He Never Forgot

by P. D. Workman

  He listened to Kenzie’s deep breathing as she started to doze. He rested his face against her head, breathing in the smell of her shampoo.

  20

  The next morning, it was Kenzie who woke up first, which was very unusual. She wrapped her arms around Zachary and pulled herself closer to him.

  “Hey. You’re still in bed. What’s wrong, are you sick?”

  Zachary took a couple of long breaths, feeling relaxed and happy. It was rare for him to wake up in such a calm, focused mood. “That was a really good sleep.”

  “It must have been. You’re never still asleep this late.”

  They cuddled for a few minutes, but Kenzie had work, so she eventually pulled back from him and rubbed her eyes. “I’d better get up and get ready, or I’m going to be late getting into the office.”

  “It’s not like the bodies are going anywhere. They’re already late, so what does it matter if you are?”

  Kenzie laughed. “It’s not the clients I’m worried about, it’s the coworkers. And the boss. And they are, unfortunately, all very much alive.”

  Zachary turned and slid his feet off the bed. “You go ahead and get ready. I’ll get breakfast ready.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Zachary picked up his phone and left the bedroom. He used the main bathroom so that Kenzie could have the ensuite to herself, and went to the kitchen to start getting the coffee and toast on. He noticed that his notification screen was full of messages. He focused in on them.

  Burton.

  Over and over again.

  He tapped the message at the top of the screen, which was the most recent one. Burton was incoherent, rambling on about something that was obviously a continuation of all of the other messages that he had sent to Zachary. Zachary went to the app and scrolled up so he could read the messages in a logical sequence.

  Burton must have had a lot to drink. In the middle of the night, he had started texting Zachary about how he had changed his mind and he needed to find out more about his past. The truth and not the lies that the social worker and his adoptive parents had told him. He needed to know what had really happened, who his parents were, and where they were now. He didn’t necessarily want to meet them, but he wanted information. Where they were and what they had done with their lives.

  Zachary read through the thread a couple of times. While there were parts of Burton’s texts that he couldn’t quite figure out, he got the gist of them.

  He sent back a text of his own, telling Burton to let him know when he was up and they could talk.

  A minute later, the phone started to ring. Burton. Zachary hadn’t expected him to be awake already. Or still. He silenced the alarm and looked at the screen for a minute, trying to decide whether to talk to Burton or not. But Burton already knew that he was awake and using his phone, so it would be rude to just send him to voicemail because he hadn’t been prepared to talk quite so soon. Zachary tapped the answer button and held the phone up to his ear.

  “Ben. Hi. I wasn’t expecting you to be up.”

  “I’ve been texting you all night,” Burton told him with some pique. “Of course I’m up.”

  “You should probably get some sleep.”

  “I will. But I didn’t want to miss your call.”

  “Sorry, I’m usually up a little earlier.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. What I need is for you to tell me that you’re going to find them. You said last night that you could. I didn’t think I wanted to, but it’s been bugging me all night long. I couldn’t go to sleep until you said you would find them.”

  “Sure. I’ll look for them,” Zachary agreed. “I told you I could if you wanted me to.”

  “I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to know who they were or what they were doing. But it won’t leave me alone. I can’t forget the basement. I want to know where they went. Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll look into it.” Zachary tried to sound calm, hoping that it would settle Burton down. He’d clearly had plenty to drink in the time he’d been waiting for Zachary to wake up. And hopefully, that meant he’d go straight to sleep once he was satisfied, and he wouldn’t keep calling Zachary throughout the day for an update. He’d had more than one client figure he had a monopoly on his time and that his was the only case Zachary had to work on.

  “You’re going to find them, right? You said you could.”

  “I can’t promise I’ll have that for you today, but I will get started on it today, okay? I’ll track down their names first.”

  “Their names,” Burton agreed. There was a bang, and Zachary winced, wondering what Burton had run into or dropped. “You’ll get me their names, and then I’ll know who they are. I’ll know their very own names.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  There was a pause. Zachary waited for Burton to say goodbye or hang up the phone.

  “You know, Zachary…”

  “What?” Zachary suspected he knew what was coming next.

  “I love you, man.” Burton’s voice shook with emotion. “You’re the best, you know that? You’re the best private detective in the world. I mean it, man. I love you.”

  “You too,” Zachary said with a laugh, and he ended the call.

  He made himself a cup of coffee and went over to his computer, beside the couch where he’d been using it the night before. After a couple of sips of coffee, he put it on the side table where it was out of reach unless he leaned over for it, so that there was no danger of bumping it by accident and baptizing his computer or staining Kenzie’s furniture or carpet. He started typing.

  “Zachary?”

  Zachary looked up from his computer at Kenzie, standing a few feet away from him, looking at him expectantly. She’d obviously asked a question, and he’d been too focused to even hear it.

  “Uh, sorry, what?”

  “You didn’t make anything?”

