Forgotten: A Novel Read Free Page A

again with a sinking heart, certain she isn’t home. It’s been that kind of day. That kind of year, come to think of it.
    I hug my yellow rain slicker close over my summer clothes as I climb back down the slippery steps. The soles of my canvas shoes aren’t meant for winter. I lose my footing on the second-to-last step and land hard on my ass.
    “Shit!”
    “Are you okay?” a man asks, his voice deep and concerned.
    I look up at him as I try not to whimper from the pain. He’s wearing a black peacoat and a gray ski cap over his dark hair. Midthirties, maybe a little older. Well-spaced eyes, a regular nose. A five o’clock shadow is spreading along his jaw. A stranger, and yet somehow familiar.
    He smiles sympathetically. A flash of white in the dark. “That looked like it hurt.”
    It feels like it’s going to hurt forever, but I try to be stoic. “Some.”
    He extends his hand. “Need a boost?”
    I place my cold hand in his gloved one, and he eases me to my feet. He’s about six inches taller than my five feet, five inches.
    “Thanks.”
    “No problem.” His slate-green eyes glance up the stairs I tumbled down. “Were you looking for Tara?”
    “I was. Do you know her?”
    “She’s an old friend.”
    Something niggles at the back of my brain, but I can’t quite get there. “You wouldn’t happen to know when she’ll be back, would you?”
    “She’s shooting a pilot out west. She won’t be back until the new year.”
    “Damn.” I shove my freezing hands into my pockets, hoping to find a cell phone I know isn’t there. I meet his eyes and something clicks into place. “Have we met before?”
    He starts to shake his head no, then stops himself. “Mmm. Maybe—”
    “Tara’s birthday party,” I say, connecting it. “Two years ago?”
    A warm summer night. Tara’s apartment was full of new faces as she shepherded Craig and me around, introducing as she went, waving a glass full of red wine.
    “You were there, right?” I ask.
    “Yes, but—”
    “Do you think I could borrow your phone for a second?”
    He hesitates. “All right.” He digs into his jeans and pulls out an iPhone. He presses the Power button to bring it to life. The screen stays blank. “Sorry, the battery must be dead.”
    “Crap,” I say, feeling a spark of panic.
    His face is a mixture of pity and reluctance. “You could use my landline, if you like.”
    I scan his features. His eyes seem kind, and the end of his nose is red from the cold. Spidery flakes are collecting rapidly on his hat. My gut is telling me this is the way women end up as headlines on CNN, but what choice do I have? Besides, he knows Tara. We’ve met, even.
    “That’d be great. I’m Emma, by the way.”
    “Dominic.”
    Dominic. Yes, that’s right. And he was standing next to a striking woman with a name like mine. Emmy, maybe. Or Emily. Understated elegance. Long red hair. A well-matched couple, looks-wise.
    “Nice to meet you. Again. You live close to here?”
    “Sure do.”
    He turns and walks toward my front door, puts a key into the lock, and pushes it open.
    I suck in a great lungful of cold, snowy air as my blood pounds in my ears.
    No, no, no. This cannot be happening.
    But it is.
    W hat feels like years later, I’m sitting in my living room on the chocolate-brown leather couch it took me months to find, shivering.
    “It’s in the kitchen,” Dominic says as he shrugs off his coat and hangs it on one of the brushed-nickel hooks I installed in the entranceway. He sounds like he’s a million miles away, speaking across a bad phone connection.
    “I know,” I whisper, the words sticking in my throat.
    Dominic walks into the room. He’s wearing faded dark jeans and a gray, zipped-neck sweatshirt, both of which hang loosely on his slim frame, like he’s recently lost weight. There are flecks of gray in his thick, closely cropped hair.
    “What’s that?”
    I take and release a ragged breath. “I said, I know where the phone