Dying to Remember

by Glen Apseloff

  “We should invite him over again. It’s been ages.”

  “Yeah, well, ever since he’s been seeing Gloria, he hasn’t had much time for anything else, and he still hasn’t gotten to the point of wanting to share her with anyone.”

  “That sounds serious.”

  “It might be. Ask me in another month.”

  “Maybe then you two will have solved the case and we can celebrate it over dinner.”

  “Yeah, if I can just get Barnes to back off and help us.”

  “You shouldn’t count on it.” She stuck her fork in her salad. “Keep in mind it’s his wife who was killed.”

  “So what do you suggest?” he asked. “How do I get Barnes to cooperate?”

  “Make him feel important. Make him feel needed.” She took a bite of her salad. “Don’t treat him as though he’s helpless.”

  “You’re saying I should stroke the ego of a heart surgeon?”

  “Either that or don’t expect much help from him. It’s like trying to take a sock out of Lizzy’s mouth. You can yank it out and prove that you’re stronger, and probably tear it in the process, or you can pet her for ten seconds and she’ll drop it at your feet.” Karen reached down and rubbed Lizzy’s hairy chin. “It’s up to you.”

  Wright mulled that over while he ate a forkful of lasagna. “You may be right,” he decided, “but . . .”

  She looked up at him. “But what?”

  He picked up another forkful of lasagna. “But I think I’ll still yank it out.”

  Chapter 40

  After the detectives left, Barnes reviewed Elizabeth’s files and other work-related items from her office at the hospital. Reading through all of her papers would take days, if not weeks. Then there were her computer disks, holding hundreds of additional files of information. He took a container of the disks to his office.

  He had a second-floor office similar in size and layout to Elizabeth’s. They each had their own computer, bookshelves, file cabinets, and fax machine. But there the similarity ended. Her office always looked as though a maid had just cleaned it, whereas his looked as though it had been ransacked: notes, journal articles, and open books strewn all over his desk and some even on the floor, and computer disks scattered around the computer.

  He sat at his terminal, switched on the computer, and inserted one of Elizabeth’s disks. A list of fifty or more files appeared on the screen. He would enter them through the programs used to generate each, and then go through them one by one, taking notes on anything unusual or unfamiliar. For all he knew, Elizabeth could have been working on dozens of different projects. He wished she had talked to him more about her work, but that wasn’t their nature. They both liked to get away from their jobs once they left the hospital. Ironically, he would now learn more about her work after they could no longer discuss it.

  He read through Elizabeth’s files until his vision blurred. Then, at seven thirty, he answered his doorbell to find Shirley with three Styrofoam cartons of food in hand. She hugged him and kissed his cheek. This was not the Shirley Collins of a few months ago. Apparently they’d become better acquainted. She looked different, too. Her hair was fuller and about four inches shorter than the last time he and Elizabeth had gone to dinner with her.

  “You look good,” he said. “I like your hair.” He didn’t add that he preferred it longer.

  “Thanks. You look well.”

  Was she politely lying, too?

  She unbuttoned her overcoat, revealing an aubergine dress with a plunging V-neck. Obviously silk, from the way it rippled, and underneath, barely discernible, the dark shadow of a bra. As she took off her hat—a red beret that matched her overcoat—he noticed little gold grand-piano earrings. He wondered whether she played the piano and whether they’d already had that conversation.

  “Nice dress,” he said.

  “Thanks, but for the sake of full disclosure, I have to admit I didn’t wear it for you. I met Richard for coffee instead of canceling my date with him.”

  “Richard?” That must be a new boyfriend.

  “Yeah, Richard, my blind date. Except he wasn’t really blind. That would have been an improvement. Then he wouldn’t have spent our entire time together conversing with my breasts.”

  “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have worn that dress.”

  “Maybe not. Not for him, anyway.”

  “So I’m guessing Richard is history.”

  “Richard is a dick, no pun intended.”

  “Well, I think we can improve on your evening. Let’s go into the kitchen.” He took the food from her. “If nothing else, I should be able to find a good bottle of wine.”

  “Tonight I’ll take large over good.”

  In the kitchen he asked, “Where would you like to eat? Here, the dining room, or the family room?”

  “Let’s do the family room like last night.”

  “Sure. Whatever you like. What have you brought here?” He opened the Styrofoam containers.

  “Cannelloni, spaghetti carbonara, and lasagna.”

  The two of them bustled around preparing their takeout dinner—opening wine, reaching for glasses and plates.

  Just like a married couple, Barnes mused. Like what he and Elizabeth used to do. Yet it felt strange without Elizabeth there. Shirley had always been her friend, not his. But that seemed to be changing.

  Barnes felt something in his back pocket. He reached in and found a folded sheet of paper. As soon as he opened it, the bold print struck a chord of fear—he remembered. As quickly as possible, he refolded the paper. But Shirley was standing only a few feet away. Had she seen the message? He looked at her, and their eyes met, but her gaze gave no indication she’d seen anything out of the ordinary.

  “Something you need to do?” she asked.

