Read Forgotten: A Novel Online
Authors: Catherine McKenzie
Chapter 27: A Woman Scorned, a Woman Changed
T
wo hours later, Sunshine’s car is sorted out and I’m heading back to the office, feeling like a weight has been lifted. It isn’t until I swing open the heavy glass door to the lobby of my office building with a whistle on my lips that it hits me. This is how I used to feel all the time: competent, excited, ready to take on the day.
You’d think I’d know better by now.
“Jenny, is that memo ready?”
She looks up from one of her messaging conversations, confused. “Sophie’s working on it.”
“What did you say?”
“Sophie said you wanted her to look it over before you finalized it.”
My heart starts to pound. “When was this?”
“About an hour ago. I’m sorry, she seemed so certain. I mean, you know how she can be—”
Her bottom lip starts to quiver, but I don’t have any time to comfort her. I rush to my desk and bang my mouse against it to revive my computer. I can hear the murmur of voices from Matt’s office through the wall. With barely working fingers, I type in my password and work through the network to the memo. I click on it and get prompted for a password. I type mine in.
Damn!
The password’s been changed. That little bitch. Will she stop at nothing?
On the edge of hyperventilating, I leave my office and hurry down the hall. My old office is empty, but I can smell Sophie’s perfume—that mix of Chanel and brimstone. She’s got to be around here somewhere.
But where?
Oh fuck. She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t dare.
I turn on my heel and nearly sprint toward Matt’s office. The door is closed, the glass wall fogged so I can’t see what lies within. Something tells me that the voices I heard through the wall earlier hold the answer to where Sophie is and what she’s doing.
A bad, bad answer.
As I near his door, I try to breathe normally, trying not to look like an escapee from a mental institution. Though I might be headed there after this.
Nathalie’s sitting at her desk with her earphones on, typing away. I tap her on the shoulder to get her attention. She pulls the earphones from her ears.
“What’s up?”
“Who’s he in there with?”
“Sophie and Craig. They’re on a conference call.”
Thump, thump, thump.
“Who are they talking to?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Please, Nathalie, I don’t have time to explain.”
“I put him through to Connor Perry.”
Connor Perry is the VP Legal at Mutual Assurance.
I walk toward Matt’s door.
“You can’t go in there!”
I put my hand on the knob and turn it. I fling open the door as dramatically as I can. It smacks into the wall loudly. If this is the end, I might as well go out with a bang.
My gesture doesn’t go unnoticed. Craig and Sophie both jump in their seats, and I get a flash of Matt’s angry eyes, a look I haven’t seen in a while.
He raises his palm toward me, stopping me in my tracks.
“That’s about the size of it, Connor.”
An indistinct voice issues from the phone on Matt’s desk. “Great work, guys. You really knocked it out of the park on this one.”
Craig shoots me a guilty look, but Sophie’s all business. “Thanks, Connor. Happy to do it.”
They say goodbye and Matt ends the call.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice trembling.
Matt leans back in his chair, folding his hands above his belt. “Sophie, Craig, can you give us a moment?”
“Of course, Matt,” Sophie says in her cat-that’s-got-the-cream purr.
“Maybe I should stay,” Craig says.
“No, Craig, thank you. That will be all.”
They leave the room—Craig a little reluctantly—closing the door behind them.
“Sit,” Matt commands.
I perch on the edge of his low, low visitor’s chair. “What was that call about?” I ask, though I have a pretty good idea.
Matt gives me that dark, baleful look again. “Why didn’t you tell me Victor Bushnell stole the painting?”
I clear my sandy throat. “Because the police haven’t confirmed my findings yet, and I wanted to be absolutely sure before we took this any further.”
“That’s not acceptable, Emma. I told you to keep me in the loop, and instead, I had to find out from Sophie what was going on in my own file.”
“Only because she was snooping,” I say before I can help myself.
“You know I don’t have any patience for your petty little grievances with Sophie.”
