The Forgetting (9 page)

“I just…” I said slowly, “I never thought about it before.”

Nate put his hand over mine. My heart jerked a little. His skin was smooth and warm against mine. “There is a whole world outside the walls of your fancy school that they don't teach you about in there.”

My eyes met his and it was like I was looking at him through a stained glass window. He was so many different colors and shapes. He was the hot guy that Georgie saw and the beautiful person that Annabel had known. And all he saw of me was a spoiled little rich girl. I wanted him to see me differently. I wanted him to think I was beautiful and brave just like
she
was.

“Well, I'm here,” I said. “Educate me.”

Later, when he walked me out to my cab, I asked him, “You're here every afternoon?”

“Pretty much.”

“I'll come back.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You didn't get enough for your article?”

“No.” I searched his face. “I need more.”

We stared at each other for a long moment before he reached around me and opened the car door. “'Til next time then, Georgie.”

As I sat in the cab on the way home—with the same driver I'd had on my first visit to Mattapan—I thought about Ella, how easily she'd dismissed the topic of trafficking as depressing. And it
was
so much easier to dismiss. Who wanted to think about teenage prostitutes? Especially when they could be your next-door neighbor? But I didn't want to run away from it. And I couldn't. Not with Annabel ruling my heart.

I'd only gotten a little more information on her, but whatever she wanted to tell me, I was on the track. I could feel it in the way the Catch shushed through me.

The house smelled like roasting chicken when I walked through the door. This time I didn't have to worry about being out. I'd told my parents exactly where I was going. Mom had even given me the cab fare. For once, I was grateful for the deadline that kept her hidden away in her office and unable to chauffeur me around town.

I found Grandma in the kitchen, bent over the oven and brushing olive oil onto the half-roasted bird. “Can I help?”

“Oh no, sweetie.” She straightened and laid the brush on the counter. “Not with this anyway. Your mom wants to send out invitations for their Valentine's Day party, and I cannot for the life of me figure out that stupid Evite site.”

I laughed. “I'll do it.” I sat at the kitchen table and pulled Mom's laptop toward me. I stroked the silvery rim with the tip of my finger. Everyone in this house had their own laptop, plus the desk computer up in the office where Mom was locked away. I knew we had a lot, more than most people, but being in that basement at All Saints made me realize how truly blessed we really were.

I pulled up the invitation website and went into Mom's account to find the invitation for last year's Valentine's Day party. It was an annual event in our house. Mom and Dad said having a holiday party just made you compete against everyone else having a holiday party, so they'd searched around for a holiday that everyone celebrated but usually didn't have parties for. Colt was rooting for Groundhog's Day, but Mom and Dad had settled on Valentine's Day. And ten years later, it was a tradition.

I changed the invitation design and copied the guest list from previous years. “Are you sticking around for the party?” I asked Grandma.

“You know, I think I might.” She carried a bowl of sweet potatoes to the counter and started cutting them up. “I've been hearing about this party for years and have always been curious.”

“It's nothing special,” I said and hit Send on the Evite. I looked up. “Actually, you know, it is. The whole neighborhood shows up.”

Grandma dropped a handful of diced potatoes into a pan. “Do you want me to stay?”

I smiled at her. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it would be nice.”

“Then I'll stay.”

“You can help us decorate.” I shut the laptop and stood up. “Colt always goes overboard with the paper hearts.” I kissed her on the cheek. “I'll be upstairs. Call me if you need help.”

Before I left the kitchen, I grabbed a box of trash bags from under the sink. When I got to my bedroom, I flicked on the light and stood in the doorway. My gaze swept over every surface and took in the excess of jewelry I never wore, my overstuffed closet, the shoes spilling out like a pool of black and brown sludge. Shelves full of books I'd already read, trinkets that I'd bought and forgotten about.

I didn't need any of this. The soft lamplight seemed to glare off the bright pink walls as I pulled piece after piece of clothing off their hangers and stuffed them into the trash bags. By the time I was done with the mountain of shoes, I could actually see the floor of my closet, something I'd never been able to achieve before. I shoved all the costume jewelry I'd worn once into a little velvet bag and flung it in after the shoes.

The books were next. I'd noticed a half-empty bookcase in the corner of the basement at All Saints. My own bookcase overflowed with glossy hardcovers that I'd already devoured and were now just taking up space. Maybe one of these books would keep one girl off the street for an afternoon.

I dumped the unwanted books into a cardboard box I'd found at the back of my closet and was dragging it across the room when the door opened. “Dinner's—Georgie! What—here, let me help you.” Mom nudged me out of the way. I dropped to the floor and panted as I watched her pull the box into the hallway. My scar seared.

