Forget Me (15 page)

My nerves were starting to return to normal, but I still clutched my stomach as I walked up the front path. In a snap decision, I knew I wouldn't tell my parents about the SUV. They would probably freak out and make me stay home all the time. It would cause more trouble than it was worth. By nature, I liked to avoid any conversation that might lead to an argument. Life was easier that way.

I paused before opening the front door. I'd always thought my parents and I were close because we didn't fight. But I was starting to see that just because we pretended everything was all right, that didn't mean we were staying close. Maybe we were actually pushing each other away. Widening the chasm between us.

Maybe it was time for that to change.

I took a deep breath and threw open the door. Just in time to hear my mother scream.

“M
organ!” Mom yelled. One hand was against her cheek and the other clutched a piece of paper to her chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” I said, closing the door quietly behind me.

“Why can't you open the door like a normal person?” Mom complained. “You basically tried to blow it off its hinges.”

She stood in the living room, her back to the darkened television, facing Dad. What had they been doing? Not watching TV. And, strangely, Dad's face was pale and withdrawn.

Although sudden noises always startled Mom, they never affected Dad. My whole life, any time I dropped something or inadvertently came around a corner too quickly, Mom would scream and jump as if she'd been given an electrical shock, but Dad never reacted. Except to laugh at Mom's antics.

Right now, though, he looked frightened.

“Did I scare you, too?” I asked.

“Not at all.” He shrugged. But his eyes darted to Mom. To the paper she held against her chest.

“What's that?”

Mom looked down, only now realizing that I could see whatever it was she had grasped in her hand. She slowly folded the paper in half. “Just a bill that we're going to protest. The cable company made a mistake again.”

An unspoken look passed between them.

I held out my hand. “Can I see it?”

Dad turned toward me, surprised that I'd made a move.

Mom said sweetly, “Don't waste your time, honey. We've got it.”

I matched her sugarcoated tone. “But I might be able to help you figure out the problem.”

Mom gave me a tight smile. “We know what the problem is. We just have to make a phone call during office hours.” She waited for me to let it go and wander off, but I stood my ground, silently letting her know I wouldn't be brushed off.

“There's Chinese takeout in the kitchen,” she said with finality.

Something was going on. This was more than a little argument and frantic whispering in the night. They were keeping something big from me.

In the past, I would've walked away as told. Comfortable in the knowledge that my parents would handle whatever it was and I didn't have to worry about it. I wasn't a meddler and respected people's privacy. Maybe that's why Flynn's mysterious nature never bothered me. But now . . . that didn't seem good enough anymore. I didn't want to be left in the dark—by a boyfriend or my parents.

I straightened my shoulders. “I want to know what's going on.”

Mom rolled her eyes in faux annoyance. “Oh, Morgan. Everything that happens in the world doesn't have to do with you.”

I simmered with frustration, but kept my voice level. “I'm not saying it does. I just think, if something's going on with my
family,
it should involve me. Am I right?”

I looked at Dad. He averted his eyes, like if he didn't look at me, he wouldn't have to answer my questions.

“Looking away doesn't wrap you in an invisibility cloak, Dad.” The bitterness in my voice shocked even me. Dad bristled. If he had been a porcupine, I would've been stabbed by a hundred needles.

“Morgan,” Mom said sharply. “Tantrums didn't work on us when you were two and they won't work now. Go to the kitchen and eat something for dinner or go to your room. Enough of this. I don't know what's gotten into you.”

I could have pounded my feet against the hardwood floor and started screaming—a real tantrum—but it wasn't worth expending the energy. I knew when I'd hit the Brick Wall of Mom.

“Fine,” I muttered. Then I turned the corner into the kitchen and grabbed the cardboard container of vegetable lo mein, a fork, and a can of soda. I made sure to let them see me, arms awkwardly full, before I started up the staircase. When I reached the second floor, I placed the dinner on my desk, then backed out of my room and slammed the door. They'd think I was in there, shoving noodles into my pouty face.

