Forgotten: A Novel by Catherine McKenzie

kicks.”
    “You get your kicks in some strange places.”
    “Sue me.”
    “Seriously? You know I’m a lawyer, right?”
    “I’ve been trying to block that out.”
    “Ha, ha. Anyway, you asked about my agenda?”
    “Did I?”
    “Yes. A few minutes ago, yes.”
    “Well, then, I must’ve wanted to know.”
    “You ready for this? My office just signed me up for a session with Cathy Keeler.”
    His eyebrows rise toward his hairline. “You’re going to be on TV with her ?”
    “Tomorrow, apparently.”
    “Jesus.”
    “You think He can help me find the right outfit?”
    He points his fork at me. “See, I knew shopping was in there somewhere.”
    R eally, Dominic, you don’t have to come with me,” I say as we walk down the frosty street toward my bank. I’m wearing Dominic’s old fisherman’s sweater and his ski jacket. It’s keeping out most of the wind that’s swirling a fine mist of snow around us, glinting in the sun. The sun seems to have seeped into Dominic too. He almost has a spring in his step.
    “I don’t mind.”
    “You must have something else to do. Photographs to take? Stew to make? Other damsels in distress to save?”
    “No, no, and . . . no.”
    “It’s becoming clear to me that you really had no life before I came along.”
    He wags his index finger at me. “Watch it, honey. Watch it.”
    We walk past a familiar store. That last time I shopped there, it was with Steph. We tried on every dress in the store, from too expensive to too-ugly-to-imagine-what-anyone-was-thinking. We mocked and exclaimed, and I bought three of them. I wore one to my mother’s funeral, a plain-black number that I’m actually glad I’ll never see again.
    What the hell has happened to my life? One minute Steph is teasing me about not having enough room in my closet, and the next I can’t even reach her and I’m wearing a strange man’s clothing. I start to shiver, my teeth clacking loudly as tears spring from my eyes. They feel cold against my cheeks.
    “What’s the matter?” Dominic asks.
    What’s the matter seems so obvious to me, like I’m carrying it around outside my body, visible to everyone, that I almost laugh.
    “It’s everything. Steph being where she is, and my career in the toilet, and not even having a picture of my mother, and . . . I have nothing. Nothing.”
    Dominic reaches into his pocket and pulls out a Kleenex. I take it from him gratefully and wipe my eyes and nose. Given the amount of crying I’m doing lately, I really should start carrying a handkerchief, but that feels like admitting something about myself that I don’t want to. Weakness, maybe.
    I bunch up the Kleenex and shove it angrily into my pocket. “Goddamnit! I wasn’t going to cry today.”
    Dominic gives me a kind smile. “I think it’s a normal reaction, Emma.”
    “Not for me. You don’t really know me, but this is not how I normally react to things.”
    “How do you normally react?”
    “I don’t know. Fiercely, I guess.”
    “Well, you were pretty fierce with Pedro.”
    “I was, wasn’t I?”
    “I would’ve been scared if I were him.”
    “Thanks.”
    We walk in silence for a few moments. The snow crunches beneath our feet.
    “You know,” Dominic says, “if everything in your life is fucked up, you can change whatever you want.”
    “I guess.”
    He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, ever since, well, you know. And the thing that keeps occurring to me, the only positive thing, is that I can start over. How many people have a chance to change something major in their lives without having to suffer the consequences?”
    I give him a look. “You think I’m not suffering the consequences?”
    “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant, and maybe this sounds silly, but, I don’t know, just imagine the possibilities.”
    “Like what?”
    He thinks about it. “You could change your job.”
    “But I love my job.”
    He smiles ruefully. “Will you