insomnia coming my way. After getting caught by Stephanie, I’ve promised myself that I’ll stop sleeping where I shouldn’t. I have a feeling I’ll be up late watching infomercials.

  I notice the hall light is on as I leave the entranceway. The door to Dominic’s room is ajar, though I swear I closed it two hours ago.

  My heart leaps. Dominic’s been here. Maybe he’s still here? But why? What does he want? Why did he call me all those times? And what did Emily want with him at the museum?

  As per usual, I don’t have any answers. Thank God I made the bed.

  I hear the scrape of a chair across the kitchen floor. Either it’s Dominic or I’m being robbed. I’ll take option A, please.

  I walk cautiously down the hall, my heart lifting. He’s here. He must be waiting for me, right?

  Dominic’s sitting at the kitchen table wearing jeans and the sweater I gave him for Christmas. He’s flipping through the file I left scattered across the table.

  “What are you doing?”

  He looks up. “That’s some interesting reading you’ve got there.”

  I walk toward the table and start collecting the file together. “You shouldn’t be reading that.”

  “It was sitting on the table.”

  “I shouldn’t have left it out. I had no idea you were coming.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says testily. “I didn’t know I needed permission to come to my own apartment.”

  “You don’t. You can come whenever you want. Only . . .”

  “ ‘Only’ what?”

  “I’m just a bit
confused, I guess. I mean, you come back from Ireland and say you’re going to stay somewhere else, but then you keep showing up here without even calling first . . .”

  “I called a bunch of times. You never called me back, remember?”

  “I told you at the gallery. I never received those messages.”

  He pushes his chair back and walks toward the sink, gripping the counter. On the cabinet above his left shoulder are the faint scratches he left when he punched it. The night Emily called. The night we slept together.

  “What did Emily want the other night?”

  He turns toward me, his eyes spreading a chill across the warm room. “Leave her out of this. And don’t tell her anything more about us.”

  His words hit me like a slap. He doesn’t want Emily to know we slept together. They’re back together. He took her back after everything she did to him.

  “I didn’t tell her anything about us.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “I don’t have to defend myself to you, but yes, really.”

  “Right, whatever.”

  My hands start to tremble. I want to take the file folder and throw it across the room like I did with the Scotch glass, but the time for infantile gestures is over. Besides, it wouldn’t make the same satisfying crash.

  He starts to move past me and I grab onto his arm. “Wait, Dominic. Please don’t go.”

  He shrugs me off. “I have to.”

  “Will you at least tell me why you came here tonight?”

  He looks down at me, but I’m not sure he can see me, not really.

  “I don’t remember,” he says, and walks away.

  Chapter 24: Low-Percentage Shot

  Stephanie was wrong about the pro/con list. As much as I like making lists, I never made one about Dominic. I didn’t want to reduce whatever there is between us to two columns. But that was before tonight. Because tonight, I want to reduce him to something, all right. I believe it’s called a pulp.

  The upside to all this anger is that I have no trouble avoiding his bedroom, and in the end, no trouble sleeping either. In fact, I fall asleep to a count of the ways in which I can make Dominic’s life miserable. It’s stupid and immature, I know, but men behaving badly have a way of bringing that out in me.