Forgotten: A Novel (12 page)

The roads are full of Christmas traffic. A city full of last-minute shoppers. I skip through the stations on the radio. I didn’t know there were that many different recorded versions of “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Seems like just the one would do.

I get back to the apartment as the sun is setting. A quiet sunset, one of inches, forgoing spectacle. It doesn’t feel like Christmas Eve, but it is. My first Christmas without my mother. Will I be visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past, or will I have to lump it on my own?

I’m guessing the safe bet is on the latter.

I hear sounds coming from the kitchen, and I feel a moment of fright. Then I realize it must be Dominic. At least I hope it is. But why is he here on Christmas Eve?

“Dominic?”

“I’m in the kitchen.”

The kitchen smells wonderfully of browning pork and onions and . . .

“Do I smell thyme?”

Dominic’s pushing dough into a bright-red pie plate. His jeans and black sweater are covered with flour fingerprints. “No, it’s sage.”

“Whatcha making?”

“Tourtière.”

“Did you say
torture
?”

“No,
tourtière.
It’s a French word for meat pie.”

“I thought you were Irish, Irish, Irish.”

He smiles. “My grandmother was French Canadian.”

“Well, whatever it is, it smells wonderful.”

“It’ll taste better with a nice salad.”

“Okay, okay, I can take a hint.”

I get the salad stuff out of the fridge and start putting together a mixed green salad with cut-up cherry tomatoes.

“How come you’re here? I mean, it’s Christmas Eve, right? You didn’t want to be with your family?” I ask.

Dominic shoots me a look but answers me anyway.

“I’ll be going to Mahoney Central tomorrow.”

“But how come you’re not there tonight?” I persist, kind of annoying myself really, but old habits die hard.

He hesitates. “I thought . . . well, with everything that’s going on, I didn’t think I could take more than one night there, to be honest.”

“Big family?”

“You could say that. I’m the youngest of twelve.”

“You’re making that up, right?”

“Nope.”

“Your parents really had twelve children?”

“The Catholic Church has a lot to answer for.”

“I’ll say.”

Dominic slips the pie into the oven, and I make a vinaigrette out of oil, balsamic vinegar, grain mustard, shredded basil, and lots of freshly ground salt and pepper.

“Hold off dressing that,” Dominic says. “The pie will take about forty-five minutes.”

He picks up the bottle of wine breathing on the counter and pours me a glass. “Why don’t you go relax in the living room?”

I take the glass suspiciously. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Are you saying I haven’t been nice to you up to now?”

“You know what I mean.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“It’s the night before Christmas.”

“Goddamn lawyers.”

“Hey!”

He points toward the door. “Out of my kitchen, woman.”

I smile at him and take my wine to the living room. I don’t know what I would have done, really, without Dominic these last couple of days. And not just because I wouldn’t have a place to stay. I slip into the armchair, tucking my feet underneath me. The lights dance on the Christmas tree, the way Christmas lights are supposed to, the way they always have. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how some things can be so different while others remain the same?

I chase my morbid thoughts down with a large gulp of wine. It’s then that I notice a rather large box wrapped in green shiny paper sitting under the tree.

Oops! I almost forgot.

I scurry to the bedroom and dig out the present I bought for Dominic on my shopping spree. When I return to place it under the tree, Dominic’s adjusting the flame of the fire.

“I thought we’d eat in here,” he says as he replaces the fireplace screen.

“Sounds good.”

His eyes travel to the box in my hands. “What you got there?”

“Your Christmas present.”

He reaches out his hand. “Thanks.”

“What? No way. Not till tomorrow.”

“In my family we always open gifts on Christmas Eve.”

“That sounds like a convenient tradition.”

I walk past him and put his present under the tree. I can’t help but notice that the large green box has my name on it.

“Bet you’re wishing you had a Christmas Eve tradition now, aren’t you?” Dominic says, catching me looking at the tag.

I stand up quickly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Help me bring the table in here, and we’ll discuss it over dinner.”

“What’s to discuss? We both know we’re opening those presents tonight.”

He smirks, and we carry the table from the kitchen to the living room, returning for the chairs. While I set it, Dominic serves us and brings the plates to the table. I sit across from him and put my napkin on my lap. “This looks great. I always seem to be thanking you, but again, thank you.”