  “No. I just have to jot another note to myself. You can head into the family room. I’ll be right there.”

  She left the kitchen, and he put the paper back into his pocket. He wondered how many times in the past half hour he’d pulled that out and unfolded it.

  He looked at his list and noticed he’d already mentioned the letter in his back pocket. To decrease the risk of overlooking it later, he underlined the item and added the fact that whoever wrote the letter was demanding $10,000. Then he joined Shirley in the family room. They sat in what he guessed were the same chairs as the previous night.

  Sipping the wine seemed to trigger a flash of déjà vu, but nothing specific. It was just a feeling, a sense that they had shared a similar time.

  “How about a fire?” she asked.

  He dimmed the lights and started the gas fireplace.

  “Thanks for coming over,” he said after returning to his chair. “The house feels less empty with you here.”

  “You’re welcome, but you don’t have to thank me. It isn’t a chore.”

  He took a sip of wine. “I never used to mind being alone because I never felt alone. I’m not sure I ever really knew what it was like. But now, even with you here, I still feel it. That’s nothing personal, of course.”

  “I know. We’ll have to work on that.”

  “I like having you here. But at the same time it seems pointless. By tomorrow I probably won’t even remember you came over.”

  “You don’t know that,” she said. “Not for sure. Do you remember anything from yesterday?”

  “I don’t know.” He tried to think, oddly not just for himself but also for her. He sensed that she genuinely cared, that they were trying to achieve a common goal. “Maybe some images,” he said, “but I’m not sure they’re actually memories.”

  “What sort of images?”

  They flitted before him like fish in a murky lake, coming into view for just an instant before disappearing back into the depths. “I remember eating with chopsticks, but I don’t know if it was lunch or dinner, and I couldn’t say for sure that it even really happened.”

  “It did,” she said. “We had Chinese food for dinner.”

  “W
hat did my fortune say?”

  “Hmm.” She seemed to be studying him. “I think it said, ‘Seize the moment.’”

  He doubted that but nonetheless asked, “Did I?”

  “Not really, but there will be other moments.” She smiled.

  “My memory is a huge problem, but my number one concern is finding whoever killed Elizabeth.”

  She pulled her chair closer to his, until they almost touched. “I can understand that, but you should leave it to the police. That’s what they’re trained to do. Have you found out anything that might help them?”

  “I’ve taken notes.” That much he remembered. “Not for them. For me. If I remember, I might translate them tonight or tomorrow.”

  “What do you mean ‘translate’?”

  “Rewrite them in French.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because,” he explained, “whoever killed Elizabeth probably knew either her or me, or both. If they come over here, I don’t want them reading my thoughts. Did you see all the notes I have on the refrigerator?”

  “Yes, I did. I didn’t read them, but they’re hard to miss.”

  “Well, I also have them in my pocket, on the side door to the garage . . .” He pointed in that direction. “. . . and I’m sure more are upstairs in different places I don’t remember. I’m surprised I can recall the list in my pocket, considering how many other things I forget. That’s the reason I have notes scattered around, in case I lose a set or forget where I’ve put them. I have a fax machine in my office upstairs, and it doubles as a copier. I’m going to start copying my notes with it and leaving them everywhere. That way I’ll never lose track of what’s going on. And I’ll write them in French.”

  “Do you mind telling me what you’ve learned so far?” She took a sip of wine.

  “Yeah, I’ll tell you.” He balanced his plate on his lap while he retrieved the list from his pocket and skimmed through it. “Denny Houston’s house was burglarized that same night.” He looked up at her. “Do you know Denny?”

  “Not personally, but I know who he is. A heart surgeon, right?”

  “That’s right.” Barnes turned his attention back to his list and read about the letter demanding $10,000. No need to mention that.

  “How well do you know him?” she asked.

  “We’re best friends.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then why isn’t he here?”

  “He’s a busy man.”

  “Right. If you think he’s your best friend, but he’s not spending time with you when you need him the most, you may not be a very good judge of character. What else is on your list?”

  He read more of it to himself. Houston doesn’t want to work with you. Below that . . . “Something about Claire.” He took a last bite of his meal and set his plate on the coffee table.

  “Claire?”

  “Elizabeth’s attorney friend. Do you know her?”

  “Yeah, the lesbian.”

  “Am I the only one who didn’t know that about her?”

  “Probably. I don’t know her well. And I definitely don’t want to know her partner.”

  “Oh?”

  “Her girlfriend is a judge—Darcia Parker. A friend of mine used to work for Darcia and said she’s a psycho bitch. Those were her exact words. Why are you interested in Claire?”

  His notes seemed to confirm Shirley’s assessment of Darcia. He added the characterization of “psycho bitch.” His notes also questioned whether Claire should be trusted. “Just wondering. I’ve met her and talked to her on the phone, but I don’t remember her the way I do you.” He looked at his list again and saw that he and Elizabeth had been separated before the conference in Toronto. “Did you know that Elizabeth and I were separated?”

  She nodded but said nothing.

  He could see the hurt in her eyes. Was that for him, he wondered, or Elizabeth? “Do you know why?” he asked.