Mom came back into the room. I followed her gaze to my pared-down closet, the clutter-free dresser, and the half-empty bookshelf. Sweat ran down my forehead and my shirt clung to my skin. I pulled the neckline away from my throat and waved it a little to fan myself. Mom raised an eyebrow at me. “It's a little early for spring cleaning.”

I shrugged and let my breathing slow to normal before answering. “I was just feeling a little claustrophobic in here.”

Mom peered into one of the trash bags. “Are you sure you want to get rid of all this stuff?”

“I don't need it.”

“What do you, uh, plan to do with all this?”

“Donate it.” The pain in my chest had eased. I pushed myself up from the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. “I know a place.”

Mom leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms. “Georgie, does this have something to do with this report you're working on?”

“No. I mean, maybe.” I pulled my shirtsleeves down over my hands and clenched the fabric. “But so what? I don't need all this stuff, and it doesn't seem fair that I should have all of this when so many others have nothing.”

“Well, I think it's very nice that you want to donate this,” Mom said. “But, you know, it's not really about fairness. Your father and I have worked very hard to be where we are.”

“Oh, come on, Mom.” I rolled my eyes at her. “You and Dad both had trust funds. You had every advantage.”

Mom's jaw tightened. “But we still worked very hard. Your father didn't become a Harvard dean because of his trust fund.”

“That's true,” I said calmly, my eyes still on her face. “But you never had to struggle. You always knew where your next meal was coming from. You never had to—I don't know—sell yourself on the street—”

“Georgie!” The blood drained from her face. “That's a horrible thing to say.”

“Yeah, well, it's a horrible thing to have to do.” I stood up. “And you'd be horrified to know how many girls do it every day, right here in Boston.”

As I moved past her, she pulled me into a fierce, tight hug. “Thank God you don't have to do that,” she muttered into my hair as she pressed her lips hard against my temple. I softened into her. It wasn't her fault we were privileged. She only wanted to give me every advantage she'd had. But that didn't mean there wasn't a whole world out there that I deserved—
and
needed
—to know about.

I finally asked the cab driver's name when he picked me up for the third time. Manny helped me carry the trash bags of clothes and boxes of books to the basement of All Saints when he dropped me off the next afternoon. Nate stood by the door, eyebrows raised, as I deposited a bulging bag just inside. “What's all this?” he asked.

“I cleaned out my room,” I said. I leaned on the door frame opposite him to catch my breath. My scar itched.

“All this was just in your
room
?” Nate whistled long and low. “That's a lot of stuff.”

“A lot of stuff I don't need,” I said. “Is it okay that I brought it here? I thought the girls could go through it and take whatever they wanted.”

Manny squeezed in between us and dropped the last bag on the pile. I paid him a large tip on top of the regular fare and closed the door behind him. Nate was watching me, his blue eyes intense on my face as I turned around. “What?”

He gave a shake of his head, and the intensity broke. “Nothing. It's just really thoughtful of you to do this.”

“Well…” I bit my lip. I had been about to say something smart and sarcastic, but somehow that seemed all wrong. “What you said the other day got to me.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Well…good.” He bent down to pick up a box of books, but I could swear that I saw redness in his cheeks. It was gone when he straightened. “Let's get these on the shelves.”

I bent down to pick up the other box. Pain ripped through my chest as I lifted it, and I dropped the box with a loud clunk. Panting, I crouched over, fingers pressed against my breastbone. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to breathe through the pain. Why did this have to happen now, in front of him? My body had become such a traitor.

Hands gripped my shoulder. “Georgie? Are you okay?”

The pain eased a bit and I took a full breath. For an instant, it felt like my scar was breaking open.
Not
possible
, I reminded myself. Dr. Harrison had told me at my last appointment that couldn't happen. I took another breath and looked up at Nate. “I'm fine.” I took his offered hand and stood up. “Really.”

“Are you sure?” He leaned in, his eyes searching my face. He was so close that I felt his breath, warm and sweet, on my nose. “Because you almost collapsed the other night too.”

My eyes flew open. I swallowed. “It's nothing.” I glanced around. “I was, um, really sick about a month ago and I'm still recovering from that.”

Nate's forehead crinkled. “What kind of sick?”

“Oh…pneumonia. It was pretty bad. I was in the hospital.” At the deeper wrinkling of his brow, I smiled. “But I'm fine now! Really.”

“If you say so.” He pressed his lips together like he didn't really believe me, but I kept smiling. “But I'll carry the books. You go sit on the couch.”