“It’s just a meat pie.”

“Seriously, Dominic.”

“You’re welcome.” He raises his glass and holds it toward me. “Merry Christmas, Emma.”

“Merry Christmas Eve.”

Our glasses clink, and we dig in. The pie is as wonderful as it smells, tender, moist pork in a flaky, crisp crust, but as we eat, an uncomfortable silence closes around us.

“We’re two sorry bastards, aren’t we?” I say eventually.

“Seems like.”

“Maybe presents will help?”

He smiles. “Go for it.”

I start toward the tree, then think better of it. “You have to open yours first.”

“You don’t have to ask
me
twice.”

He goes to the tree and picks up the smaller box. He holds it next to his ear and shakes it. “Mmm. It sounds like something soft, maybe a sweater.”

“Ah, but what color?”

He gives it another shake. “I’m guessing gray or blue.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m so right.”

“Just open it already.”

He starts to carefully peel off the wrapper one corner at a time.

“You’re not one of those people, are you?”

“If by that you mean people who take their time taking wrapping paper off packages, normally no.”

“So you’re just doing it to drive me nuts?”

“Pretty much.”

“Cut it out.”

He rips off the paper in one long strip. When he removes the gray cashmere sweater inside, he starts to laugh. He slips it over his head. It fits perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders.

“You like it?”

“It’s great, thanks. Your turn.”

I try to pick up the box. “What’s in this thing, anyway?”

“Open it and see.”

I sit on the floor, tucking my legs underneath me. I tear the first strip of paper off, hearing the click of a shutter as I do. I look up. Dominic’s hidden behind his camera.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Capturing the moment.”

“I don’t really like having my picture taken.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Indulge me.”

“Fine. But only if I get final say on what you do with it.”

“Deal.”

I bend my head over the box and rip off the rest of the paper. Underneath is a dark brown banker’s box. On the lid, in my own handwriting, is written,
Memories 0–18
.
With my heart in my throat I lift off the lid. Inside, organized into vertical file folders, are pictures, report cards, school art projects and essays. Inside the box is my life from zero to eighteen.

I touch one of the labels, not completely believing it’s real. “Where did you find this?”

“It was tucked behind the wine boxes in the storage locker.”

Of course. I moved it there when I bought the wine. The other boxes,
19–28
and
Current,
were on the shelf above it, and were, presumably, trashed by Pedro you-will-be-served-with-papers-just-as-soon-as-I-get-back-to-work Alvarez.

“Thank you for giving this to me, Dominic.”

He puts the camera down on the coffee table. “Of course. Now, why I don’t I clean up and leave you alone with that?”

“No, don’t go.”

“Are you sure?”

“If I go through that box right now, I’m going to be a freaking mess. And I know I might’ve seemed like a mess these past few days, but trust me, it could get much worse.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have given it to you.”

“No, I feel better knowing it’s around.”

“I can tell.”

“Really, it’s perfect.”

He gives me a slow smile, and I feel suddenly nervous, like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. Being happy, maybe.

“Where did you come from, anyway?” I ask.

Whatever Dominic was going to say in response is interrupted by the loud
ding-dong
of the doorbell.

“Midnight carolers,” he says, glancing at his watch, “at eight thirty?”

“You never know.”

He shrugs and goes to answer the door. I follow behind him out of curiosity. A rush of cold air chases past the door and swirls my hair around my face. I hesitate for a moment, then fly toward the entrance. Standing there, huddled inside a white puffy coat two sizes too big for her, is Stephanie.

“Stephanie!”

“Emma!”

Her arms are around me, holding me close.

Finally.

Chapter 11: Heart on a String

W
hen I eventually let Stephanie go, I introduce her to Dominic and usher her inside. As she takes off her coat, boots, and hat, I fill her in briefly on how we met. She’s shivering from the cold, and I take her into the living room, placing her as close to the roaring gas fire as she can stand. When her teeth stop clacking, I start my cross-examination.

“When did you get back? Why didn’t you call me? Didn’t you get any of my messages? And how come you went to Africa in the first place?”

Okay, maybe
barrage
is a better word.

“I should be asking you the same questions.”

“I know, I know, but answer me first, okay? I’ll tell you everything after, I promise.”

