Remember (10 page)

chapter seventeen

I
always wanted a dog. My dad liked the concept of a dog, but the actual hair, poop, and drool were less appealing to him. That was how I ended up with no less than twenty stuffed dogs. Bribery. There’s no doubt stuffed dogs have some advantages, but if you want a guard dog, a stuffed dog isn’t going to cut it. They’re cute. They’re cuddly. But let’s be honest, they have fluff for brains.

I paused outside my dad’s home office door and listened again. The house was quiet. If we’d had an actual dog, I could have relied on him to bark a warning when my parents came back. It would also have helped if we’d lived in a house that wasn’t so freaking large that my parents could park in the garage, come into the house, dance a rumba up the stairs, and I still wouldn’t hear them until they discovered me snooping.

My parents were at a charity event, a fund-raiser for building schools in third-world countries. My mom loved these things. Not the building-schools part—the party aspect. She liked an excuse to get really dressed up. My dad hated them. He wasn’t great in big social situations. He did well with a small group of friends, but in large groups he’d get more and more reclusive. He’d sit at the table and play with his phone. If he did talk to anyone, it was like he forgot that conversations were supposed to go both ways and ended up lecturing someone about whatever topic was his current passion. They rarely stayed at these things for long, but it was one of the few events where I could count on both of them being out of the house at the same time.

I turned the doorknob and then froze when I heard a sound. An instant later I realized it was just the furnace kicking on. I forced myself to take a deep breath. Either I needed to do this or I needed to forget about it, but I couldn’t keep dithering over it. I’d already wasted too much time thinking about it. The advice from Win stuck in my head. I’d tried to convince myself I didn’t want to know anything. I got along well with my parents. I had a good life. There was nothing to be gained from snooping around. The problem was that now that I knew there was a secret, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was like having a sore tooth. You would tell yourself to leave it alone, but then you’d find your tongue poking at it. I kept wondering why they would have lied to me about Harry. No matter which way I approached the idea, I couldn’t come up with an answer
that made any sense. I used to accept everything at face value, but I couldn’t do that forever. If I did, I’d still be living at home believing in Santa. It was time to grow up. They’d lied to me, and I needed to know why. I flung the door open and walked into the room.

My dad’s desk took up a huge amount of space in his office. It was a mammoth antique thing. It had belonged to some guy who had been an officer in the Confederate army. I was no lumberjack, so I had no idea what kind of wood it was carved out of, but it was big, heavy, and meant to impress. The walls were lined with bookcases that a cabinetmaker had custom designed for the room. It would have looked like a formal library except for the fact that nearly every shelf was covered with action figures. Whatever happens, don’t call them dolls. My dad was really sensitive about that. He’d been collecting them for years. He had something like four different kinds of Batman figures and a bunch of other superheroes I didn’t even recognize. Some on the top shelf he’d had since before I was born.

I stood behind his desk and slid the top drawer open. If there were ever a worldwide paper clip shortage, I would know who was responsible for hoarding them. There were piles of them in the drawer. My fingers ran over the dried-out pens, Post-it notes, and loose change. Nothing interesting. His computer sat on top of the desk. I nudged the mouse to see if it was turned off or merely in hibernation mode. It lit straight up, but the cursor blinked where the password needed to be
entered. It wouldn’t take high-level deduction skills to sort this out; on the pad of paper next to the phone there was a list of what I was pretty sure were his passwords. My dad didn’t keep work documents on his home computer, so he didn’t worry too much about security. My hands hovered over the keyboard. If I logged on, there would be a record. Most likely my dad would never check. The only reason he kept a password on the computer was on the off chance that someone broke in and stole it.

On the other hand he might check. If he did, he’d want to know what I’d been doing in his office. There wasn’t a house rule that I wasn’t allowed in his office, but it was implied. I had my own computer. There was another desktop off the kitchen that I could use if I wanted. There was absolutely no reason for me to use his. Other than snooping.

I went through the rest of the file drawers. There were papers related to the house, bank statements, and a bunch of warranties for stuff we didn’t even own anymore. There was nothing about Neurotech. He must have kept everything at work.

