The Forgetting (12 page)

“I hope not,” I said and we both laughed nervously. “I have to take medication for the rest of my life so my body doesn't reject the heart.”

“‘Reject the heart,'” Nate murmured. “There's a metaphor in there somewhere.”

He had no idea.

With some reluctance, I buttoned my cardigan back up, closing off Nate's touch. “So, that's why everything's changed. Everyone…my parents and friends…all just expect me to be the same old Georgie. But I woke up from the surgery—”

“—a different person,” Nate finished for me.

Heat tightened my throat. Tears prickled behind my eyelids.
He
got
it
. “Wow.” I sniffled. “Not even my own parents can see that.”

“It's because they've known you for so long. They're too close.” He used his thumb to swipe away one of the tears that had fallen on my cheeks. I leaned into his hand, pressing my skin into the contour of his knuckles. “I've only known the post-op Georgie so it's easier for me to see.”

“I kinda like that you've only known the post-op me,” I said. The tears had stopped but his hand still cradled my face. “Is that weird?”

“No.” His palm was so warm against my cheek. “Because it feels like we've known each other for a long time.” I couldn't see anything past the dark ocean of his eyes. “Doesn't it?”

I nodded. My heart thudded in my rib cage, like Annabel was trapped inside and pounding with her fists to get out.
It's her
, I thought.
It's her he knows, not me.
“Nate…”

“You ever coming back to work, Romeo?” Jan's gravelly voice interrupted my thoughts. Nate glanced at the clock above the coffee bar and sighed.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “Duty calls.”

“That's okay.” His hand dropped away from my face. A chill swept through me.

“I'm off at three,” he offered.

“I think my parents would ground me for life,” I said.

He laughed. “All Saints tomorrow afternoon, then?”

“Definitely.”

We stood up and looked at each other awkwardly for a moment. “Screw it,” Nate muttered and pulled me against him. His hand wound itself deep into my hair and he tilted my head back, bent over me, and lowered his lips to mine.

My whole body woke up singing, every nerve blazing with golden light. I felt him everywhere—inside my veins, filling my head, surrounding my heart…my heart—
No, this is mine, mine
—I wrapped my arms around his neck and crept my fingers into his hair. He was kissing
me
, not Annabel…this was
mine.

After a long moment that felt too short, he released me. I stumbled back a step, slowly becoming aware that Jan and the homeless woman were clapping and the nerdy boy was whistling. I flushed and bit my lip, still tasting Nate there. I was pleased to see that he was breathing hard and had a little red in his cheeks too.

“So, um, tomorrow then,” he said. I walked backward to the door so that I could watch him duck under the counter.

“Tomorrow,” I promised and backed out onto the street. Blinking in the bright sunlight, I touched my mouth. He had kissed me.
Me.
But what I still wasn't sure about was who had kissed him back—me or Annabel.

After I left Nate at Starbucks, I wandered for a while. My brain was on fire with a million thoughts. I had never fallen so hard for a boy, and I didn't know if it was my own leap or Annabel pushing me off the cliff. But I couldn't deny that kissing Nate had felt amazing.

I stopped at a street corner, tapping my foot against the curb as I waited for the light to change. Now all the doubts started to creep in, the what-ifs and worries. If we started something, I
had
to tell him about Annabel. I couldn't base our entire relationship on a lie. And he could help me find out who Annabel was. Unless…he thought I was a crazy, nuthouse girl. Which was the more likely scenario.

The light changed and I crossed the street, head bent against a gust of hard wind that blew up. “Okay,” I said out loud, earning an odd stare from a guy walking his dog past me. I'd table the issue of telling Nate the truth for another day. I'd work on finding out Annabel's real identity on my own. The sooner I did that, the sooner I could get her out of my head—and heart—and know for sure if the thing with Nate was real.

But I was pretty sure I'd need help, even if it wasn't from Nate.

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and spun around, my strides purposeful now. Nate couldn't be the only one at All Saints who had known Annabel. She used to go there a lot, he said. She'd even been to the holiday party. Someone else had to have known something about her, and maybe that someone would be there now, while Nate wasn't.

But when I pushed open the door to the basement, a scene very different from any other time I'd been there greeted me. The place was overrun with toddlers running and screaming and climbing everywhere. A handful of adults tried to wrangle them, but they were no match for the deafening energy of the little kids. I stood openmouthed in the doorway until I realized that it was Sunday. Church day. The congregation must run a daycare while the kids' parents were upstairs in services.