“Is she always this annoying now?” Stephanie asks Dominic, her bright green eyes laughing at me from her gamine face. She’s wearing the twin of the outfit I was wearing the night I came back from Africa—linen pants and a matching shirt.

“Pretty much.”

“How have you put up with it?”

Dominic leans forward in his chair. “Well—”

“Hey! I’m sitting right here.”

Stephanie grins. Her small, slightly crooked teeth are bright white in her tanned face. “I know. Finally.”

“Will you just answer my questions before I go bonkers?”

She tucks her chin-length hair around her ears. It’s a gesture that’s so familiar it brings tears to my eyes. “You know all about you disappearing, and everything?”

“You can’t imagine how bad I feel about that, Steph. I would’ve called you again if I could have.”

She pats my hand. “Don’t be silly. It’s not like you
wanted
to disappear.”

I feel a spasm of guilt. “No, of course not.”

“Nice TV coverage, by the way.”

“Ugh, you watched that? It was awful.”

“What are you talking about? You were awesome. But I do have a bone to pick with that Cathy Keeler woman. She was way out of line.”

“I thought Emma handled herself pretty well,” Dominic says.

Stephanie nods proudly. “Of course she did. Emma’s always known how to handle herself, ever since she was a little kid.”

“You don’t say.”

“Yeah, like this one time in high school—”

I cut her off. “Aren’t you supposed to be answering my questions?”

“Right. Sorry. But, Em, you know where I’ve been. I’ve been looking for you.”

My throat feels tight. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a very big deal.”

“Nah. I wish I could’ve gone earlier, but what with the earthquake and all, it was impossible to get a flight until two weeks ago.”

“But it was still too dangerous, Steph.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You think I wasn’t going to go looking for you because something might happen to me?”

Dominic looks impressed. “You’re pretty brave for someone that small.”

She wrinkles her button nose. “Five foot one isn’t small, it’s petite.”

I smile at her fondly. Stephanie’s always been a little sensitive about her height.

“But how did you know there was someone to go looking for? I mean, why didn’t you think—”

Her eyes brim with tears. “You know I could never think that. Not unless it was certain.”

I know exactly what she means. A life without Stephanie is one I’d never willingly accept either.

I squeeze her hand. “Thanks for that.”

“Anytime.”

“But how did you see Emma on
In Progress
?” Dominic asks. “Were you watching it in Tswanaland?”

“Oh, I only saw that today. On the airplane. You know those systems they have now, where you can watch all these programs? Well, they had these episodes of
In Progress,
and none of the movies appealed. Anyway, my plane landed a couple of hours ago.”

“Is that how you found out I was . . . ?”

“No, no. Karen and Peter told me.”

“How did you find them?”

“I found that guy, Barono, Basono—”

“Banga?”

“Yeah, that guy. Anyway, he told me where he’d left you. I paid him some money, and he took me out there.”

“Not too much money, I hope.”

She shakes her head. “Emma, you know I don’t care about money.”

I smile inwardly. “Is terrible with money” might be a better description, which is all the more reason that I need to find a way to pay her back.

“Did you enjoy the ride out to the reserve?”

She laughs. “Oh yeah, my coccyx is still bruised. But it was worth it, if just to meet Karen and Peter.”

“Ah, the famous Karen and Peter,” Dominic says.

I shoot him a silencing look. “Are they well?”

“They seemed very well. Missing you, though.”

“I miss them too. Are they still coming back next week?”

“They said so.”

“How’s the school? Have classes started?”

“They were just about to. They wanted me to stay for the opening, but I needed to get home for Christmas.”

Stephanie loves Christmas. Every year she takes on some huge project, like building a gingerbread house or stringing the outside of her apartment building with lights and electric reindeer that bop along to Christmas tunes.

“Karen told me to go home for Christmas, too.”

“Smart lady.”

“She is. I can’t believe we only missed each other by a couple of days.”

“I know. Ridiculous, right? If I’d been a little more patient, I could’ve met you at the airport,” Stephanie says.

“Patience isn’t really your strong suit.”

“True. But I’m glad I got to see what you did there.”

I look down at the floor. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I know twenty kids who would strongly disagree.” She turns toward Dominic. “She built a whole schoolhouse, you know.”

“Not a whole schoolhouse. I just helped.”

