Last Summer(35)

“Hold up. Before you start recording, is it true what you said?” he asks. “That you don’t remember our time together last summer?”

She nods. “It’s not just that I don’t remember the interview. I didn’t know of you until my editor called. I had to Google you.”

Nathan whistles. “What a trip. Any idea why?”

“I was hoping you could help me.”

“In what way?” He tosses a handful of trail mix into his mouth.

“Did something happen between us?” she asks, knowing her question is loaded. But she wants to know it all, everything she’s beginning to suspect. What did they talk about on the mountain? Did they argue? Were they involved? Is that why she convinced Rebecca to kill the exclusive?

Nathan slowly shakes his head, his eyes on her. “I can’t think of anything that would cause you to forget me.”

Ella helps herself to the dried fruit and nuts. “What did we do on the previous assignment?”

Nathan pulls his legs into his chest and rests his forearms on his knees. “You mentioned yesterday you lost your notes.”

“Everything. Research, recordings of our conversations. Phone logs and voice mails. I have no idea how.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I deleted them? That’s the only explanation I’ve been able to draw.”

“And what else?”

She looks askance at him. “What do you mean?”

“Are you sure it was just me you deleted?”

“No, I’m not.”

“I might not be the only assignment you’ve forgotten, or person.”

Her heart sinks. “You’re not. I forgot my son.”

Nathan reaches over and tugs off pieces of hair stuck to her lips, blown around by the wind. “I’m sorry. About your son,” he says quietly.

Ella cups her mouth and glances away. She swallows, pushing down the knot expanding in her throat. “Thanks,” she whispers.

“How’s Damien handling this?”

She clears her throat, surprised for a moment that he knows of Damien, but of course he does. She wears a wedding band. He’d know she’s married. She would have mentioned him. “We haven’t really talked about it.”

“Denial?” he asks, and Ella shrugs a shoulder. “You can talk to me, if you want. You did before.”

Ella blinks at him. “What did we talk about?”

“Damien. Your parents.”

“I told you about my parents?” she says in a small voice. She rarely talks to anyone about her parents. She and Andrew hardly speak of them.

“What did I say about them?” she asks Nathan.

“You told me they died in a car accident when you were six and that you blamed your mother.”

Ella feels the world falling from under her. She weaves. How could she have ever shared such personal information with an interviewee?

“Hey, hey.” Nathan grips her shoulder. “Here, drink this.” He hands her his metal water canister.

She guzzles a quarter, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

Ella did blame her mom, but she can’t fathom why she would have told Nathan. Aside from Damien, the only other person she admitted that to was Aunt Kathy. A few weeks after her parents’ death and after the neighbors had helped Aunt Kathy clear out her parents’ apartment and moved their belongings to Aunt Kathy’s garage, Ella came across her mom’s Lladró collection of porcelain figurines, gifts from Ella’s grandparents her mom had received every year for her birthday. There were only eighteen figurines, even though her mom was twenty-four when she died. The figurines stopped when Ella’s mom married her dad. Her mom was devastated that her own parents wouldn’t accept Ella’s dad into their family, but she still treasured her collection.

They’d been displayed in the antique curio cabinet in their tiny apartment. But after her parents’ death and after their belongings had been packed away, Ella despised everything that had belonged to her parents because she hated them for leaving her. And she especially hated anything her mom loved.

One evening Aunt Kathy was cooking dinner, and Ella, missing her parents, sneaked into the garage and snooped through their boxed items. But when she came across her mom’s Lladrós, a rage Ella had never felt before consumed her. Blistering hot anger poured down her face in the form of heavy tears. She picked up one figurine after another and hurled them against the wall.

The sound of shattering porcelain brought Kathy to the garage just in time for her to witness the last figurine, an angel with white wings, explode into miniscule fragments. Porcelain dust sprinkled the garage like new-fallen snow.

“Ella Skye, what do you think you’re doing?” Kathy had shouted.

Ella couldn’t answer. Anger spent, a deep sadness filled her. She’d just destroyed her mom’s prized collection.

Her mom would have smacked her with a spatula and sent her to bed without dinner. But her aunt Kathy only sank to her knees and pulled Ella against her ample chest in a tight bear hug.

Aunt Kathy smelled of apple fritters and warm bread. She’d been baking nonstop since Ella and Andrew moved in. Ella knew she baked the treats to keep her and Andrew happy. But right then, Ella just wanted to keep crying. She’d been holding in her tears for too long.