wish to God I could remember the last time I saw him, what we said to one another, how we left things. I don’t even know if I hugged him at the end.”
Billy rubbed his chest, as if it ached. “That’s awful. I can’t imagine that.”
It was awful. Possibly one of the worst things about the accident. My body was wrecked, but it was functional. Forgetting that last time with my father, though, would always plague me.
Billy pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Well . . . you could pick a quiet place and talk to him. I know that sounds cheesy, but you could, you know, have the conversation you hoped you’d had with him before he died.”
“Maybe. But, in all likelihood, we argued. Last I remembered, he wanted me to join Mont—his company. In the finance department. To use my investment skills to research upcoming deals, companies, marketplaces, recommend mergers. Things like that.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“It was,” I agreed. “Only I kept putting it off. I knew that was my future eventually, but I wasn’t ready to give up my freedom. Being able to go anywhere I wanted, party when I wanted. My father wasn’t a fan of my lifestyle—or my friends. Not that he was wrong, but I was stubborn, of course. I think one of the reasons my dad wanted me to take that job was to get me to settle down.” I laughed wryly. “And now look at me. I’m stuck in one place but good.”
“Do they think you’ll ever get those memories back? Those three months before the accident?” Billy asked hopefully.
I shook my head. “Probably not. I had a skull fracture. Bleeding on the brain. It’s likely those memories were wiped out for good, along with other things. I lost weird, random stuff. I had to be taught how to use a table knife again. Even to this day, I’ll search for a word and it won’t be there. Or I’ll go to do something and I’ll know I used to do it, but I’ve forgotten how. So I have to learn it again.”
“Like starting the coals?” Billy teased.
“No. Pretty sure I never knew how to do that.” I smiled.
“That’s scary though, losing part of yourself. Like, who are we, if not our memories?”
I felt relieved that someone understood. “That’s it exactly. It’s like losing crumbs of yourself. How many crumbs can you lose before you’re not the same person anymore?” I put down the photo carefully. “I’ll take this downstairs. I don’t have many photos of my dad out.”
“Aaron . . .” Billy said, his tone careful. “You said you’re stuck in one place. But you’re not really stuck here. Right?”
I sat there for a long moment, not answering. Given the change in our relationship, he had a right to know why I wouldn’t leave Malfleur. He’d have to know, eventually. But how could I tell him my deepest shame?
And I shouldn’t tell him—the less he knew the better. But I wanted to. I wanted to very much, suddenly. Billy had already forgiven much—my scars, my attitude. If he could forgive this . . . ? The relief would be incalculable.
And we were sleeping together now. Didn’t he have a right to know, if not my name, at least the kind of person he was getting involved with? I felt a chill when I thought of him finding out later and hating me for not telling him.
“You should know,” I said decisively.
“Know what?”
I swallowed. “Come downstairs. I’ll show you.”
Chapter 15
Billy
I’d never been inside the library, only seen it from the windows. I adored it. It was a big room with a fireplace, French doors, and loads of bookcases. In front of the fireplace were two heavy chairs and a small table, perfect for playing games on a snowy night, though I might be getting ahead of myself there. The window where I’d spied on Aaron and Emmanuel Clark was above an antique side table with a liquor tray. The desk was heavy and mahogany with a brass lamp, pen holders, a nice computer. Geez, the money this family had. I couldn’t imagine it.
Aaron went to his desk. He moved the lamp to reveal a hidden key, which he used to unlock a lower drawer in the desk. He did this mechanically, his face blank and pale, as if these were the gravest of circumstances.
If this were a movie, he’d be about to read a will. Or show me blackmail photos.
What was he about to