“Don’t be fooled, Dominic. She’s not really modest.”

He smiles. “You mentioned something about a story from high school?”

Her eyes light up. “Well, Emma was on the debate team, right?”

I hold up my hand. “Oh no, not that story.”

Dominic looks disappointed. “Now you’ve made me
very
curious.”

“You’ll survive. How long did you stay with Karen and Peter?”

“Five days,” she says wistfully.

“You sound sad.”

She sighs. “I
was
kind of sad to leave. It was beautiful there.” A memory of something unpleasant flits across her face. “I still can’t believe Cathy Keeler was questioning your integrity like that. And that stunt she pulled with Craig—” She stops herself, looking guilty.

“Don’t worry. I know all about Craig and Sophie.”

“Did you find out before or after the kiss?”

Dominic stands abruptly. “I think that’s my cue to leave. Nice to have met you finally, Stephanie.”

She gives him an appraising look. “Yeah, you too. And thanks for taking care of Emma.”

“My pleasure.”

“Hello. Again—sitting right here.”

Dominic places his hand on my shoulder gently, patting me twice. “I know. Good night.”

“Night. Thanks again for my present.”

“It belonged to you already.”

He leaves, and before he’s out of earshot, Stephanie leans toward me excitedly. “So tell me all about him.”

“Craig?”

“No, not that idiot, and by the way, I can’t believe he hooked up with
Sophie.
I mean Dominic.”

“Um, well, there’s nothing much to tell, really.”

“Bullshit.”

“I swear. We’re just friends.”

“But you’re living together.”

“That’s a long story.”

“We have all night.”

I
wake up the next morning to Stephanie’s smiling face. We stayed up talking until two in the morning, finally drifting off to sleep when we couldn’t stay awake any longer. It reminded me of a hundred similar scenes from childhood, when Stephanie would stay over and sleep seemed like an interruption to our endless conversation.

“What are you smiling at?” I ask. With messy hair and a makeupless face, she doesn’t look much older than she did the last time we had a sleepover.

“You, silly.”

“No, you’re the silly.”

She laughs. “That was pretty much our first conversation, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t remember. Was it?”

“Yeah. Remember, that kid was teasing me, that Roger kid, and you told him to get lost or he’d have you to deal with.”

I think back but I don’t even remember Roger. “Did I really say that?”

“Or some five-year-old equivalent. I was impressed, but I was also kind of scared of you.”

“The story of my life. When did I call you silly?”

“Come on, you really don’t remember?”

“Maybe. Tell me again.”

She bends her pillow in half and adjusts it under her head. “Well, as I recall, I told you that now that you’d saved my hiney, we had to be friends for life, and then you crushed my little heart by telling me that I was silly. ‘People aren’t friends for life.’ ”

“I’m glad I was wrong about that.”

“Me too. Hey, it’s Christmas!”

“It is.”

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“Sure you did.”

“Oh, Em. I’m really glad you’re okay.” She raises her hand to wipe away her sudden tears, and I’m fighting back my own.

“That makes two of us.”

There’s a loud sound in the hall, like someone tripped over something. “God fucking shit!” Dominic swears.

Stephanie smiles. “Your new roomie uses some colorful language.”

“He’s a great cook, though.”

She sits up. “I should get back to my place. Come pick me up around noon?”

“Pick you up? For what?”

“We need to be at my folks’ place by two.”

“Steph . . .”

“You think I’m leaving you alone on Christmas? No way. You’re coming to the annual Granger Liquor Fest whether you want to or not.”

“Can I pick not?”

“No.”

“Okay, then.”

“Good. Now, get up and get ready. That’s an order.”

“When did you become so bossy?”

“Someone had to fill the gap while you were away.”

I grab my pillow and whack her with it.

“That’s the way it’s going to be, huh?” She positions herself on the bed and takes a mighty swing at me with her own pillow.

A moment later we’re involved in a full-fledged pillow fight. Several rounds in, Stephanie lands a particularly good shot that catches me off balance and I tumble to the floor. The thud sounds bad, but I’m unhurt. I roll onto my side, laughing and clutching my pillow to my stomach. Dominic’s bare feet are in the doorway. I look up into his amused face.

“A girl-on-girl pillow fight. It really
is
Christmas.”

“Get him, Steph.”