What She Forgot

by Margaret Lashley

  Blatch cringed. “No. And I have a confession to make.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t hate me. But after you asked me what DMV stood for, I kind of lost the plate numbers I was trying to hold in my head.”

  Deanna studied Blatch. She should’ve been angry. But she wasn’t. Instead, she found herself almost glad for his blunder. His admission was more proof that Marcus Blatch was far from perfect. He might even be as imperfect as she, herself. Would that make them a perfect match?

  “It’s okay,” Deanna said, and decided to show a bit of her own imperfection—a kind of flaw-swap tit for tat. “I forget stuff all the time. My therapist says I’m a master of repression.”

  Blatch’s brow furrowed slightly. “Your therapist?”

  “Yes. Larry Filbert isn’t my uncle. He’s my psychotherapist. It’s actually a required thing for—”

  Psychologists and psychiatrists was the intended end of the sentence. But Deanna realized she couldn’t say it without giving herself away. “Uh ... for dealing with childhood issues,” she said instead. “But it sounds like with your mom, you don’t have any psychological scars.”

  Blatch laughed. “Right.”

  His expression told Deanna he wasn’t quite buying her recovery line, so she changed the subject. “Hey, speaking of mothers, it’s Thanksgiving. Why aren’t you helping yours?”

  Blatch smiled. “I am. I’m staying out of her hair.”

  Edgy about almost blowing her cover, Deanna laughed too loudly. She glanced toward the street and was relieved to find they’d walked full circle, and were back at the seawall across the street from her house.

  Deanna grabbed Blatch’s hand, squeezed it, and let go. “Well, thanks for the walk. I better get going.”

  Blatch nodded. “Hot date for Thanksgiving?”

  “Yeah.” Deanna took a few steps toward her house, then turned her head and looked back at Blatch. “With a nosy neighbor, a creepy realtor, and Jodie the schizo,” she teased.

  Blatch shot her a sideways grin. “Now you’re just trying to make me jealous.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  BY QUARTER PAST NOON, the letter Larry was supposed to have overnighted still hadn’t arrived. Deanna locked up the house and headed next door to celebrate Thanksgiving with the Havenalls, her chilled bottle of pinot noir in a festive gift bag hanging from the crook of her elbow.

  When she rang the front bell, Charlie Rhodes answered the door. He laid on his best salesman’s grin.

  “There you are,” he said in a cheerful sing-song. “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to drop in unannounced. I guess I was just a little overeager. I wanted to get first crack at being your realtor. I promise I can give you a fair and accurate assessment of the property. You see, when it comes to neglected properties, not everyone has my imagination. I can see right through the coal to the diamond within. With just a little spit and polish and a few dumpster runs, your place could be worth another ten or fifteen thousand. Maybe more. Hire me and I know people that can make that happen.”

  “Good grief, Charlie, take a breath,” Mrs. Havenall said. “Let poor Deanna enjoy her holiday.”

  Charlie shot his cousin a hard look. “I was just trying—”

  She slapped his hand playfully. “Well, you’re trying too hard. Let’s just enjoy our meal with no business talk. You two can do that stuff on Saturday.”

  Charlie stepped aside to let Deanna pass. Mrs. Havenall took her by the arm. “All right, now. Everybody take a seat. Deanna, you sit by me. Let Charlie chew Jodie’s ear for a change.”

  They took seats around the table laden with all the usual Thanksgiving offerings. The turkey at the center of the table was steaming, golden-brown perfection. Normal Rockwell would have wanted to paint the scene.

  “Okay, let’s hold hands,” Mrs. Havenall said.

  Deanna clasped Mrs. Havenall’s warm, dry hand, a stark contrast to Charlie Rhodes’ cold, sweaty one.

  Mrs. Havenall grinned proudly at her bountiful handiwork. “Anyone want to start with what they’re thankful for?”

  Charlie winked at Deanna. “I’m thankful for new customers.”

  Mrs. Havenall shot him a naughty boy look. “I’m thankful Deanna is with us.”

  Jodie smirked and rolled her sapphire eyes. “I’m thankful we only have to do this once a year.”