Instead, I crept back to the stairwell, knelt down on the floor behind the wall, and peeked my head around. This was usually a good spot to listen from because they wouldn't see me unless they came to the bottom of the steps. It was something I hadn't done since I was a little girl.

Mom and Dad were still in the living room, speaking in hushed whispers, their voices rising only now and then.

“I don't know what to do, either!” Mom hissed. “But we can't just . . .”

Though I strained to hear, the rest was unintelligible.

Dad, sounding completely hopeless, said, “We'll talk about this later.”

Later meaning after I was asleep. After there was no chance I would overhear them.

Not tonight, folks,
I thought.
I can stay up as late as I need to.

“What should we do with—” Mom started.

“Burn it,” Dad hissed. I heard him stalk off. I pulled my head back until he passed, then listened again.

But Mom didn't follow. I took a risk and inched my butt down two steps. I peeked my head through the balusters.

Mom stood alone, her shoulders drooping, as she stared at the floor, that mysterious paper still clutched in her hand. My heart cinched. I wanted to say,
Whatever it is, we'll get through it. As a family. Just let me in.

I watched as she selected a hardcover from the bookcase, slipped the paper inside, and replaced the book. I memorized its position—middle row, third book. Then I snuck back to my room.

Though I was barely hungry, I forced myself to eat some of the noodles, then plopped back on my bed. I just had to wait my parents out and then I'd see what the big secret was. But what to do in the meantime? Toni was probably busy with Reece. I had no desire to start my homework. I couldn't concentrate on a novel. I turned on my TV. After a while my phone started chirping from my bag.

I pulled it out. A text from Evan. My heart did a little flip.

want to talk?

I typed back:
sure. call me.

Almost immediately my phone lit up with his reply.

im outside your house.

I thought about inviting him in. It wasn't too late. But the rational part of me immediately vetoed the idea. I could already picture the drama in my head. My father's confused face. My mother's high-pitched inquisition.
Why does he look exactly like Flynn? Are they related? Where did you meet? What's going on?

No, thanks. My drama cup already runneth over.

I wrote back:
park at the end of the road. i'll be there in 5.

I shook my hair out, pulled on a hoodie, and headed downstairs. Mom was in the living room, paging through a magazine on the couch. I'd been hoping to take a quick peek at the mystery paper she'd hidden in the bookcase, but that would obviously have to wait.

“Where are you going?” she asked, noticing me creep toward the front door.

“Walking to Toni's.” Before she could start in on how she didn't want me around Toni's parents, I added, “Her parents aren't home. We're just going to hang out with Cooper for a little bit.”

I'd never blatantly lied to my parents before. By omission, of course: that was my family's modus operandi. But I figured they were lying to me, so why not start?

“Have fun.” Mom returned her attention to the magazine, and I walked out the door. She was probably happy to have me and my questions gone for the night.

A quick shower had passed through, and the pavement was damp. My sneakers slapped against the sidewalk as I strode by my neighbors' darkened houses. I glanced at their pulled shades and wondered what secrets they hid behind them. It was becoming apparent to me that every family had their own.

Evan's car was parked at the end of the street. The lights were off, and I could barely make out his shadow in the driver's seat. I opened the passenger-side door and slid in. The interior light came on, casting an orange glow over his features. He hadn't even taken his uniform off yet, just turned the hat backward. His right leg was stained with dirt from a slide or a stolen base.

He squinted, but reached up to click the button and keep the light on. “How's it going?” he asked, not looking at me.

Weird. The car was parked. He didn't need to have his eyes glued to the road. “It hasn't been the greatest day in the world,” I answered.

He unrolled the photocopied pages and spread them open on his lap. “After my game, I spent a lot of time poring over Flynn's journal.”

“And?” I prodded.

He flipped through the pages. “I recognize some of the names. And I cross-referenced the dates. They seem to be important.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“The date the story broke about Stell. The date the company went down. The date my uncle died.” He ran a hand across his forehead. “I just don't understand the point of the notes.”

It seemed obvious to me. “Clearly, Flynn thought something was rotten in the land of Stell.”