“I know, Matt. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you as soon as I found out, but—”
“No buts. It seems I was mistaken to give you this much responsibility right away. It seems you’re not the person I thought you were.”
“Please don’t say that. You can trust me. I’m the same Emma I’ve always been.”
“The Emma I knew would have come into my office full of excitement, bursting to tell me what she’d found the minute she uncovered it.”
That does sound like me. Why didn’t I do that?
“Okay, maybe you’re right, but think about what I’ve been through. Can you really blame me for being cautious?”
“I don’t buy that. The cautious thing would’ve been to keep me apprised of what you’d discovered. Something else is going on. Would you like to tell me what it is?”
He watches me intently as my brain whirs. Can I tell him I was hoping that if I solved this case, I’d get on the express train to partnership? That I was also kind of hoping that when I got there, my old life, my old self, would be waiting for me? That I’d finally get that happy ending I’ve been expecting ever since my life turned to shit? No. I can’t say that out loud.
If I say it out loud, it will never come true.
“I was only trying to make sure we really had the answer before I made a big fuss.”
He purses his lips. “Still sticking to that story?”
“Yes.”
“That’s too bad.”
My stomach falls. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
I
leave Matt with my confidence shaken but with a firm purpose. If this is the end of my career, I’m not going down without a fight. Or at least a catfight.
I stop briefly in my office to grab my Dictaphone. Moments later, I slip into Sophie’s office and close the door behind me. I flick the switch that turns the glass from see-all to hide-all. I may be spoiling for a fight, but that doesn’t mean I want an audience.
Sophie turns away from her computer screen as the light in the room shifts. Her eyes shine with triumph. “What are you doing here?”
“You know what.”
“If you’re looking for an apology, you’ve come to the wrong place.”
“Don’t treat me like an idiot. I know you’re never going to apologize.”
“Then what do you want?”
Good question. Can I ask her to step outside without sounding like a character in a bad B movie?
“I think I’m entitled to an explanation.”
“I thought you were the big brain around here. Can’t you figure it out for yourself?”
“Do you think I’d be here asking you if I had any clue why you do the things you do?”
She lets out a sinister laugh. “Well, then, why should I tell you?”
I study her for a moment. I can tell a direct approach isn’t going to get it done. So instead, I deliberately release all the tension from my body and sit in her visitor’s chair. This chair is her all over. It looks sophisticated and welcoming, but it isn’t. The rim hits my shoulder blades, and the seat doesn’t give an inch.
“You should tell me because I give up.”
“Excuse me?”
“I give up. You win. Whatever we’re fighting over, you can have it.”
She looks at me suspiciously. “I don’t believe you.”
“What’s not to believe?”
“You know why we’re fighting, and what we’re fighting over.”
“Craig?”
Her lips curl into a snarl. “Of course not.”
“This office?”
“That was just the icing.”
“Then what?”
She hesitates. “I would’ve been made partner a long time ago if it wasn’t for you.”
“How do you figure?”
“It should’ve happened two years ago, but no, the Management Committee wanted to wait until they could name you too because they saw us as equals.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Of course you did. You’re always taking things from me. Steven. Craig. Matt.”
Steven is the ex-boyfriend I hooked up with all those years ago at the firm’s Christmas party. And she’s got it backward about Craig, but . . . “Matt Stuart?”
“Do we know another Matt?”
“No, but I still don’t get it. What does this have to do with him?”
“It’s not just him, it’s you and him.”
“Me and him? There’s no me and him.”
“Oh yes, there is. There has been ever since you showed up, the little bright-eyed, bushy-tailed summer student.” She raises her left hand, brushing away the tears that have suddenly appeared with her knuckles. “Ever since then it’s been Emma this and Emma that, and why don’t you get Emma to work on that with you, Sophie? It’s not fair. I’m just as good a lawyer as you are, better even.”
“But what did you expect me to do? Say, ‘No, Matt, I’d really like to work on this case, but I think you should give it to Sophie’?”
“Of course I didn’t expect that. But you didn’t have to rub it in my face.”
“When did I ever do that?”