I was about to leave when I spotted Tommy in the farthest corner, her skinny black jeans and Madonna: Blond Ambition World Tour T-shirt in complete contrast to the miniature suits and fancy dresses. I skirted the edge of the room, nearly tripping on several three-year-olds, until I reached her.

“Tommy, right?” She looked up from her magazine and smiled at me. “You're Nate's friend, aren't you? Nice to meet you officially,” I said and shook her hand.

“You too. Are you looking for Nate? He's not here.”

“I know—I just saw him at Starbucks.” I waved my hand at the room. “Um, I wasn't expecting this, though.”

Tommy laughed. “I like to come here on Sundays and completely freak the parents out.” She scooted over on the love seat. “Take a load off.”

“Thanks.” I watched two little girls playing tea party with their baby dolls. “I thought this was, like, an all-inclusive church.”

“Everyone is all-inclusive until the transfolk walk into the room.” Her laugh was so throaty that a couple of the adults looked over at us, their eyes narrowed.

“That must really suck, having to deal with that kind of prejudice.” I stared back at the kid wranglers until their attention got pulled away by a boy throwing a Tonka truck at the wall.

“It's not fun,” Tommy agreed. “Sometimes I think people are just afraid to ask the awkward questions they have to ask in order to, you know, educate themselves. But I wish they would.”

I bit my lip. “Actually, I have an awkward question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why do you still call yourself Tommy?” I shrugged one shoulder as she leveled her gaze on me. “Why not change it to something—I don't know—more feminine?”

The corner of Tommy's mouth turned up. “Because I don't deserve it yet.”

“Oh, come on—“

“No, seriously.” Tommy tossed her long hair and it shimmied over her shoulders. “I've been doing so much work
on
me
—kicking my addiction, dealing with how I react to people's prejudice—that I feel like until I work through that shit, I haven't earned my new name.” She kicked one leg out in front of her and flexed her foot. “When I get my surgery—when I emerge from that cocoon a beautiful butterfly—then I'll christen myself with a new name.”

“Wow.” I breathed in deep. “I think I just got chills.” I touched her arm. “Just please…don't name yourself Chrysalis.”

Tommy laughed again. “How do you laugh so easily?” I asked before I could stop myself. “After all you've been through?”

“Because if I don't laugh, I'll cry and then I'll ruin my mascara.” She winked at me. “No one likes a raccoon.”

We both laughed. It was infectious, and it felt good after the roller coaster I'd put myself on for the last day. Tommy tossed her magazine aside. “So if you didn't come here to see Nate, what are you doing here?”

“Oh.” I cocked my head. “Did you know that girl Annabel who used to come here?”

The slight smile that lingered on Tommy's lips died away. “Yeah. Yeah, I knew her.” She blinked several times, fast. “Now I really will cry,” she said. “Thinking about Annabel always makes me cry.”

I touched her arm. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“No, it's okay.” Tommy fanned her face with her hand. “You're writing an article about her, right? Nate said something to me about it.”

“Yeah,” I said, looking away. Tommy was so upfront about who she was. It was hard to lie to her face. “I'm trying to figure out what drove her to the streets in the first place.”

“Jeez.” Tommy sank back into the cushions. “It could've been anything. I know this one girl who was sold by her friend's father during a sleepover.”

I gasped and pressed my fist to my mouth. “That's
sick
.”

“It's just a lethal combination, the system plus low self-worth. Then some hot guy comes in and tells you how beautiful you are, how he's going to take care of you…” Tommy's jaw hardened as she looked beyond me at a past she'd escaped. “And he really does take care of you at first. And you would do anything to repay that.” She snapped her gaze back to my face. “Even allow him to sell you.”

I shivered. I remembered what Nate had told me, that Annabel didn't think she deserved anything better. Jules must've spotted that a mile away. “Do you think…” I trailed off as Tommy's words sank in. “What do you mean, ‘the system'?”

Tommy blinked. “You know. The foster system.”

“Foster?” I sat up straight, my breath caught in my throat. “Annabel was a foster kid?”

“Well, sure. A lot of the girls here are,” Tommy said, and I remembered that Nate had said something similar the other day. The wheels in my brain churned, clicking the bits and pieces I'd collected so far into place.

“Annabel was eighteen, right?” My words tripped over one and another.

Tommy peered into my face. “Are you okay?”

“Right? She was eighteen?”

“Yeah, I think so… I mean, none of the girls here are really forthcoming about their age.”