  Deanna glanced around the table at the people who’d been kind enough to invite her to dinner—to do her dirty work looking after her mother, even though Melody Young was cranky and crazy and quite possibly a murderer. If it was true, they’d each actually risked their own lives by entering her mother’s kill zone ....

  Deanna fought back tears as she smiled at each face in turn. “I’m thankful for each of you. The food looks great, Mrs. Havenall. And thanks to you all, I’m not alone today.”

  “WHICH WINE GOES WITH pecan pie?” Charlie asked. He swayed a little as he stood by the buffet.

  “Any wine you want. Just hurry up,” Jodie quipped, holding up her empty wine glass.

  “Try the pinot I brought,” Deanna said.

  Charlie rattled through the wine bottles on the buffet. “Empty. Empty. Empty. Ah!” He held up the bottle of pinot grigio. “Got one!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Bring it on!” Jodie yelled, then turned to Deanna. “Remember that time we went skinny dipping in the bayou?”

  Deanna held a wobbly finger to her lips. “Shhh! Uh ... I think that must’ve been someone else.”

  Jodie shot her a maniacal grin. “Oh, don’t be such a goody-goody. You and I used to get into some real stuff back in high school.”

  Deanna frowned and shook her head as Charlie poured her a generous glass of wine.

  “Grow up, Dee!” Jodie scolded. “Your mom can’t do anything to you anymore!”

  Deanna picked up her glass to take a sip, then cocked her head at Jodie. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” Mrs. Havenall said, shooting Jodie a stern look. “Charlie, could you go see about the key lime pie? I forgot to bring it out.”

  “No problem.” He staggered to the buffet, set the wine bottle down with the studied patience of a drunk, and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Not in mixed company, Jodie,” Mrs. Havenall whispered when Charlie was gone. She turned to Deanna. “I think Jodie was referring to that time you came to our house in the middle of the night with blood all over your nightgown.”

  Deanna’s brow furrowed. “I don’t remember that.”

  Mrs. Havenall smiled pensively and took Deanna’s hand in hers. “You wouldn’t, dear. You were sleepwalking. We thought you were hurt. But you didn’t have a scratch on you. Then your mother called. She asked if you were here. I told her yes, and that I’d send you home. But she said no, and warned me not to wake you. She said ....” Mrs. Havenall looked down.

  “What did she say?” Deanna whispered.

  “Your mother said she was afraid. She said that when you sleepwalked, she never knew what you would do.”

  Deanna’s eyes grew wide. “What about the blood?”

  “Melody said there’d been an accident. She said she was all right, and to not mention it to you. I kept my word. But now that she’s gone, well, I thought you should know.”

  Deanna dredged up a fuzzy image of waking up in the twin bed next to Jodie, her hands covered in blood. “But—”

  “Found it!” Charlie yelled, and swaggered into the room carrying the key lime pie on his fingertips like a waiter. Two steps from the table he tripped. The pie went skittering across the table into Deanna’s lap.

  Jodie laughed and hooted, “And here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Charlie!”

  “GAWD.” JODIE TOOK A long drag on a cigarette. “Leave it to my mother to tell that story.”

  “I barely remember it.” Deanna sighed and sat down next to Jodie in the swing on the Havenalls’ front porch.

  “Like Mom said, you’d been sleepwalking.”
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  Deanna’s face lined with worry. Had she hurt her own mother and repressed it? What else had she forgotten?

  “You look like shit,” Jodie said with a smile.

  “Thanks.” Despite two glasses of wine, Deanna felt stone-cold sober. She turned to Jodie and saw Charlie making his way toward them. “Hey. You want to get out of here?”

  Jodie grinned and flicked her cigarette butt into the yard. “Hell, yeah!”

  “I need to take my rental car back to the airport. Follow me over and I’ll buy you a drink when we get back.”

  Jodie grinned. “Deal.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  DEANNA HESITATED AS the wild-eyed woman with even wilder black hair pulled up in front of her in a beat-up black convertible.

  “You sure you’re okay to drive?” she asked Jodie.

  “What? Why wouldn’t I be? Oh. You mean the booze? Okay, yeah. I’ve had a few. But I’ve got a killer tolerance. In fact, your alcohol poisoning is my casual drinking.”