  “Uh…” Zachary looked at her, taking in her still-damp hair and work clothes. She was between him and the kitchen, and it was a minute before he realized she was asking him if he’d had any breakfast. “Just a coffee. I’ll grab something a little later.”

  She nodded, still looking at him.

  Zachary looked back down at his computer to follow the next lead.

  “Zachary.”

  He looked back up at her, slightly irritated. She could see that he was focused on a case. “What?”

  She rolled her eyes up at the ceiling, shook her head, and went into the kitchen. Zachary turned his eyes back to the screen. He could hear her, in the back of his consciousness, putting toast into the toaster and banging her mug down on the counter. It still took a while longer before he looked up from his computer, suddenly realizing what she was upset about. He put the computer to the side and hurried to the kitchen. Kenzie was sitting at the table with her toast and coffee, looking at a textbook.

  “Kenzie, I’m sorry. I got distracted. I didn’t even realize… I’m sorry. I told you I’d make breakfast and I got completely sidetracked! You should have said something.”

  “I thought I did.”

  “No, I’m sorry. It was all my fault. I should have finished making it before I left the kitchen, and I didn’t. That was really inconsiderate.”

  “Being sorry doesn’t get the breakfast made. I thought that I had a few extra minutes for my shower because you were getting it ready, and now I feel rushed.”

  It only took two minutes to make coffee and toast. But Zachary could have done that for her. He should have done it, like he’d promised.

  “I really am sorry.”

  She shrugged irritably. “Go back to your work.”

  “Burton called, and I wanted to get started on his search, and I completely forgot I was supposed to be making you breakfast.”

  Kenzie took a deep breath. When she spoke, her words were perfectly enunciated and flat, and he recognized that she was using one of the communication patterns that Dr. Boyle had talked t
o them about. “When you get distracted by something like that, it makes me feel like I’m not important.”

  “You are. I didn’t do it intentionally. I didn’t mean to choose the work over you; I just got distracted.”

  “But obviously it was more important to you than getting breakfast for me.”

  “No. The call from Burton just pushed it out of my mind.”

  “You had enough presence of mind to still get yourself a cup of coffee.”

  Zachary looked down at his hands, which were empty. He looked around the kitchen, but didn’t see the cup of coffee that he had made for himself. Kenzie sighed.

  “It’s in the living room. On the side table.”

  “Oh.” Zachary went back to retrieve it, then sat down at the table with Kenzie, determined to make her his sole focus until she left for work. He sipped his coffee, but it was cold.

  Kenzie shook her head, allowing a slight smile at his grimace.

  “I forgot I made it,” Zachary said.

  “Well, that’s something.”

  21

  At his own apartment, Zachary continued to search through the published historical records for the five years that, as far as he knew, Burton had lived in the house on Peach Tree Lane. There was no listing for an Allen family on Peach Tree Lane. He couldn’t account for every year, so maybe they had been there during the intervening year or two. But he could remember being there, and he had written his name on the wall, so he had to be older than two or three when he lived there. He should have been there during the time he was four or five. But during that time, there were no Allens listed at that address. Only a couple by the name of Weaver. And census records didn’t indicate that any children had lived in the household.

  Zachary sat back, rubbing his gritty eyes and trying to puzzle it out. Burton clearly remembered the house. He knew about the bug jar by the furnace, and that was proof enough for Zachary. Burton could have pretended all kinds of memories of that house, but he couldn’t conjure a glass jar out of the air. Or his name on the wall. The social worker had said that his name was Robert, and Zachary had stood there and watched Burton find the name Bobby on the wall. He hadn’t written it there himself and it was clear from the dirt and cobwebs on the wall that it hadn’t been a recent addition. A child named Bobby had lived in the house.

  He moved backward and forward through the records. Perhaps Burton had not been five when he had been adopted. Maybe that was only an estimated age for a child whose birth had not been registered. He could have been four or six. If he were very small for his age from neglect and malnourishment, like Zachary himself had been, then he might be seven and mistaken for a younger child. But Zachary couldn’t see them being wrong by more than two years. If he had been eight years old, he would have been able to tell them that, and it would have been obvious from his maturity level even if it were at odds with his size. The doctors would be able to tell from his bone and tooth development. And similarly, he couldn’t have been younger than four. A three-year-old did not look like a five-year-old, even if he were large for his age.

  But even adjusting for a mistake in ages, he couldn’t find any record of an Allen family. He couldn’t find a record of any family with one young child who had lived in that house during the right period. It was possible they hadn’t registered as voters, answered the door to census takers, or had driver’s licenses. But he found it hard to believe that they hadn’t been listed in any directory, consumer database, credit history, or social security registry.

  He went into the kitchen and made himself a fresh cup of coffee, working through the possibilities.

  If the Allen family didn’t exist, and Burton wasn’t some kind of scammer, then Allen could not have been his last name. It could have been his middle name. He might have been called by both, or he might have been intending to write his full name but got interrupted and never returned to the project. There were a number of possibilities, but Zachary was pretty sure by then that there was no Allen family.

  He returned to his desk, sipping the coffee.