I tapped my fingers on the desktop. Even if he had stacks of paperwork from Neurotech, most likely I wouldn’t have been able to make any sense of them. And he wasn’t the type who would keep a diary where he listed various lies he and my mom had told me. What was I even looking for? Did I think there was going to be a file in his desk labeled
SECRET STUFF
I
’VE BEEN HIDING FROM HARPER—NO PEEKING!?

I slammed the desk drawer shut in frustration, and the desk shuddered from the impact and bumped the bookshelf.

My heart froze. One of the Batman figurines on the top shelf teetered back and forth and then pitched off the shelf, falling in slow motion. The figure hit the polished hardwood floor with a disturbing crack.

I dropped to my knees and picked up the doll. His right hand was snapped off at the wrist. My eyes searched the floor and I spotted the plastic hand; it had fallen under the desk. I grabbed it and held it against his arm in the hope that it would either snap right back on or somehow magically heal itself, but he appeared to be lacking in that superpower. A clammy sweat broke out all over my body. I was screwed. They were all collectibles. He would notice it had been ruined. My hands were shaking.

I leaned back and took a few deep breaths so I could think of a solution. Superglue! I grabbed the doll and flew down the stairs to the kitchen. My mom had a desk against one wall where she did the bills and some of her craft projects. I yanked open the drawer. Tape, staples, scissors, more paper clips. My heart was slamming in my chest. I could picture them walking in the door while I stood there with a broken Batman in hand. I kept rummaging, and then my fingers found the tube of glue and pulled it out.

I sat down at her desk and tried to calm down. I was shaking so badly I was going to end up with a glob of glue on him
or end up gluing my fingers to the doll. That would round this experience off perfectly. The sharp chemical smell of the glue filled my nose, and I carefully put a small dab on the doll and then held the hand in place, making sure it was facing the right direction. With the way my luck was going, I would glue it on backward. I blew on the hand, praying for it to dry quickly. Every nerve on my body was on high alert, listening for the sound of their car pulling into the garage.

I bolted back upstairs and dragged a chair over to the bookcase. I gave Batman a once-over. You couldn’t see the crack unless you were really looking. It wasn’t like my dad took these things down to play with; they just sat on the shelf. I couldn’t imagine him ever wanting to sell them where a collector would notice. It was unlikely he’d ever know it had been damaged. With luck by the time he did find out, I’d be in my forties and well beyond being grounded.

I climbed up on the chair and slid Batman back into place. I couldn’t remember if he’d been facing straight out or on an angle, but I was going to have to choose. He had been close to the edge, which was why he’d fallen off in the first place. As I slid him onto the shelf, I noticed a piece of paper that must have been underneath the action figure. I slid it off so I could get a look. It wasn’t a paper; it was an old photograph. I turned it over, and the image made me hold my breath. I gripped the bookshelf with my other hand.

It was a picture of a woman. She was wearing a lab coat and
smiling at whoever was taking the picture. There was nothing about the picture or the woman that stuck out, but I couldn’t stop staring. I knew this woman. She was the one from my dreams. My breath was coming short and shallow. The hair on my arms was standing up as if she were a ghost instead of a photo. What was the picture even doing here? Had it been stuck up here and forgotten, or was it supposed to be hidden? My hand scrambled along the shelf, feeling for anything else, but there was nothing.

I heard the distant sound of the garage door rumbling to life downstairs. Shit. They were home. I checked Batman to make sure he was on the shelf. I hesitated. I should put the picture back where it belonged, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it belonged with me. I shoved it inside my sweater and jumped off the chair. I slid the chair back into place and ducked out the door, pulling it shut behind me as I heard my parents come into the kitchen.

I took a few steps away from the office door and met my parents as they came up the stairs.

“What made you think he was interested in talking about video games, and even if he was, what made you think he wanted a blow-by-blow of your strategy?” My mom laughed. “You should have seen his face. He looked panicked. I thought he was going to chew his arm off to escape.”

“He asked!” Dad protested. “If you’re boring someone, they should say something, not just sit there.” He saw me at the top
of the stairs. “Next time your mom wants to drag me to one of these things, remind me how much I hate them.”

“Next time I go, I’m taking her,” Mom shot back.

I forced myself to smile. I was certain my dad would somehow be able to see the photo under my sweater or that it would fall out and drift down to the floor like an autumn leaf.