  “Move along!” an airport security guard barked. “No parking at the curb. Pick-up only.”

  Deanna climbed into the car. “How old is this thing?”

  “Betsy?” Jodie patted the split dash of the Geo Metro. “Old enough to know better.”

  Deanna laughed. “So you’re okay to drive?”

  “Why do you keep asking me that?”

  “Well, I know you take medication.”

  Jodie shot her a sarcastic smirk. “Who doesn’t?”

  Deanna thought about her Paxil prescription and shut her mouth. The security guard yelled, “Move it!”

  Jodie turned up the radio and took off, leaving Deanna to scramble for the seat belt.

  “What was it like, taking care of my Mom?” she asked Jodie over the blare of Tom Petty free-falling.

  Jodie laughed. “She was mostly sad. She missed you.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Jodie grinned. “She did. But okay, to be fair, she missed her glory days as Spidey Hawkins more. She was always wishing she had one more shot at fame.”

  “Too bad I ruined all that for her.”

  “Awe, Dee, don’t be that way. Your mom wasn’t all that bad.”

  “No. She wasn’t ‘lock me in the basement’ bad. But maybe what she did was worse.”

  Jodie’s already wild eyes grew wider. “What are you talking about? What did she do?”

  Deanna scowled. “She ... she dismantled me piece by piece, Jodie. She dismissed my hopes and dreams. Nothing I did was ever right or good enough.”

  Jodie feigned shock. “Geez, Dee. I wouldn’t know the first thing about what that’s like.”

  Deanna folded her arms and stared as Jodie took one hand from the wheel and pulled up her sunglasses. Jodie crossed her sapphire eyes, stuck out her front teeth, and said, “Too dak. Yooz frash.”

  Deanna’s scowl disintegrated. She popped Jodie on the arm, then threw her head back and laughed and laughed.

  WHEN DEANNA FINALLY regained her composure, she was surprised to find they’d already crossed the Howard Frankland Bridge and passed St. Petersburg’s unwelcoming welcome pillar. A few minutes later, while Billy Idol finished crooning about his white wedding, they pulled up and idled in the back alley by Deanne’s garage.

  “Home safe and sound, your majesty,” Jodie said. “So what are you going to drive now?”

  “My mom’s old car.”

  Jodie cut the ignition on the battered Metro. “It still runs?”

  “I think so. It did last time I was here in June.”

  “Cool! Take me for a test drive?”

  “Sure. If I can get it started.”

  The women climbed out of Jodie’s Metro. Deanna fumbled with her keyring, unlocked the old garage handle, and pulled up the rolling door.

  Both women screamed bloody murder. A giant spider web spanned the entire doorway. Its horrifying owner sat in the middle of the web—a brown wolf spider as big as Deanna’s hand.

  Deanna slammed the garage door shut. She shuddered, then turned to Jodie. “I didn’t know you were afraid of spiders.”

  Jodie crinkled her nose. “Fear isn’t exactly the word. I have what I call a dreadful fascination.”

  Deanna smirked. “Mind if I borrow that?”

  “Be my guest. You know, everybody’s entitled to their fears, Deanna. That’s what I learned in the nuthouse.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Deanna smiled and shook her head. “How about another glass of wine?”

  Jodie shot her a sideways look. “Got anything stronger?”

  “Absolutely. Follow me.”

  “WHAT’S WRONG?” DEANNA asked as she handed Jodie a gimlet.

  “Nothing. Just my stomach hurts a little.”

  Deanna pursed her lips. “I watched you at dinner. You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.”

  “Oh yeah? I watched you. You don’t drink enough to keep a fish alive.”

  Deanna laughed and raised her gimlet. “How little you know me.”

  Jodie clinked her martini glass against Deanna’s. “You know, I envy you, Dee. Escaping this place. Are you really thinking of coming back?”

  “I don’t know. At dinner, I told your mom what I thought she wanted to hear. To be honest, I just didn’t feel like discussing it.”

  Jodie smirked. “I know that feeling.”

  Deanna grinned coyly. “Besides, I think I might have met someone.”

  Jodie wagged her eyebrows. “That guy I saw you walking along the seawall with yesterday?”