  That left him with the Weavers. They had been living in the house at the right point in time. Not listing the fact that they had a young child on the census was not a huge oversight. People made mistakes filling out forms. The census taker didn’t hear, forgot to check a box, or there was an interruption and the adult who was doing the interview had never finished answering the question in full.

  Robert Allen Weaver. It was a nice, strong name.

  Parents Elizabeth Weaver and Samuel Weaver.

  Zachary noted them down. The census had a woman in her twenties and a man in his forties, which fit with the social worker’s statement that Burton’s mother was young and his father was older. His profession was listed as a delivery driver. Elizabeth listed as unemployed, which the social worker had not believed.

  Now that he had the names, he dug deeper.

  There had been no further calls from Burton, and Zachary assumed that he would be sleeping for a good long while with the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. That was fine with Zachary. He needed some time away from the computer screens, and he knew just where to go.

  He timed his visit for around the time Rhys should be getting home from school, and watched the house for a few minutes, not wanting to bother Vera before Rhys arrived. If Rhys were late, then Zachary being there waiting for him would just emphasize the fact for Vera and make her more anxious. Zachary didn’t know if Rhys had any after-school activities. He didn’t usually, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a tutoring session or an appointment with his new therapist, or something else that Zachary hadn’t thought of.

  He kept an eye on the door while he checked his social networks and email inbox.

  There was a tap on his window that made him jump, and he turned his head, expecting to see a cop or an irritated dog walker who wanted to know why he was sitting there in his car like some creepy stalker.

  But it was Rhys. He spread his hands wide and raised his brows. What are you doing here?

  Zachary opened his door. “Just waiting for you. I didn’t want to bother Grandma.”

  Rhys waited while he climbed out and locked up, then walked with him up to the front door. The door was unlocked and Rhys let himself in.

  Vera was in the living room reading a book. She looked up and smiled at them.

  “Zachary. I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “I didn’t arrange anything ahead. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course. You know you’re welcome any time. How was school, Rhys?”

  Rhys rocked his hand back and forth. So-so.

  “Looks like you have plenty of homework to keep you busy.”

  Rhys shifted the loaded backpack, rolling his eyes.

  “Okay, well, relax and have a visit with Zachary, and you can hit the books after supper.”

  Rhys nodded. He led the way, not to his bedroom, but to the kitchen. He motioned for Zachary to sit down and had his head in the fridge, on the hunt for something good to eat. With the fast metabolism of a teenager, Rhys ate at least twice as much as Zachary, and it was no surprise he got home from school hungry. Zachary watched while he assembled a sandwich, slathering the bread with mustard and mayo and stacking the fillings high. He sat down across from Zachary and grinned.

  “Looks great.”

  Rhys pointed at Zachary and raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

  “No, not for me. I… just ate.”

  Rhys jerked his head back, lifting his chin and giving a little shake. Clearly expressing his doubt about that fact.

  Zachary shrugged uncomfortably. “Okay, maybe it’s been a few hours, but I’m not hungry.”

  Rhys nodded and took a big bite from his sandwich.

  Zachary took out his phone and laid it on the table in front of Rhys, with the picture of Luke on the screen.

  Rhys nodded and looked at Zachary eagerly to see what he had found out. Zachary looked at his face, reading the signs there. Pupils dilatin
g slightly. Leaning forward in attention. Breathing a bit louder and faster.

  “You like Luke?” Zachary asked, pointing to the picture.

  Rhys nodded.

  “I mean, you like like him?” Zachary asked. His face warmed and he looked away, as if something else had distracted his attention. Just because Rhys was a teenager, that didn’t mean Zachary needed to talk like one. There were probably better ways to ask Rhys what his feelings were. But nothing helpful had come to Zachary’s mind.

  Rhys nodded again.

  “Oh!” Zachary rubbed the short whiskers on his chin. “Well, some detective I am!”

  Rhys grinned and took another bite of his sandwich. As he chewed it, he made a motion back toward the living room, where Vera was still reading. He made a locking gesture at his lips.

  “I’m not going to out you,” Zachary promised. He’d known too many kids who had been kicked out when their parents had found out they were gay or something other than cis and straight. Things were improving, but Vera was the older generation and knew what it was like to be part of a minority. She had previously expressed to Zachary that she didn’t want him to meet with Rhys in public because people might think the two of them were having a romantic relationship, when Zachary had been mistakenly identified in the media as being gay.

  Zachary pursed his lips, thinking about that. Rhys cocked his head, looking at him questioningly.

  “Are you sure she doesn’t already know?”

  Rhys’s eyebrows went up even higher. He shook his head, frowning.

  “Just… something she said once,” Zachary said. He tried to remember what her words had been when she asked Zachary to only meet with Rhys at home from then on. But the words were elusive. It had been a very bad time for Zachary, and a lot of what had happened during that time was fractured and incomplete. He shrugged in irritation. “I don’t remember exactly what she said. I just wonder… if she at least suspects.”