The Art of Forgetting (7 page)

              “It’s about time you guys come in,” Monica said as she pulled out the cork with a pop. She set the bottle on the counter and shuffled to Lloyd, corkscrew still in hand, and gave him a peck on the cheek. She surveyed him, her big brown eyes twinkling with motherly pride. She rubbed away the lipstick print she had just planted on his cheek with her thumb, then grasped his wrist and pulled him face to face with the woman who seemed to be studying him as if she were seeing an old friend. “Lloyd Copeland, meet my cousin, Erin Kennedy. Erin, this is Lloyd.”

              The two shook hands.
Pretty. Definitely pretty. Not stunning, but very elegant
, he thought. She smiled as she held his hand and said, “It’s so nice to see you, Lloyd.”
Okay, she’s goddam stunning, admit it.

              “Nice to meet you, Erin.”

              “Actually we know each other,” Erin said, “but I guess you don’t remember.”

              “I’m sorry, I really don’t…”

              “It was a long time ago, in the old neighborhood on North Mason.”

             
North Mason
?  Lloyd felt his heart stutter. That meant she would have known him when his father was still alive. Lloyd shook his head slightly and parted his lips to say something.

              Her eyes sparkled and her smile broadened. “It’s okay Lloyd. I didn’t expect you to recognize me. But I hoped you’d remember me. I remember you very well.”

              “Aaw, did you have a crush on him?” Monica asked.

              “All the girls had a crush on him,” Erin said. “He was such a beautiful boy.”

              “Was?” Lloyd said.

              “I still see a little of that boy in you, but…”

              “Go on,” Monica said.

              “Well, I guess you’re a man now,” Erin said in a level voice.

              “No he isn’t,” Mark said. “Trust me, Lloyd is still a little boy.”

              “You never told me you knew Lloyd,” Monica said squeezing her cousin’s arm.

              “Well we don’t really know each other, do we?” Erin said.

              “I’m just trying to picture you,” Lloyd said. “Which house did you live in?”

              “The one-and-a-half-story, red-brick bungalow with bay windows, which pretty much describes every house on our block,” Erin said with a laugh.

              “We lived on the same block?”

              “I’m Sean Kennedy’s little sister.”

              “Sean Kennedy? You’re Milk-Duds’ sister?”

              “Milk-Duds?” Monica asked.

              “God, I hate that nickname,” Erin said.

              “Cousin Sean?  Why’d they call him Milk-Duds?” Monica asked.

              “He got caught stealing candy once from the corner grocery,” Lloyd said. “This old Greek, Mr. Demetrios, owned the store. Must have been a direct descendant of Archimedes ‘cause he had the whole place rigged up with little mirrors so he could see every corner of his shop while he sat at the cash register. We didn’t know this until Sean put a box of Milk Duds in his pocket. Didn’t he end up doing time in juvenile hall?”

              “No. Nothing ever came of it,” Erin said.

              “But I thought –”

              “Mr. Demetrios never filed charges,” Erin said. “But my dad decided to scare him straight, so he got your father to come over in his Chicago PD uniform, slap hand-cuffs on him, toss him in the back of the squad car and haul his butt off to the precinct to have him booked. Your father played along until Sean was in tears. Then he bought him an ice-cream cone and phoned my dad to come and pick him up.”

              “And now he trades futures at the Mercantile Exchange,” Mark said. “I guess once you start down a path of crime, there’s no turning back.” His wife swatted him on the arm.

              Lloyd smiled at Mark’s joke but a jolt of electricity traveled down his spine.
She knew my father
!  Lloyd had always felt like he had lived two lives: his childhood on the North Mason corner of Chicago and the new life that began when he moved with his mother to the suburb of Des Plaines after his father’s death.  Lloyd rarely acknowledged his old life. He didn’t so much hide it but simply ignored it, tucked away in the far corner of the attic of his consciousness so as not to be an encumbrance. The thought of those days always plunged him into a deep melancholy but now, being in the presence of someone who knew him as a child, who knew the real Lloyd, was oddly liberating, if terrifying.

              “You remember all that?” Lloyd asked.

              Erin touched his elbow, “I remember your father. I’m so sorry Lloyd.”

              Lloyd looked over Erin’s shoulder as if he were distracted by something outside the kitchen window. He avoided eye contact thinking that somehow, she might be able to see through him, peer past his façade.

              “Wait a second,” Lloyd said. “You were that girl always riding the purple Big Wheel.”

              “So you do remember,” Erin said.

              “You had freckles all over your nose and you wore your hair in pig-tails.” He faced Mark. “She was this scrawny little tom-boy who always tried to tag along wherever the boys went.”

              “I think I preferred it when you didn’t remember,” Erin said with a frown.

              “Well, you turned out just fine,” Lloyd said.

              “I’m still trying to burn every photograph taken of me before the ninth grade,” Erin said.

              “Aren’t we all,” Mark said, “except for Lloyd, of course. He was such a
beautiful
boy.” He rolled his eyes.

              Mark lifted a covered metal platter holding thick cuts of marbled meat from the counter. “Well, I hate to interrupt the stroll down memory lane, folks, but these steaks won’t cook themselves. Shall we adjourn to the patio?”

              “It really is nice to see you again after all these years, Lloyd. I sometimes wondered how you turned out,” Erin said.

              “Disappointed?” Lloyd asked.

              Erin winked. “The day’s young.”

