Page 42 of Forgetting the Enemy
“Here, let me show you out,” I say and follow her out the door. We head down the stairs and run into Michael. Before he can utter a word, I say, “I need to talk to you.”
He gives me a worried look.
You better worry, buddy. You lied to me, and soon you’re gonna have to answer for it.I continue down the stairs and call back to him, “I’ll be right back.”
“Bye, Michael,” Mia calls as we proceed down the stairs toward the entryway. We hug each other goodbye, and Mia leaves. I watch out the window as her driver waits for her in the driveway. Once she is settled in the car, they leave.
I turn to head back up the stairs. Michael is still standing on the steps, halfway down. When I get to him, I say, “You lied to me!” and I stomp off toward my bedroom.
He turns and quickly follows behind, not saying a word.
We’re standing outside my room when he says, “What did I lie about?”
“You lied about when my father died!” I yell.
“I did no such thing,” he says, and I sense a bit of relief in his voice.
“Yes, you did. Mia told me he died the same night I hit my head.”
“Correct, but you never asked when he died. When I told you both your parents were dead, you asked nothing about them. I didn’t volunteer anything either.”
“So you didn’t think it was important to tell me my mother was murdered?”
His face turns white and then quickly red hot with anger. “Well, doll, your father was murdered too!” he yells.
I look at him in shock, horrified by what he just said. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just drop it, Zaira.” He turns to walk away, and I grab onto his arm.
“I’ll do no such thing.”
He stares at me intently.
“You will tell me what happened to my parents, Michael, now. I’m not going to let this go until you do.”
“Fuck, Zaira. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“What’s the big secret, Michael? Don’t you understand that I need to know?”
He shakes his head in defeat. Opening my bedroom door, he says, “Get in.”
I do as I’m told, and he follows behind me.
“Sit,” he says.
Obeying, I sit in the chair situated in the corner of my room, and he begins to pace.
“Have you remembered anything about your family or your past?” he asks.
“A few things.”
“Tell me,” he says abruptly.
“Well, I’ve had what you would call, perhaps, visions. The first one I saw was a vision of a man handing me a diamond ring.” I hold up my left hand and say, “This ring.” I hesitate to gauge his reaction. “He said, ‘wear this,’ and I put the ring on.” I pause. “The man was shadowed, and I didn’t get a good look at his face.”
He stops pacing and looks at me intently.
“Was that you, Michael? Is that how you proposed to me?” I ask.