  “Not exactly. She told me that she was pregnant and that you were being a jerk but that mostly everything was her fault. Those weren’t her exact words, of course. I inferred that everything was your fault, but that’s just how I felt at the time. I don’t think she felt that way. She said it was complicated, but when I asked what she meant by that, she didn’t say . . . What happened?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.” He folded up his list and slipped it back into his pocket. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “Whatever it was, I’m sure it wasn’t all your fault, and I know she loved you.” She reached over and put her hands on his thighs, just above his knees, then leaned forward, her face only inches from his. Her eyes regarded his intently, and then she closed the distance and kissed him softly on the lips. He kissed her back. At first it was a kiss of comfort and friendship, perhaps deep affection, but it quickly grew.

  As if on cue, Barnes’s hands took over. They glided up her arms to the back of her neck. He pulled her closer, breathing in the fragrance of her perfume as he pressed his lips to hers, first feeling, then tasting. He sensed this was wrong, that it was too soon, but what’s too soon when you have no concept of time? A month or a year or even a decade later might still feel too soon. And a decade later she might not be available.

  Shirley seemed conflicted, too, shifting herself to sit on his lap, straddling him, yet saying, “Do you think this is a good idea?”

  When he didn’t answer, she kissed him again deeply. Her hands pulled up his shirt and reached underneath, held his lower back, then slid under his belt and pants.

  He pulled up her dress and felt the warm flesh above her hose.

  Her lips moved across his cheek and found their way to his neck. “I’m not sure we should be doing this,” she said.

  That makes two of us, he thought, yet he didn’t stop. Her breath on his neck was mesmerizing.

  She kissed him again, then stood up and slipped off her dress.

  She stood before him in a black bra, black panties, black garter, and black hose. In a moment he would ease her to the floor, unfasten her garter straps, and slide her lace panties down over her hips.

  She unfastened his belt.

  That’s when he stopped her. “No.” He put his hands over hers.

  She didn’t say anything, just looked at him, as if asking whether he was really serious.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t do this.”

  She ran a hand through her hair, then backed away and sat by the fire. “That’s probably for the best.” She looked up at him, her face glowing in the lambent light. “I really shouldn’t make love with my best friend’s husband.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  “Don’t be. You made the right call.” She began putting her dress back on.

  “Let’s just sit by the fire for a while,” he said.

  “Sure.”

  He pulled two cushions off the couch and put them on the floor in front of the fireplace, and Shirley dimmed the lights more. They sat down next to each other, but not holding each other.

  “So now we’re pajama buddies?” she said, laughing.

  “I guess so.”

  “Life sure is strange.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  The two of them stared into the fire for some time, alone with their thoughts. He soon felt himself nodding off, and although he didn’t fall asleep, he did forget the chain of events that had led to this point in time.

  He looked at his watch. Examinez votre poche droite. Maybe that would tell him how he’d ended up on cushions in front of the fireplace with Shirley, whose lipstick was smeared. Smeared onto his own lips—he could feel it.

  He reached into his pocket and found the list. Shielding it from her, he read through it by the light of the fireplace.

  Elizabeth is dead.

  The words caught him off guard. He’d forgotten. The realization brought shame. Here he was with Shirley, doing who knows what, and Elizabeth was dead.

  He looked at the
list again and saw farther down on it that he and Elizabeth had been separated. Still that did little to ease the guilt. What had he done here?

  He read through the rest of the notes and realized he would need to write a reminder to himself, something to tape to the bathroom mirror for tomorrow morning. Otherwise, everything from tonight might just as well never have happened.

  He looked into Shirley’s eyes, and she reminded him of Cheryl in Toronto.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I’ve just got a long day ahead of me tomorrow.”

  “Is that your way of asking me to leave?”

  “Yeah. I really do need to get up in the morning.”

  “Do you feel guilty about us?”

  “Yeah.”

  She put a hand on his thigh. “Elizabeth is gone. You aren’t betraying her, no matter what you do with me or anyone else.”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “I don’t, either,” she admitted.

  He looked at his list and thought he should write this down. But he wasn’t sure what “this” was. He thought he remembered her naked, standing in front of him, her panties on the floor. Or was that merely imagined?

  He hesitated. It seemed rude to ask whether they’d had sex, or had stopped at second or third base, yet he could still taste her lipstick and smell her perfume on him. He decided to write simply, You and Shirley Collins have become more intimate. That was sufficiently vague to cover just about anything.

  Feeling guilty about asking her to leave, he offered to get together again with her the following evening.

  “A third dinner in a row?” she said.

  He’d forgotten about yesterday.

  But then she added, “I actually have another date. I’m not sure I want to jinx it by saying this, but I’m really looking forward to it.”

  “What makes this one different?” asked Barnes.

  “I’ve already met him once,” she said, “and he’s intelligent, personable, and handsome. That combination is hard to find.”

  “True. You don’t want to pass that up.” He was surprised to feel a tinge of disappointment.

  “If I get home early, I’ll call you,” she said, and she kissed him on the cheek.