Forgotten: A Novel by Catherine McKenzie

Author:Catherine McKenzie [McKenzie, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780062115423
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2012-10-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16: That Was an Invalid Response

I awake at seven, naked and alone, to the sound of a truck backing up.

My first thought is, I must be dreaming. But the space next to me feels empty and cold, and even my fuzzy morning brain knows that if this were a dream, there’d be a man lying next to me.

I concentrate, listening for the sounds of teeth brushing or coffee making, but there’s nothing. Dominic’s gone and I’m alone.

Even though I shouldn’t be surprised—he told me yesterday he was leaving for Ireland in the morning, right?—this has never happened to me before. I’ve never slept with a man and woken up to find him gone the morning after our first time together. And let me tell you, if you’ve never experienced this particular situation, it feels about as shitty as you’d expect it to feel.

And it doesn’t help that last night was amazing in a way first-time-together sex usually isn’t. There wasn’t any of that usual awkwardness of sweaters getting stuck on heads or elbows or hair getting pulled. It was all a seamless flow of hands and skin and lips and tongues.

The things Dominic did to me with his tongue . . .

I turn toward his pillow, half expecting to find a note, or at least a depression that confirms I wasn’t dreaming, but it’s empty. The taut pillowcase stretches across it without betraying any evidence he was ever here.

My body bears the evidence, though.

Maybe I should think about something else.

I wrap the sheet around me and put a tentative foot on the floor. It creaks under my weight, and I stop, frozen, as the report echoes around the room.

Why am I being cautious in my own apartment, like there’s someone sick who’s sleeping in the room, a light sleeper? There’s no one here, Emma. He’s gone.

I stand up properly and walk to the door, the sheet trailing behind me like a train. Dominic’s door is ajar across the hall. Small particles of dust float in a sunbeam, like it’s been days, weeks, since he was here, instead of hours, maybe only minutes.

I cross the hall. His bed is made with square hospital corners, and there’s a navy blanket folded at the end of it. The clutter is missing from the dresser, like it was from mine the night I came home. His boxes are lined up neatly under the window. Again, there’s no note.

I finally find it in the kitchen, sitting propped against the salt and pepper shakers. I pick it up as I sit down, tucking the sheet under me. I stare at my name on the folded piece of paper, trying to decipher whether this note will make me more or less angry. But the neat block letters written in a blue ballpoint pen don’t contain a clue.

I unfold it.

Emma, I’m sorry for leaving like this, but I have an early flight. I’ll call you when I get in. Dominic.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but these simple words don’t relieve the achy feeling in my chest.

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