“You have a good night?” Mom asked. She held her high heels in one hand. “Get up to anything good?”

“Nope.” It wasn’t even a lie. Whatever I’d done, I was pretty sure it wasn’t good.

chapter eighteen

I
shouldn’t have ordered a latte. I didn’t need any caffeine. I was already practically humming with energy. I fidgeted in the chair and tried to be patient while Neil looked at the picture. My foot bounced up and down. If we were going to have any more clandestine meetings, we were going to have to meet at a yoga studio or something. My anxiety level couldn’t take any more coffee.

“I don’t know if there’s a way to figure out who she is,” Neil said.

My heart sank to the floor. I reached for the picture. “Okay. It was a long shot.”

Neil pulled the picture toward him. “Don’t give up that easy. I’m not sure how to do it, but I’ll try. I can ask a couple of people.”

“You can’t tell them where you got the picture.” My words came out in a rush.

“I won’t.” Neil turned the photo over and looked at the blank side and then back at the woman in the shot. “You have no idea who she might be? Or when the picture was taken? Any information would help.”

“No.” My fingers picked at the rim of my paper cup. “It might be no one important, but I can’t shake the feeling that I know her. I had a few dreams, and I’m not certain, but I’m pretty sure I saw her in them.” This was an understatement. I was practically obsessed with the picture. Stalkers had a more casual relationship with their victims than I did with that photograph. I’d pulled it out a thousand times a day since I found it. When I went to school, I took it with me, tucked inside my phone case. I’d shown it to Win, but she had no idea who it was either. I checked our family photo albums, searching in the background to see if she was in any of the group shots, but I didn’t see her. I’d searched my brain for anyone else I could ask, but couldn’t think of a single person. I could have asked my parents, but that would have meant admitting I’d found the picture. I was pretty sure I knew how it had gotten there. Several years ago my dad had had the hardwood flooring replaced in his office. They’d moved out all the furniture. He’d put stacks of paper that had been in desk on his shelves so the desk would be light enough to move. The photo could have easily been left up there by accident. Even if my dad had put it up there on purpose, it was because he
didn’t want me to find it. If they’d been hiding it from me, they wouldn’t tell me the truth anyway.

Neil pulled out his backpack and put the picture inside his history textbook. I felt twitchy letting it out of my sight.

“What will you do?” I asked.

“I know some people who do work with facial recognition software. A lot of police departments are using it to track protestors. They want to identify who they think might be troublemakers; then if something happens, they have a list of possible suspects. A bunch of social media sites use it too, so you can identify and tag people in pictures. I’ll have my friends run this photo through to see if they can find matches anywhere online or something.”

I drummed my fingers on the table. “I don’t think she’s a protestor.”

“I don’t either, but the software works the same way. It’s worth a shot.” Neil leaned on the table. “By the way, what does a protestor look like?”

I flushed. “You know what I mean. She doesn’t look like she’s . . .” My brain searched for the right word. “Edgy.”

A smile spread across his face. “Edgy. Cool. I always wanted to be edgy.” He made a dramatic face as if he were a character in an adventure novel. “Neil O’Malley. Edgy. Righter of wrongs. Savior of damsels in distress.”

I tossed a wadded napkin at his face. “I’m not a damsel, or in distress.”

He placed his hand over his heart as if he’d been mortally wounded. “I will have you know there are many damsels who seek out my assistance. I wasn’t necessarily talking about you.”

I blushed. There was no reason for that statement to annoy me. Neil didn’t owe me anything. I had a boyfriend, for crying out loud. There was no good reason for me to feel a rush of excitement when he flirted. He was likely just being nice. “I’m certain the damsels line up outside for a chance to buff your shining armor.”

He wagged his eyebrows. “Buff my armor? That’s a term I haven’t heard before.”

I flushed even hotter. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, lucky for you, my damsel line is presently short and I have time to help you out.”

“I do appreciate it.” I picked up my coffee cup, but it was empty already. “I can pay you for your time.”

Neil looked hurt for a moment, like I’d insulted him. “Nah. This one is on the house. I owe you for showing up at your school. I knew your dad was going to be there, but the protestors never should have chased after you.” Neil’s face turned serious. “I want you to know, I feel bad about that. Protesting is important to me, but I don’t think that gives us the right to go around hassling innocent people.”