“Okay.” I settled myself into the couch next to the bookshelf and watched him bring the other box over. I touched my nose, still feeling the tickle of his breath there. Nate was concerned about me. He was—
literally
—carrying my books for me.
Stop
it
, I told myself. These weren't my feelings. They were
hers
. I shook my head a little. Everything was mixed up inside me. I couldn't sort out what was mine and what was hers anymore.

Nate set the box down and straightened. “Are you sure you're okay? Do you want some water or something?”

“If I have to say ‘I'm fine' one more time, I'm going throw this at you.” I grabbed a book and shook it in the air. He threw his hands up in surrender, then settled on the floor next to the boxes.

“What do you think? Should we arrange them alphabetically or by genre?”

“Genre, then alphabetical,” I said. “I'd hate for someone to accidentally pick up a teen vampire romance when they were really looking for a teen werewolf romance.”

Nate laughed. “Those both sound
awful
.”

“I've read my fair share,” I admitted. I handed him a stack of literature textbooks that I'd had to get for school. “They all start to blend together after a while.”

Nate slid the textbooks onto the shelf, then pulled one free. “Poe,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I had to read that for school…” I trailed off as shadows slid across his face. I bent over to see the page he'd opened to. “Annabel Lee.” My heart jerked and shuddered. “‘In a kingdom by the sea,'” I whispered. “That's where she got the name.”

Nate looked up. I didn't want to notice that his eyes glistened. In the silence before he spoke, I heard the Catch, rippling through the sadness in my heart. “She said…” He stopped to clear his throat. “She said her mom used to read it to her when she was little.” His hand stroked the page like it was something sweet and precious. “She said she used the name because she had to believe there were still beautiful places in the world.”

My breath left my body in one
whoosh
. I closed my eyes with the force of its leaving. Behind my eyelids I saw Annabel's kingdom by the sea, the make-believe fairyland she imagined from the poem.
Turrets
rise
high
over
ocean
cliffs, colorful banners waving from each tower. Elaborate stained glass windows shine multicolored in the sun, splaying reds and blues and golds on the floor of my castle. I run through tapestried halls, my laughter echoing off the stone walls. And I'm so there, so in that place, that I laugh for real, and the man on top of me takes it for fun, that I'm actually enjoying myself with him… I squeeze my eyes tighter and go back to my castle. Because he might own my body—at least for the next hour—but he can't capture my mind.

The memory slid away and I was sickened in its wake. God, I could actually feel the weight of that man… I shuddered. She'd lied to Nate. She used the name because this place, this imaginary kingdom by the sea, was the place she escaped to when she was with men. It was the only beautiful place left for her.

A warm weight on my knee made me open my eyes. Nate's hand rested there, and he was looking up into my face. “Are you okay?”

“I—” I tasted salt in my mouth and caught the tears on my tongue. “No. No, I'm not okay.”

Nate moved from the floor to sit beside me on the couch. “This stuff has really gotten to you, hasn't it?”

I shifted so that I sat cross-legged on the cushions, facing him. He had no idea how deep I was in, how far down “this stuff” had gotten to me. I waved my hand over the boxes. “I brought all this crap, and what good is it? It didn't help Annabel. I was so stupid to think that a new sweater or a book could make a difference.”

“It
does
make a difference.” Nate took my hands. “Do you know how many people don't care enough to even do that? At best, they write a check to ease their guilt—and hey, there's nothing wrong with money—but what you're doing is so much more valuable. You're here, educating yourself. You're writing that article, and maybe that will make other kids at your school get involved—”

I squirmed. But I couldn't very well tell him I was here because of Annabel's heart. Like he would believe me anyway. I looked at my hands, enclosed in his. “Why do you come here?” I asked, my voice low and quiet. “What makes you come here every day?”

Very slowly, deliberately, Nate pulled his hands away from mine. “I…went through kind of a dark period a couple of years ago. During that time, I found this place, and it…saved me.”

“Oh.” I hadn't expected him to tell me the real reason, but somehow it hurt that he was lying to me. Well, not lying exactly, but not telling me the whole truth. I slid my hands under my legs. A crazy thought popped into my head. “Hey, what are you doing on Valentine's Day?”

“Uh…” He lifted one shoulder. “I'm, not sure. Do you, um—”

“My parents have a party every year,” I said and his shoulders relaxed. “It's huge and yes, there are adults there, but it's really fun. You should come. You know, if you're not doing anything.”

“I'm not,” he said quickly. “And I'd love to.”

“Great.” Now I'd have to find something cute to wear to the party. I glanced at the trash bags full of clothes.
Maybe
I'd been too hasty
…

The door to the basement opened, sending a blast of cold air through the room. “Hey,” I said, “isn't that Char?”

Nate swung his legs off the couch. “She
never
comes here.” I followed him toward her.

