Forgotten: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

hoping there isn’t a next time.”
    He rattles the pages in front of him. “Right.”
    I pick up the front section of the paper. It’s been a while, but nothing seems to have changed. The headlines are the usual mix of sordid local news and impending world doom. There’s a serial rapist on the loose. A Manet was stolen from the Concord Museum. There might be massive solar flares hurtling toward us, or then again, maybe not. NASA is “studying” the situation. They’ll get back to us as soon as they have more information.
    I toss it aside and consider the man across the table. “Dominic, who are you?”
    His mouth twists. “Oh, right, we never had that who-are-you-and-what-do-you-do-besides-steal-women’s-apartments conversation.”
    “I think it might be a good idea given our present circumstance, don’t you?”
    “That’s where we’re different. I prefer to remain anonymous.”
    “Are you making fun of me?”
    “I might be.”
    “Are you going to answer my question?”
    He pauses for a beat, then puts down the paper slowly. “I’m a landscape photographer. Raised Catholic by way of fourth-generation Irish parents who wish their ancestors never left County Cork. I have, of course, sloughed off their foolish notions and fully embraced the Church of Scientology. What about you?”
    My lips twitch. “I’m a lawyer. Raised some kind of Protestant, I never got the details straight. Have up to now resisted recruitment by Scientologists or any other cult.”
    We smile at each other, and then something about the normalcy of our banter reminds me that my life isn’t at all normal right now, and I’m fighting back tears.
    “What is it?” Dominic asks.
    “It’s just . . . this conversation is way too casual for today.”
    “I’m sorry, Emma. I don’t mean to take your situation lightly.”
    “It’s fine.” I take a slow sip of my coffee, trying to focus on the type in front of me, but the words won’t stay still.
    “You want to talk about it?”
    “Not really.”
    “A woman who doesn’t want to talk about things. Interesting.”
    I almost laugh again, despite myself. I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a sun shower. How can you cry and laugh at the same time?
    “So,” I say, “I thought I’d go kick some scuzzy landlord butt. You want to join?”
    “It’d be my pleasure.”
    H alf an hour later, we open the front door on a changed world. The sky is that clear, crystal blue you only see in winter, and the sun shines down on fluffy white banks of snow. The air smells cold and stings my nostrils. It’s beautiful but daunting.
    I pull the hat Dominic loaned me down over my ears, zip up his ski jacket so it’s covering my face, and trudge through the knee-high snow to the street. The traffic is light and the mostly plowed street seems safer than the uncleared sidewalks.
    Dominic’s wearing the same coat and hat as last night and has a professional camera slung around his neck. He raises it quickly and takes a shot of a half-buried car parked across the street. A gust of wind blows a trail of snow off its roof, like the plume of snow at the top of Everest. His shutter clicks, clicks, clicks.
    “You coming or what?” I call.
    “Coming, coming.” He follows my footsteps out to the street. “How were you planning on getting to Pedro’s?”
    “I thought we’d walk.”
    “Twenty blocks?”
    “It’s not that far.”
    “If you say so.”
    We walk abreast, next to the tall snowbanks the plows created. Dominic’s boots crunch the snow beneath us; my canvas shoes merely sop up the cold. As we walk, my mind starts to throw out thoughts I’d rather not think. Like how none of this would be happening if my mother were still alive. Like how if I ever find Craig and Stephanie, they might never want to speak to me again. And where am I going to sleep tonight ?
    “How come you moved so close to Christmas?” I ask Dominic to distract myself.
    “What kind of question is that?”
    “I’m