The Man I Should Have Forgotten

(Arielle)

Damian came back three days later, and this time he didn't ask for me.

I was in the hallway outside Nathaniel's study when the elevator opened. I heard his footsteps first, fast and heavy, and then his voice, low and controlled.

"Where is he?"

Nathaniel stepped out of the study before anyone could answer. He closed the door behind him, but not all the way. I understood that this was deliberate. He glanced at me, then at the gap, and walked down the hall to meet my husband.

I stayed where I was, in the shadow of the bookcase, and listened.

"You've got nerve," Damian said. "Walking into my life, taking my wife into your home, and then hiding behind a doorman."

"Your wife walked out of a hospital because she wanted to," Nathaniel said. "I didn't carry her out. I offered her a car."

"You offered her a bed."

"I offered her a guest room, with a lock on the inside. She can show you, if you'd like to check."

Damian laughed, sharp and humorless. "Don't play the gentleman with me, Nathaniel. I know exactly what you are."

"Then you should know I'm not the one who lied to her."

The silence that followed had weight. I pressed my palm against the wall.

"Careful," Damian said.

"Or what? You'll have your lawyer send me a letter?"

"I'll do what I should have done years ago."

"Years ago," Nathaniel repeated softly. "Interesting choice of words. Do you want to talk about years ago? Because I have a very good memory, Damian. Better than most people in this house."

"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "You don't get to bring that up. Not here, not now, and not with her in the next room."

"She isn't in the next room. She's resting."

It was a lie, and a graceful one. I almost smiled.

"She's confused," Damian said, his voice dropping. "She's been through a trauma. Whatever she's told you, whatever stories you've been filling her head with, she doesn't know what she wants. She doesn't know who you are."

"She knows exactly who I am. I told her myself."

"You told her what?"

"My name. That I was a stranger who thought she deserved the truth." Nathaniel's tone didn't change. "Which is more than you gave her."

"I gave her time."

"You gave her a script. Friend. Old friend. Responsible for the accident." Nathaniel let each phrase land. "And you let a six-year-old boy recite another one. Tell me, Damian, how long did you plan to keep that up?"

"Don't talk about my son."

"I'm talking about the child you taught to say a line."

"I taught him nothing!" Damian's voice rose, and then he caught himself. When he spoke again it was quieter, which was worse. "Vivienne handled Ethan. I wasn't involved."

"That's the first honest thing you've said."

Vivienne handled Ethan. He said it the way a man mentions an errand he'd delegated. My fingernails dug into the plaster.

"Stay away from my family," Damian said. "I mean it. You've taken enough from me already."

"Enough." Nathaniel's voice finally changed, just slightly, a thread of steel pulled tight. "You'd like to talk about what's been taken. I'm happy to. We can start with the contracts, the site, the signatures, and the men who never went home."

The quiet that came next was different. Not anger. Something older, closer to fear. I held my breath without meaning to.

"Be very careful," Damian said. His voice had gone thin. "We both signed. Whatever you think you can do with that, you go down with me."

"I know exactly what I signed."

"Then you know why you should walk away from her. From all of it."

"Is that what this is?" Nathaniel asked. "You're not here for Arielle. You're here because you're afraid of what she might remember."

"She doesn't remember anything."

"Then you have nothing to worry about."

"Of all the men in this city," Damian said at last, "she ended up here. With you. Do you think that's a coincidence?"

"I think it's the first time in a long while that something wasn't arranged by you."

"You think you know her."

"I know she asked a caterer if he'd eaten, at a party where nobody else noticed he was there." Nathaniel paused. "I know she gave up a career she loved because someone told her it was temporary. I know she is not as fragile as you need her to be."

"You have no idea what she needs."

"Tell me," Nathaniel said. "Please. I'd like to hear you say it."

Damian didn't answer. I could picture him, jaw locked, searching for a sentence that wouldn't incriminate him. In ten years, I had never once seen him run out of words. I was seeing it now, through a gap in a door.

"Fine," Damian said finally. "Keep her, if that's what she wants. But when this falls apart, and it will, don't say I didn't warn you. Tell her Ethan asked for her again last night. He cried until Vivienne sang to him."

The last sentence was meant for me. I knew it the way I knew my own handwriting. He had said it loud enough to carry.

I counted to five, then walked into the living room as if I had just woken, one hand trailing the wall, my hair pushed back from my face.

"Damian?"

He turned. For a moment his expression was naked, and I saw the man I had loved: tired, cornered, and afraid of losing something he had never learned to hold. Then it closed.

"Arielle. How long have you been standing there?"

"I just came out. I heard voices." I looked at Nathaniel, then back at him. "Were you arguing?"

"Of course not," Damian said smoothly. "Just a conversation between two men."

"You sounded angry."

"I'm worried about you. That's all." He crossed the room and his voice softened to the register he reserved for me. "Ethan misses you. Come home, even for one night. Let him see you."

"I want to see him," I said, and meant it so completely that my voice shook. "But not at that house."

"Then where?"

"Somewhere neutral. I'll tell you when."

He studied me, searching for the lie. I gave him only the tremor in my hands and the confusion in my eyes.

"Good," he said, and went to the elevator. At the doors he turned to Nathaniel. "Remember what I said."

"I always do," Nathaniel replied.

The doors closed.

I let out the breath I had been holding. "We both signed," I said. "That's what he told you. What did you sign, Nathaniel?"

He looked at me for a long moment. "Something I should have refused."

"That's not an answer."

"No," he agreed. "It isn't. Not tonight. Ask me when you're ready to hear all of it, and I'll tell you everything I can."

"Everything you can?"

"Everything I'm able to say without losing you."