What She Forgot (What She 2)

“Go away, Clark,” I said. “I’m going to learn to cook.” I shooed him with my hands.

“You haven’t slept yet, Shelly,” he reminded me. “It’s tomorrow, remember?”

“Who needs sleep when there’s food to be had?” I said. But then a yawn caught me by surprise. I covered my open mouth.

“You do,” he said. “Do you want to shower? You can use my bathroom first, if you want.”

“A shower would be nice,” I said. I looked at MeeMaw. “Can I take a rain check on the cooking lesson?” I yawned again. “I’m so sorry.”

“Go shower and get some rest, dear,” she said. “You look like you’re dead on your feet.”

“I’ll go set out some towels for you,” Clark said, and then he disappeared down the hallway.

I got up to rinse the plates Clark and I had just used and loaded them into the dishwasher.

“He’s not going to know what to do with you.” She said the words clearly and succinctly, but I still almost missed them. I stopped and turned to look at her, drying my hands with a nearby dishtowel.

“Beg your pardon?”

“I said he’s not going to know what to do with you.” She said each word again slowly and clearly.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“He’s been talking about you ever since the first night you showed up at his office.” She chortled. “You pulled a gun on him. That was when I knew you might give him a run for his money.”

“I did pull a gun on him. Because he surprised me. But I still don’t know what you mean.” I folded the dishtowel I’d used and left it on the counter. “He told you about all that?” I wanted to ask what else he’d had to say, but I was afraid she might tell me. “I really like working for him.”

“You’re pretty and smart.”

“Thank you.” I’d heard those words my whole life. I’d been at genius-level IQ in middle school. My teachers never knew what to do with me either. And I’d never lacked for men who wanted to fuck me.

“But I think you’re also a little lost.”

Those words… They sank deep into my soul and sat there, heavy like a boulder. “Probably,” I replied, knowing how flat my voice sounded. But I didn’t really care.

“My boy, he likes to try to fix things that are broken,” she said, and she reached over and turned off the little TV. “But he ends up breaking himself.”

I sat back down next to her and she patted my hand.

“I have no plans to harm him.” I held up both hands like I was surrendering to the cops.

“Neither did Marley.” She heaved in a breath. “Did you see his face?”

“I’ve seen his face many times.” I kind of liked his face.

“The scar, dear. Did you see the scar?”

Of course I had seen the scar. It slashed from his temple down beneath his eye and stopped next to his nose. “I’ve seen it.”

“Did yo

u ask him how he got it?”

“I’m sure he would tell me if he wanted me to know.”

“He went to bed with Marley, and he woke up to find Megan standing over him with a knife. She slashed his face before he could move.”

It felt sort of wrong having MeeMaw tell me this story. Clark should have been the one to tell me.