She gives me a hard look, and I feel a twinge of guilt. She might be right. I knew I’d replaced her as Matt’s favorite. And I took some pleasure in it, particularly as the years went by and her animosity grew. But still, is that any reason to actively seek to destroy my career? Especially when it’s so precarious as it is?
“Okay, maybe what you’re saying is true, but that doesn’t justify pulling the stunt you just did.”
“I don’t have to justify myself to you.”
“You don’t honestly think you’re going to get the credit for solving the Mutual Assurance case, do you?”
“Of course not. But with you out of the way, well, then there’ll be nothing in
my
way.”
“This was just a way to get Matt to stop trusting me so you could make partner?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Her eyes narrow. “Then get out of my office.”
“Fair enough.”
I stand to leave, letting Sophie’s malevolence bounce off me. There’s nothing she can do to me anymore.
“Thanks for telling me, Sophie. Believe it or not, it helps.”
I walk to the door, flicking the privacy switch as I go. The clear glass reveals the curious stare of her assistant, who turns away quickly, busying herself with a stack of filing.
I turn back. Sophie looks smaller somehow, like she’s been shrunk down to size. There are tears running down her cheeks. And now, for the first time, I feel something close to sorry for her. Or maybe it’s just empathy. No crying at the office. The professional woman’s code.
“Get out,” she says again, angrily brushing her tears away.
I nod and tuck my hand into my jacket pocket, placing my thumb over the warm, red recording light on the Dictaphone.
I
’m standing on the free-throw line of the basketball court at Karen and Peter’s community center, lining up a basket. The court is lit up by two square spotlights attached to the exterior of the building. The cold day has given way to a milder evening, making the snow that soft sugar snow of spring. The
drip, drip
of melting ice muffles the city sounds.
I hold the basketball between my gloved hands. “What are we doing out here, again?”
Karen adjusts her hat as she blocks my way toward the basket. “You wanted to talk.”
“I was thinking we’d sit in the living room and have some tea.”
She shrugs. “Too busy. The gala’s almost here. You get my exercise time.”
I give the ball a few tentative bounces and lurch toward the basket. Karen blocks me and steals the ball. She pivots and launches it toward the net. It swooshes through easily.
“Nice.”
“Thanks. What’s on your mind?” She bounces the ball hard twice on the ground, then throws it to me. I catch it at the last moment, barely keeping it from barreling into my stomach.
I guess Karen isn’t
quite
over her disappointment at me not taking the legal aid job.
“I was wondering . . . if that job might still be available?”
She wasn’t expecting me to say this. I take advantage of her momentary inattention to dribble around her and try an ill-conceived jump shot. The ball grazes the bottom of the net and falls to the ground with a sad
thunk.
Karen retrieves it. “I thought you were happy where you are?”
“Yeah, well, it isn’t working out like I hoped.”
“And we’re the sloppy seconds?”
“No, of course not.”
“Come on, Emma. I knew you were never going to take the job.”
“How did you know that?”
“Because all you talked about when we were building the schoolhouse were your cases, and the office, and Matt this, Matt that. It was quite annoying, really.”
My face flushes. “I don’t remember talking about it so much.”
“Relax, it wasn’t that bad.”
“Thanks very much.” I grab the ball from her hands and bounce it on the cleared concrete. The hollow
thawp
echoes around us. “I’m curious, though. If you knew I wasn’t going to take the job, why did you ask me to take it?”
“A girl can dream, can’t she?”
I toss the ball at her as hard as I can. She catches it easily.
“Why do you want the job now?”
“I was working on this big case and I screwed up.” I explain it to her briefly. “So now, not only am I not going to make partner, but I might be out of a job.”
“You really think Matt’s going to fire you?”
“No, no, he won’t do anything that direct. He’ll just stop giving me cases, and I’ll have nothing to do and won’t make my hours.”
“Death by a thousand cuts?”
“Precisely.”
She looks thoughtful. “But you solved the case, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but the client doesn’t know that. Or the Management Committee.”