“Of course!” I jumped up, startling a small girl who had wandered close to our corner. She ran to the nearest adult, who gave us a dirty look and directed the girl to a pile of blocks. “Foster kids age out of the system when they turn eighteen, right?”

“Well, yeah.” Tommy watched me pace back and forth in front of the couch, a nervous look on her face.

“That's why she was a Jane Doe! That's why she didn't have any parents to claim her!” I slid to a halt and whirled to face Tommy. “Her parents! What happened to them, do you know?”

“I…I have no idea.” She reached out and touched my wrist. “Um, seriously, are you okay?”

“There's got to be a record of it,” I murmured. “If she was in the system, there must be.”

“Hey.” Tommy's fingers tightened on my wrist and she shook my arm. “What's going on?”

I dropped back down to the couch and hugged her. “I just had a breakthrough, thanks to you.”

She hugged me back. “I guess you're welcome.”

Annabel was eighteen when she died. Presumably the foster kid system held on to records for at least a year after a kid aged out. Which meant that somewhere in the jungle of government offices in the city of Boston, there was a file with Annabel's real name on it, along with her last known address.

• • •

Dinner that night was accompanied by a symphony of forced chitchat and a long review of the book Dad had just finished. I tapped my foot against the table for the length of the meal, and as soon as I'd cleared my plate, I escaped upstairs.

I sat on my bed and opened my journal. On one page, I wrote down all the memories Annabel had given me: strawberries, her bedroom, the cemetery, her kingdom by the sea, Nate. I started to write down the memories of my own that I'd lost, but I tore the page out and crumpled it up. This wasn't about me right now. I needed to decipher Annabel's side of things first, and when I'd done that, I could figure myself out.

Besides, who knew how many memories I'd lost if I couldn't remember them?

On the opposite page, I wrote all the things I'd learned about Annabel through my research: 826 Emiline Way, Jules, Annabel Lee, Nate's work at All Saints, foster kid.

Then I drew lines. When I was done, I had a crazy
Beautiful
Mind
-like map. But everything was connected. And it was starting to make some sense.

I stared at the words “foster kid” and circled them over and over with my pen, my brain trying to make sense of them. Under what circumstances did a kid get turned over to the foster system? When no one else could take care of them, like if both parents died… My throat tightened as I imagined my parents no longer around. My whole body hurt at the thought of it. But in that situation, Grandma would take me in, or my Aunt Bobbi who lived in Chicago, or even the myriad of friends that my parents had. Someone would step forward and take me and Colt in. Annabel had no one.

I took a deep breath and grabbed my laptop from my desk. I was on the verge of finding something out. I could feel it. A quick Google search brought me to the Massachusetts Department of Children and Families page. I drummed my fingers on the side of the computer. I might be on the verge, but where the hell did I go from here? An internal search of the website wouldn't exactly yield personal information about a former ward of the state. Still…I let my fingers hover over the keys. It looked so easy in the movies when people hacked into mainframes to get the information they needed.

My phone buzzed, making me jump. I looked at the screen with its lit-up picture of Ella on her last birthday. I reached for it but my hand froze before hitting the answer button. If I talked to her, I'd wind up telling her about Nate. And I wasn't sure I wanted to yet.

The phone stopped buzzing, and an instant later, a text popped up from Ella.
You around?

Doing homework
, I responded.
My lessons with the tutor start tomorrow.

I hear ya. I have a ton.
After a moment, another message zinged in.
Wanna meet up tomorrow afternoon?

Can't. Going to All Saints to do research.

Research??? Is that what the cool kids are calling it these days?

Ha-ha.

Seriously, tho, when am I gonna see you? Feel like you're avoiding me.

My insides twisted as I read that.
I'm not!
I wanted to respond right away, but I couldn't. I
was
avoiding her. I was avoiding everyone from my pre-op world.
No
, I lied
. I just have a lot on my mind.

No you don't. You have a cute boy on the brain.

I half smiled. Even through texts, she could read me like a book.

And you never told me what exactly I was covering for today
, she added.

I'll call you tomorrow. <3
I shut off my phone. I stared at the black screen for a moment. A month ago if I'd kissed a boy, I would've texted Ella the minute we came up for air. But Nate…he was different. He was on the outside of my leaf-lined world, and I wanted to keep him separate.

He belonged to Annabel, and she belonged to me.

My throat tightened. No, I had that wrong. She owned me, heart and soul. I was chained to her, and until I broke that chain, Nate would never be mine and I would never be free.