  Deanna’s eyes widened with surprise. “You were here yesterday?”

  “Yeah. I came over to help Mom with the holiday prep.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Jodie studied Deanna’s face. “Right what?”

  “Oh. Yes. That was the guy.”

  Jodie leaned in closer to Deanna. “What’s his name?”

  Deanna took a step back. “Marcus Blatch.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  YOU THINK YOU CAN CATCH me?

  I won’t give you another chance.

  I’m the only one who gives my girl flowers.

  Marcus Blatch, your number is up.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  MARCUS PICKED UP HIS iced tea and washed down another mouthful of turkey breast as dry as sawdust and almost as flavorful. He exchanged a mirthful eye roll across the table with his cousin, David. Both men knew Deloris Blatch to be kind, generous, fun-loving, and supportive. But a gourmet cook? Not so much.

  Last night, Blatch had tried his best to assist his mother with the holiday dinner preparations, but she’d shooed him out of the kitchen with the snap of her dishtowel. In hindsight, as he chewed a gummy, half-baked dinner roll, Blatch was glad she’d insisted he get out and go for a walk. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have run into Deanna. The only unfortunate bit was when he’d nearly scared the living daylights out of her.

  “So, can you help me out at the bar tomorrow night?” David asked.

  Marcus dry-swallowed the lump of dinner roll. “Saturday I can. But not tomorrow. I’ve got a date.”

  David choked on his iced tea. “A date? With a woman?”

  “Har har. Yes. An art gallery opening.”

  David smirked and nodded. “Oh. That kind of date.”

  Marcus’ brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  David shrugged. “It’s a safe date.”

  “A safe date?” Deloris asked.

  David grinned, his eyes locked on Marcus’. “Yeah, Aunt Deloris. That means the girl picked a place where she doesn’t have to be alone with him. You know, lots of people around in case she decides to ditch him. Sounds like a smart girl. I like her already.”

  “David!” Deloris scolded playfully. She turned to her son with an I knew it smile. “What’s her name?”

  Blatch’s lips twisted into a sideways pucker. “I think I’ve entertained you two enough. I’m gonna leave her name a blank for now.”

  David smirked. “To
protect the innocent.”

  “Well, just so long as she’s not another one of your work colleagues,” Deloris said.

  Blatch looked out the window.

  “She is!” David shook his head. “You never learn, do you?”

  Blatch crossed his arms defensively. “This is different.”

  “How?” Deloris asked.

  “She’s not a cop, for one thing.”

  David’s face lost its teasing playfulness. “And you’re not her boss, like you were with Cathy, right?”

  Blatch said nothing.

  “Oh, Marcus,” Deloris said, her usually cheerful face lined with worry.

  “Look,” Blatch said, getting up from the table. “She’s just a secretary. She’ll never be in the line of fire.”

  Deloris grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got somewhere I need to be, Ma. Excuse me.” He nodded at David, grabbed his jacket, and left through the front door.

  As he climbed into his car, Blatch worried that his mother and cousin were right. Maybe relationships just weren’t his strong suit.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  DEANNA AWOKE NOT TO spiders in her bed, but a naked woman.

  After an unrecallable number of vodka gimlets, she and Jodie had sat up most of the night putting the world to right, including elaborate plans to renovate Deanna’s shabby mansion and the apartment above the garage, which would then serve as an exquisite artist’s loft for Jodie. Too inebriated to walk, the two had crashed in the only bed Deanna trusted not to be full of spiders. Her own. She’d washed the sheets herself to be sure.

  Jodie groaned and rolled over as Deanna slipped out of bed. Deanna picked up her phone and smiled at the time shown on the display. It was half-past nine. She’d slept through the night again. She didn’t know if it was the alcohol or Jodie who’d saved her from fitful dreams of spiders. But she didn’t care. At least it wasn’t Rohypnol.

  After wrapping a bathrobe around her naked torso, Deanna put on a pot of coffee and padded into the living room to face the scene of the crime. Sometime during the ever-drunker proceedings, Deanna and Jodie had decided to have a fashion show with her mother’s old beauty pageant outfits. The crumpled remains of ball gowns and bathing suits littered the room, along with both her and Jodie’s clothes. Every last stitch.