“Then figure out a way to tell them.”
“I have. I just haven’t decided if I want to go through with it.”
“Seems like a no-brainer to me.” Karen passes me the ball. “Your shot.”
I catch it distractedly, wondering if Karen is right. I bring the ball above my head with both hands and hurl it toward the basket. It drops through, nothing but net.
I
’m dragging my feet up my block after seeing Karen, dreading my empty apartment, wishing I’d made plans with Stephanie, Sunshine, anybody. The air feels wet, like it wants to rain. I see a shape huddled on my front step, and my spirits rise.
“Steph!”
Her head jerks up. A thick braid of red hair swings against her shoulder. I feel a moment of confusion before recognition clicks into place.
“Emily. What are you doing here?”
“I was waiting for Tara.” She stands and brushes the snow off the back of her simple black coat. Her china-blue eyes look tentative and reddened. The porch light emphasizes the porcelain perfection of her skin.
“Did she stand you up?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I got the day wrong.”
She sounds lost, a feeling I’m all too familiar with.
And maybe that’s why I say, “Why don’t you come in for a moment? You must be chilled to the bone.”
She stays silent for long enough that I almost repeat the question, but just as I’m about to, she nods her head and mutters, “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
I unlock the door. Neither of us says anything as we remove our outerwear and I flick on the lights. A glance down the hall tells me Dominic’s door is thankfully still in the position I left it in—firmly shut against temptation.
Emily follows me into the living room. Her eyes flit around the room, coming to rest on the boxes in the corner where Dominic’s handwriting announces their contents.
“He’s not here,” I say. My voice sounds loud in the silence.
“Yeah, I know.”
Right. Of course.
“So—” I start to say, meaning to offer her a hot drink, I think, though my thoughts aren’t fully formed.
“Why isn’t he staying here anymore?” Emily asks.
I falter, remembering Dominic’s admonishment not to tell her anything about us. I sit on the footstool, trying to buy time.
“Why are you asking?”
She shrugs and drops to the floor next to a box marked
CAMERA EQUIPMENT.
The tape seal is broken, and I know from looking in there myself the other day that it’s empty. Dominic made sure to remove what’s important to him. She reaches toward the flaps, pulling them apart.
“What are you doing?”
Her hands fall to her side, startled. “I don’t know.”
“What’s going on, Emily?”
She tucks her knees up under her chin, wrapping her hands around her shins. Her jeans are loose against her lean frame. “I think it’s really over.”
My heart skips a beat. “You mean you and Dominic?”
She nods.
“Why do you think that?”
“He made it pretty clear.” She winces, pulling her knees more tightly. “He told you about Chris, didn’t he?”
I think briefly about lying, but what’s the point? “Yes.”
“I don’t know why I did it.”
“I can’t help you with that.”
“No, I know. It’s funny, though. I feel like you’re affected by it too.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re with Dominic now.”
“No, I’m not. I don’t even know where he is.”
She releases her knees and flexes her feet against the floor. “He’ll be back.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw that picture he took at the exhibit—that was you, right? The woman opening the Christmas present?”
“Yes.”
“Dominic doesn’t usually take pictures of people—not like that, not of people he knows.” She looks down at her feet, and I can tell: Dominic never took any pictures like that of her.
So why hasn’t he called me back?
“We’ve had a bit of a falling-out since then,” I say.
She folds the box back together. “You’ll work it out.”
“Maybe.”
“Do you want to?”
I meet her gaze. Her face is so different from mine, but her expression seems familiar. Uncertainty, doubt, a life full of unanswered questions.
“We probably shouldn’t be discussing this.”
She nods and stands, moving toward the hallway. I rise to follow her. She plucks her coat from the hook, slipping into the sleeves. Watching her lace up her boots, I feel bewildered by our entire exchange.
She straightens up. “If you want him back, you should tell him how you feel.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want Dominic to be happy. I owe him that, at least.”
She turns the lock and opens the door. The wet night waits for her.
“Will you be all right?” I ask.
“I’ll find my way.”