“My dad’s innocent,” I said, then wished I hadn’t said a word. Sticking up for him was second nature.

Neil’s jaw hardened. “It’s not that I think your dad is a bad
guy. I don’t even know him. I think what his company does is wrong. He owns the company. I think he has a responsibility to pay attention to what his company does. I’m happy to help you out, but I’m not willing to let Neurotech off the hook until I’m convinced nothing is going on there.”

“You protest a lot of things, don’t you? I mean, it’s not just Neurotech.”

“You don’t get to be edgy if you’re a one-protest kind of guy.” He waited for me to smile. “Everybody has to have a hobby. Some guys collect stamps or they bowl; I protest. I started getting involved with Neurotech when my brother died, but I’ve branched out. Women’s rights, gay marriage, environmental stuff, genetically modified foods.” He waved his hand to show there was a long list. “I cover pretty much the whole spectrum.”

There were a lot of kids at school who cared about different issues. A few times a year there were signs to either join or sponsor someone who was doing a run or bike ride for everything from breast cancer research to literacy programs. I couldn’t think of anyone who actively protested anything. None of us seemed passionate enough. I’d never noticed before, but now it felt like we were missing out. “Why do you do it?” Neil looked up as if he was surprised by my question. “Why do you protest all this stuff?” I clarified.

He opened his mouth and then shut it, giving himself time to think. “I don’t know. Shouldn’t we do stuff that makes a difference? Life can’t be all video games and watching TV, can
it? It feels as if my life matters if I do something that makes an impact.”

I found myself nodding. I knew exactly what he meant.

He laughed. “Whoa, I’m getting deep.” He picked up his cup. It was empty too. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What?”

“Let’s go for a drive. I want to spend more time with you, but I don’t want any more coffee.” He stood and held out his hand to help me. “C’mon, I won’t force you to walk around with a sign or anything.”

There were a thousand reasons I could think of to say no, but I got up and followed him out to his car.

* * *

Neil drove into downtown Seattle, and we walked onto the ferry for Bainbridge Island. He seemed to know without my saying anything that I wanted to go someplace where there would be no chance anyone would recognize me. Not that I was doing anything wrong by hanging out with him, but I didn’t want to have to explain it. We walked along the main street in Bainbridge, poking in the various stores and art galleries. I found it interesting that he had an opinion on everything. At the end of the road there was a gas station that rented bikes. Neil’s eyes grew big like a kid on Christmas.

I shook my head. “No way. I haven’t been on a bike since I was little.”

“Days like this are made for bike riding.” He spun in a
slow circle. The sun was out, a minor miracle in the Pacific Northwest.

“I’m really slow on a bike,” I hedged. My legs were strong from horseback riding, but my cardio was kinda lousy. “You’ll be miles ahead of me. I’d be by myself. I’ll probably be eaten by a bear. Then you’ll have to protest bears.”

“Trust me. The view will be worth it, and the bears owe me one since I picketed to protect their habitat.” Neil went inside and came back out with the owner. The guy unlocked a tandem bike.

Neil bowed low. “Presto. No way you can fall behind,
and
I’ll take on any possible bears who aren’t appropriately grateful.”

We got on the bike, and after a few abortive tries we managed to get going without swaying out into traffic. We took a road that followed the shore. Between the trees I could see views of the ocean. Since I was in the back, I didn’t have to worry about steering, so I could take in the scenery. The air smelled clean and fresh, and for the first time in weeks I felt lighter. The wind blew through my hair. It wasn’t the same as horseback riding, but it was close.

“Hey, are you pedaling back there?” Neil called over his shoulder. “It feels like I’m doing all the work.”

I laughed. “I told you I was slow.”

“There’s slow and then there’s not pedaling at all. Now kick it into gear—we’ve got a hill coming up.”

We pedaled up the hill, my quads burning with the effort. I hadn’t been riding as much as usual. It felt good to use my legs. I had my head down, and when we crested the top, I looked up, shocked. The trees had been cleared, and you could see all the way back to the city.

“Whoa.”

Neil stopped. “Told you, great view. Now will you admit I was right?”

