Page 4 of Forgotten
“Sarah,” Mom finally replies but she does not shake his hand. With a gesture in the direction of our house, Mom says, “Dinner is at six.”
She doesn’t say that we also moved last autumn from our house in Norway, or that we had to leave because there was never enough money. She doesn’t tell Gregory Hale that we had to come live in Nana’s old house in England; doesn’t add anything before simply heading back home. Mom leaves me with Gregory Hale without looking back once.
Ashford’s daddy does not yell at me.
When I introduce myself, Gregory Hale simply echoes my words, “Ashley. Nice name. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
When he helps me into Ashford’s blue skates—adjusting the size and fixing my thick socks—he does not squeeze my skin so tight it hurts. He zips up my winter jacket and pats my back softly.
“Are your hands cold?” Gregory Hale asks me kindly and I don’t want to tell him that they are.
He studies my face and when I don’t say anything at all, he takes my hands in his and warms them up with hisgloves. “We can’t have your fingers fall off,” he announces.
Ashford laughs with him and says, “My hands are always cold.”
When I fall off the skates, Gregory Hale rushes over to me and does not yell that it is my fault, always my fault. How can you be bad at just about everything? Howcan you forget your English words, when you’ve been speaking English forever?
Gregory and Ashford Hale hold me on each side until I’m standing on my own on the skates. They hold my hands—Ashford on my right and his dad on my left—until my palms get sweaty and I feel ashamed.
And when I declare I want to try alone, Ashford beams at me with his toothless smile and matching holes appear on the sides of his cheeks. I like to think I did not know the worddimplesuntil I knew their shape on Ashford’s face.
I am six years old when I meet Ashford and for the first time, I feel the sting of jealousy. I’m jealous of his curly red hair, jealous of his name, his perfect English, his dad, his skates, his dimples. My skin is hot in the winter air and my belly rumbles and I wish I didn’t have to go back home.
For the first time in my life, I wish Ashford would take me and hide me away, keep me safe. That feeling never goes away.
Chapter 3
2024 - Ashford
“Ford, I’m going to ask you some questions, if that’s okay with you,” the doctor asks as my best friend stands by the hospital bed. I settle on a careful nod, gaze locked on Ashley.
“I can leave,” Ash says reluctantly. I can tell the idea of leaving me makes him nauseous. In all honesty, it makes me nauseous too. I widen my eyes in panic, throat burning with the words I cannot push out just yet.No, please. Don’t leave.
It’s not just his friendly face; his comforting presence. There’s something else, deep down, that makes me desperate to keep Ash here.
The doctor reads my face and turns to Ash with a reassuring smile. “You are welcome to stay.”
In response, Ash does not move. He plants his feet on the ground, a few steps away from the hospital bed. His stare runs up and down my body, as if trying to convince himself I’m actually here, in the same room with him.
“How old are you?” the doctor asks in a neutral tone.
Easy, I just turned twenty-seven. I try to hold up two fingers on my left hand but I feel the burn of my sore muscles. My arm trembles in the effort and the sting cuts through the fog in my mind.
Twenty-seven.
The more I think about it, the more wrong it sounds. I feel my confidence vacillating and the next number is more of a wiggle of the same hand. Bile is pooling at the base of my throat. What did I do for my birthday? Wasn’t I alone?
“Do you know what day it is?”
Somehow breathless, I scan around for a clue. How am I supposed to know what day it is? I barely know where I am; why I am in a hospital.
“Mond-?” I openly guess because today feels like a Monday. This task feels like a bad day at the office, when everyone is calling in sick and you have to do the work of three people.
The lines on the doctor’s forehead deepen and his shoulders sink lower. “Month?”
My eyes find the only window in the room and I look at the frosted glass. The day is sunny outside, but I can’t really tell the season. It must be summer, I remember. In a voiceless whisper, I attempt the most summer month I know. “July?”
Beside the bed, Ash stiffens as his hands curl into shaky fists at his sides.