“And he was right. But that's what I'm trying to say. What was his goal here? To bring down Stell? To ruin my family's name? All that happened already, years ago.”

My nerves prickled. Why did Evan jump to the conclusion that Flynn was out to destroy something? “Just because he was researching Stell, that doesn't mean he had bad intentions. What about the fact that he looked just like you? That can't be a coincidence.”

He ran his finger up and down the edge of the pages. “Yeah, I've thought a lot about that, too. Maybe he was a distant cousin I didn't know about. Maybe he thought he could come here and try to, I don't know, squeeze some money from us or something?”

“Or maybe he just wanted to understand what happened,” I chimed in.

He looked up at me, surprised. “People don't go through this amount of effort out of curiosity. He wanted something. I just don't know why he was digging through the past.” He paused. “Maybe he was working on a book, a tell-all?”

“He was a teenager, Evan.” The words came out snappier than I'd intended.

“I don't know. I'm just throwing ideas out there,” he said, his voice tight as a fist. “Do you have any better ones?”

That your parents are hiding something,
I thought.
Just like mine.
But I pressed my lips together before the words could escape. Evan wasn't himself. He seemed frustrated. Tension had settled into his neck and shoulders, and a worry line formed between his brows.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

His eyes found mine, and he let out a long breath. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to snap at you.”

“What is it?”

He heaved a sigh. “It took a long time for me to put this Stell stuff behind me. You know how many kids at school blamed me for their problems? Because their parents lost their jobs and stuff. It's only now, five years later, that people seem to be starting to forget about it. And here I am reading all this. It just brings back memories.”

He gave me a weary smile, but it felt like a punch to the stomach. I'd been so selfish. I was only thinking about me. My driving need to figure out the mystery that was Flynn. I had never stopped for a moment to think about how hard this might be for Evan.

“You don't have to be involved in this—” I started.

“Yes, I do,” he said. “I'm in this, whether I like it or not. Your boyfriend looked just like me. He sent me a picture of you. He kept a notebook about my family.”

“About your family's
company,
” I corrected.

“Same thing. We're always going to be linked.”

I paused, not knowing how to word a possibly sensitive question. “Did your dad know? About the cover-up?”

“He swears he didn't, and there's no evidence that he did. He says Uncle Doyle never told him. Those studies never came across his desk. He just dealt with the finances.”

I sensed a
but . . .
“But you don't believe him?”

“I don't know what to believe. I just . . . I know when my dad is keeping a secret, and he's been keeping a big one for a while. He gets shifty sometimes.”

“How do you mean?”

“He has days, weeks even, when he's a nervous wreck. But he denies it. Then it passes and he's regular old Dad for a few months, but it always happens again.”

I thought about Toni's family and how the layoff had affected them. And how even my own parents had had their shifty moments lately. “Maybe it's anxiety or depression,” I said. “Losing his company, losing his brother.”

“Yeah, that's what my mom thinks.”

Another thought whispered from the back of my mind, latching on to the memory of Mr. Murphy at the falls, staring at the water. His brother had destroyed their company. He must've been pretty angry about that. Angry enough to kill?

Evan sighed. “I wanted this to be over, you know? For our family to move on. But it seems like it will never be over.”

His tone was so bleak. I hated that I'd dragged him into this and dredged up old pain. Almost without thinking, I reached out and touched his shoulder. Not caring if I was sending him the wrong message.

His eyes closed, and I took the opportunity to unabashedly stare at him, the lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. If he looked at me now, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from kissing him.

He opened his eyes, but stared straight ahead.

I grudgingly pulled my hand back to my lap.

“Sorry I'm such bad company tonight,” he said softly. “I want to help you with this. We
will
get to the bottom of it. I just . . . It's a little overwhelming right now.”

“Okay.” I didn't want to leave the warmth of his car. I didn't want to leave
him.
But he needed me to. He needed to get home, to think, to sleep.

“I'll be in a better mood the next time. I promise.” He gave me a weak smile.