What We Remember. Michael Thomas Ford

told me.”

      “That’s what I told you,” James agreed. “But that’s not quite the whole story.”

      Charly said nothing. James knew it was one of her lawyer tricks—keep silent until the witness gets nervous and starts talking. She often used it on him during arguments. He hated it, mostly because it worked.

      “Seven—almost eight—years ago my father disappeared,” James began. “A few days later my mother received a letter from him. He said that he’d been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and that he didn’t want us to watch him get sick and die. So he killed himself.”

      Charly still said nothing. James could picture her face, composed and beautiful. He often wondered how witnesses could look at that face and not fall apart on the spot, it had that effect.

      “They never found my father’s body,” he continued. “We had a headstone made, and there was a memorial service, but there’s no body in his grave.” He hesitated, knowing that Charly was waiting for his revelation. “Well, they found him.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me that this morning?” Charly asked.

      James cleared his throat. “I wasn’t sure I believed it myself,” he answered.

      “But it’s true?” said Charly.

      “I think so,” James said. “Celeste says so, but I haven’t seen for myself.”

      “How is your mother handling it?”

      “There’s more,” said James. “They didn’t just find his body. It looks like someone murdered him.”

      “But the letter—” Celeste said immediately.

      “I know,” said James. “Get out of lawyer mode for a minute, okay? That’s all I know right now.”

      “That doesn’t make any sense,” Charly said. She sounded frustrated, and James had to smile a little bit at the way she immediately started examining the evidence of the case.

      “I’ll find out more tomorrow,” he said.

      There was a long pause before Charly said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “I already told you, I wasn’t sure that—”

      “Not about what’s happening now,” Charly interrupted. “I mean about your father killing himself.”

      “I don’t know,” said James. “I guess because it’s not exactly a shining moment in my family’s history.”

      “Nobody’s family is perfect, James,” Charly countered. “I wouldn’t have thought any less of them—or of you—because of it.”

      “No,” James agreed. “I don’t think you would have.”

      “We’ve been over this before,” said Charly. “If we’re going to be together, you have to trust me.”

      “I do,” James assured her. “I do trust you.”

      “I hope you really believe that,” said Charly.

      There was a long silence, during which James had to fight the urge to hang up. Finally, to his relief, Charly said, “Get some rest. You’re going to have a hell of a day tomorrow, I bet. Tell your mother I’m very sorry and I wish her son had told me the truth.”

      “Very funny,” said James.

      “I love you,” Charly said.

      “Me too,” James told her. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

      He clicked off and closed the phone, setting it on the bedside table. I couldn’t even tell her I love her, he scolded himself. After all of that. He rubbed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. Why was he such a dick? Charly was right; he had to trust her if they were going to stay together. He couldn’t keep hiding things from her. He had to tell her the whole story. The problem was, he wasn’t sure he knew what it was.

      CHAPTER 6

      1982

      The knock at the door was barely audible through the sound of the music. At first James mistook it for some odd drumming pattern. But when it came again, he realized that someone was trying to get his attention. He removed the headphones and called out, “Come in!”

      The door opened and his father entered the bedroom. James was surprised to see him. His father seldom came into his room. Now he stood just inside the door, his hands in his pockets, looking around the room as if he’d never been there. James waited for him to speak.

      “Dad?” he said after a long silence. “What’s up?”

      His father cleared his throat. “I want to talk to you about something,” he said.

      James groaned. “I know, I need to get my trig grade up,” he said. “I’m working on it. Nancy’s been helping me, and—”

      “That’s what I want to talk to you about,” his father interrupted. “Nancy,” he clarified.

      “Nancy?” James said. “What about her?”

      His father looked at him. “I think you should spend less time with her,” he said.

      James, confused, leaned back in his desk chair. “Less time?” he repeated. “Why? I thought you and Mom liked her.”

      “We do like her,” his father said. “We just think things might be getting a little too serious.”

      James, turning the words over in his head, suddenly blushed. “Oh, God,” he said. “No. We haven’t…I mean, we aren’t…” He stopped, unable to say the words.

      To his surprise, his father chuckled. “Not that kind of serious,” he said. “Although I’m glad to hear that I don’t have to worry about that either, at least not yet.”

      “Then I don’t understand,” James told him.

      His father gave him a little smile. “You’re young,” he said. “Only fifteen. There’s a lot of time for girlfriends.”

      “Okay,” James said slowly. “But I have a girlfriend now.”

      “I’m not saying you shouldn’t see Nancy,” his father explained. “I’m just saying I’d prefer it if you didn’t see her quite so much.”

      James shook his head. “I don’t get it,” he said. “What’s the problem?”

      “There isn’t one. Yet.” His father spoke slowly, as if he were working out in his mind just what he wanted to say. “I just want to make sure it doesn’t become one.”

      “Why would it?” James asked. He was starting to get angry. His father was speaking to him as if he were a kid, not a teenager. Christ, he was almost old enough to drive. Why shouldn’t he have a girlfriend?

      “You’re schoolwork hasn’t been great lately,” his father said. “You’ve stopped playing ball.”

      “I told you, I’m working on the grades,” James argued. “And I stopped playing baseball because it takes up too much time.”

      “Time you’re now spending with Nancy,” said his father. “James, I know how you feel. Believe me, I do. That’s why I know what’s best for you right now. All I’m asking—all your mother and I are asking—is that you and Nancy take a break for a while.”

      “A break,” James said. “For how long? A week? A month? What are we talking about here?” His voice had an edge to it, and he saw his father stiffen.

      “Don’t speak to me in that tone,” he said.

      “You’re treating me like I’m Billy’s age!” James said, his anger growing. “I think I can decide for myself what I should and shouldn’t do.”

      His