As soon as she saw us, she marched over and we met in the middle of the room. “I got a message for you,” she said, loud enough that a couple of people glanced toward us. “From Jules.”

I took in a sharp breath, but Nate just reached out and touched Char's arm. She winced. “Why don't we get you some hot chocolate while you tell me?” he said. Char looked around the large room and wrapped her arms around her middle as though she was protecting herself from some invasive attack. “It'll just take a minute.” Nate tugged her arm gently. “We have marshmallows.”

Char narrowed her eyes at him. “The big fluffy ones or the crappy mini kind?”

Nate laughed. “The good ones. Come on.”

As I walked behind them toward the kitchen, I saw why FAIR Girls wanted him around. He was good.
Really
good. Totally easy and casual and nonthreatening. He made
cocoa
, for crap's sake.

“Have a seat,” Nate told her, indicating one of the chairs at the kitchen table. She sat, still hugging herself. I went to help Nate at the counter but he gave a barely-there shake of his head. “Talk to her,” he muttered, only loud enough for me to hear.

I walked back to the table where Char sat and tucked myself into the chair across from her. What the hell should I say to her? Somehow “What's up?” seemed ridiculously out of place. Especially now that I had experienced—
vividly
—what went through a prostitute's mind when she was on the job. My stomach turned.

“What's with all the trash?” Char asked.

I blinked and looked over to where she was pointing. “Oh! It's clothes that I brought in. You should go through them, see if there's anything you want.”

“I don't need your cast-offs,” Char snapped.

“That's not what I meant.” I picked at a gouge on the seat of the plastic chair beneath my legs. “You know, I shop at the Salvation Army all the time,” I said. “You can find some really good stuff there, and for super cheap. I go there almost every Saturday with my friends.”

Char raised an eyebrow. “Which one do you go to?”

“Usually the one in the South End.”

“I've never been to that one.” She chewed at her lip and glanced at the bags. “You got any sweaters in there?”

“Uh-huh. Some cashmere.”

Char's gaze lingered on the bags before she shrugged. “Maybe I'll take a look.”

“Here we go.” Nate set down three mugs of hot chocolate, all with several big marshmallows floating at the top, and slid into the chair next to me.

Char picked up her mug and cradled it in her hands. I noticed how her eyes never stayed focused on one thing for more than a few seconds. She was always looking everywhere, and she sat on the edge of the chair like she was prepared to bolt at any instant.

“So what's the mess—” I started to ask but Nate knocked his knee against mine.

“Where are you staying these days, Char?”

“I got a place.” She took a sip of her cocoa and slurped in one of the marshmallows.

“You getting enough to eat?” Despite Char's unfocused gaze, Nate never took his own eyes off her face. She shrugged in response to his question. “We have packets of ramen noodles if you want to take some.”

She shrugged again. I tapped my foot against my chair; I wanted to hear Jules's message. Nate glanced at me. My foot froze, and I got it. As soon as Char delivered the message, she would leave. As long as we kept her plied with hot chocolate and talking about everything else, she would stay. And if she stayed long enough, she would come back again.

“I brought books too,” I said. “If you want to borrow one.”

Char snorted. Then her eyes brightened. “I read this one book about a girl who turns into a bird or something, and it ended on a total cliffhanger. You have the next book?”

“Yeah, I do!” I jumped up. Char trailed behind me as I knelt beside the boxes and rummaged through them. “It was actually a trilogy.” I handed her all three books.

She stroked her finger along the worn spines. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” When we went back to the table, Char stuck the books in her bag. As I slid into my chair, I caught Nate smiling at me. I buried my face in my cup and pretended the heat in my face was from the steam.

Char drained the last of her cocoa. “Do you want some more?” Nate asked. She nodded. As Nate stood, the door to the basement opened. Char jumped, knocking her chair over. Even when she saw it was just another kid, she stayed on her feet, trembling.

“I gotta go,” she said.

“Char, wait,” I said, reaching for her arm.

She jerked away. Now her eyes were focused, their espresso depths drilling into me as she pushed up the sleeve of her coat. I had to tear my own gaze away from hers to look at her arm.

At first I thought I was seeing a tattoo because the marks were perfectly circular. But as I looked closer I saw they were red and angry. Like cigarette burns. Recent cigarette burns.

Still looking at me, Char rolled one sleeve up as high as her bicep and then the other. My stomach turned over. Nate sucked a breath in between his teeth.

The burns ran the length of both her arms, wine-colored against her dark skin. The little circles were evenly spaced, like someone had carefully measured out exactly where to place them. It was not the work of someone who was angry or rushed. It was the work of someone deliberate, someone who had held her arm in place and taken his time.