I rolled my eyes. “You were right about the view. I’m not giving you a blanket right about everything.”

“I didn’t think you were the type to let anyone get away with anything easy.” Neil got off the bike and motioned for me to join him on the bench. There was a plaque on it. The brass was worn down, but I could still make out the engraving.
MARCUS O’MALLEY—NOW HE CAN SEE FOREVER.

My finger touched the brass lightly. “Your brother?”

“My grandparents have a place over here. We used to come all the time as kids. My parents both work, so in the summer we used to stay with my grandparents. This was one of Marcus’s favorite places. My parents had the bench put up after he was gone. The park service has a program.”

I sat; the wood slats of the bench were warm from the sun. Neil sat next to me, his face tilted up. It was perfectly quiet. Just the whisper of the wind through the trees. “This is nearly perfect,” I said.

“Nearly?”

“We should have brought water or something.”

Neil sat up and pulled his backpack over. He unzipped the top and took out two sweating bottles of water. He tossed one to me and then reached in and pulled out a bag of cookies. He tore it open and passed it over. “Picked them up at the gas station when I rented the bikes. Now will you admit I’m right more often than just once?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re a hard one to please.” He held up one hand before I could disagree. “Don’t get me wrong. I think that’s a good trait.”

I kicked at the layer of pine needles on the ground. “You know, the thing is, I used to be happy pretty much all the time. Until all this happened. My friend Win warned me against even looking into it. She said you can’t un-know something. The ignorance-is-bliss theory.”

“She’s got a point, but that’s not how I see it. I’d rather know. If I know, then maybe I can do something. Change it. If you don’t admit there’s a problem, then you can’t change it. If you don’t have some ugly stuff in your life, how do you recognize the really good stuff?”

We sat silently on the bench.

“I’m afraid,” I whispered. “What if I find out something . . .” I couldn’t put it into words. It sounded too awful, even with only Neil to hear it. I wanted to trust him, to take him at face value, but I didn’t know him that well. “What if I find out something I
can’t forgive?” What if something really bad had happened to me as kid? What if I’d done something and my parents didn’t want me to know about it? What if everything I believed was based on some kind of lie? And if it was a lie, then the truth had to be really ugly, didn’t it? I bit down on my tongue to keep from spilling my every fear. Even though he’d been great to me, he didn’t hide the fact that he was no fan of my dad. I couldn’t tell him, even if I wanted to.

Neil reached over and squeezed my hand for reassurance. I held his hand an instant longer than I needed to before I let go. “You lured me up here with the sunshine, fresh air, and cookies just to get me to spill my guts. Now you’re going to have to tell me a secret so we’re even,” I said, trying to lighten the moment. I needed to change the topic before I said too much.

“Processed chocolate chip cookies have a way of making people talk.” He looked out over the water. “I’ll tell you a secret. You asked earlier why I protest so many things.”

“Stuff matters to you,” I said.

He rubbed his nose. “It does, but that’s not all of it. I do it because
I
want to matter.” He sighed. “When my brother died, it gutted my parents. He was the golden child in our family. You don’t have any brothers or sisters, do you?”

“No.” In my head I heard my dad always telling me I was his favorite.

“If you grow up with a bunch of siblings, you sometimes find yourself jockeying for position. From the moment I was
born, I officially took on the role of the screwup. The pressure was off. My parents had already staked out which of us was the smart one, who was the athlete, and who was musical. Whatever I was going to do, either my brother or sister did it already and most likely better.”

“I don’t know about that,” I offered.

Neil laughed. “Trust me, you don’t know the two of them—they define type A. The thing is, I didn’t mind that much. It meant no one expected too much of me. I sort of floated along. Then Marcus died.”

“It must have been hard.”

“You know that whole theory about the different stages of grief?” He waited for me to nod. “I got stuck in anger for a while. I was pissed about everything. Pissed at the doctors for not helping. Pissed at Neurotech for not disclosing the side effects. Pissed that my parents didn’t do something before my brother was too far gone. Pissed at my brother. Pissed at my sister for moving on with her life and focusing her grief on doing something. I turned into one of those guys always looking for a fight. Huge chip on my shoulder. I got suspended for getting into scuffles the beginning of my senior year.”