              Chapter 6

             
M
onica and Erin set the wine bottle and glasses on the patio table which, like the rest of their furnishings, appeared to have come straight out of a Crate and Barrel catalog. Meanwhile Mark and Lloyd approached the oversized, egg-shaped grill. While Mark slid the platter of steaks on the grill’s service table, Lloyd lifted the heavy cast-iron lid, leaning back when a wave of heat rolled off his face.

              “You know what you’re doing?” Lloyd asked.

              “Oh, ye of little faith. You’re about to have the best steak of your life, brother,” Mark said.

              Mark skewered the first steak with a long barbecue fork, the meat drooping heavily as he tried to position it strategically on the scorching metal. It landed askew with a loud hiss, a crumple forming through its middle when the leading edge stuck to the grid. Mark poked at it with the fork and until it stretched flat. He grabbed the remaining three steaks with his bare hands and tossed them on the grill as if he were dropping rocks in a well.

              Lloyd laughed. “You look like your bowling steaks.”

              “That’s how the pros do it.”

              “Yeah, professional bowlers,” Lloyd said.

              Mark lowered the lid of the grill and wiped his hands on a small towel. The two men took their seats at the patio table where Monica was pouring wine in large stemmed goblets.

              “Mark, why don’t you propose a toast?” Monica said.

              Mark lifted his glass. “They say new friendships are like silver, and old friendships are like gold. So an old friendship that feels like a new friendship must be like... what?”

              “Diamonds,” Monica said. “Like big, fat diamonds on an engagement ring.”

              Lloyd glanced at Erin. She looked back at him, smiled and rolled her eyes. He spied a dimple forming in her cheek.

              “That was subtle, honey,” Mark said. “Real subtle. Well, to new friendships and old friendships rekindled.”

              “Cheers!” Lloyd said. “I thought you’d never get to the punch line.”

              The four clinked their goblets together over the center of the table and sipped their wine. There was an awkward lull as they savored the wine, the moment lingering as if everyone had suddenly run out of something to say.

              “Erin just started working at the medical center, Lloyd,” Monica said. “You’re practically colleagues.”

              “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’re a doctor,” Lloyd said.

              “I’m not,” Erin said.

              “But you
are
a doctor,” Monica said.

              “I have a Ph.D. in medical ethics,” Erin explained.

              “Huh. I didn’t realize you could be a doctor of ethics,” Lloyd said.

              “Ethics is not exactly Lloyd’s strong suit,” Mark said with a frown as he mimed pricking the palm of his hand with an invisible pin.

              “I’m the most ethical doctor I know.” Lloyd held Erin’s gaze as if to add credence to his assertion. “It’s just that I don’t think it’s something that you can acquire through a degree.”

              “I can’t dispute that,” Erin said. “Still, there are precedents that are helpful to know, not to mention procedures and methodologies that you can only learn through study. I hope my education wasn’t a
complete
waste.”

              “Of course it wasn’t a waste. Lloyd, how could you say that?” Monica said.

              “I didn’t say that at all.”

              “Enough hospital talk,” Mark said. “We don’t want to upset the steaks.”

              “I’m so proud of you Erin,” Monica said. “You’re smart, bold, beautiful. Don’t you think she’s beautiful, Lloyd?”

              “That’s self-evident,” Lloyd said.

              Monica glared at him. “What kind of answer is that?”

              “I meant it as a compliment,” Lloyd said facing Erin.

              “Monica, please,” Erin said.

              Lloyd noticed a rosy blush blooming on Erin’s cheeks. She really was beautiful. But there was something beyond her beauty – he felt as if they shared an unspoken intimacy. An inexplicable bond. How much did she remember of the old Lloyd, the person he used to be?  And what did she think of him now? 

              Lloyd gulped down a mouthful of wine. Why should it matter what she thought of him? Sexual trysts with relative strangers were one thing, but screwing a friend’s cousin carried all sorts of complications. And any other type of relationship was out of the question.

              Tendrils of smoke escaped from the edges of the cast iron lid of the grill. As the summer breeze changed direction, the fragrance of burnt cedar chips wafted across the backyard patio. Beyond the patio, a pump gurgled in the large, rectangular swimming pool.

              “It’s such a gorgeous day,” Monica said. “We should have told you to bring your bathing suits. We just had the pool cleaned.”

              “Who needs bathing suits?” Mark said.

              “You do, my dear.” His wife twisted her mouth in a playful scowl and pinched his thick forearm. “Mark, can you please help me inside to get some ice?” she asked.

              “There’s plenty of ice in the bucket, honey,” Mark said.

              “Honey, I said I need help… with the ice.”

              “Right,” Mark said. He looked at Lloyd and widened his eyes, turning down his lower lip in a comical expression, pushed back on his patio chair and got to his feet. “More ice. Keep an eye on the steaks, Lloyd.”

              Monica slapped Mark’s butt as he stepped over the threshold of the sliding glass doorway.

              Lloyd and Erin chuckled. “Do you get the feeling we’re being fixed up?” Lloyd asked.

              “My cousin’s always playing the matchmaker,” Erin said.

              “Married people can’t help it. It’s like they’re trying to convert singles to their cause. Kind of like
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
. They feel compelled to morph you into one of them.”

              “Monica was trying to set me up even before she was married. It’s a congenital impulse.”

              “And how’s that working for you so far?” Lloyd asked.

              Erin brushed a finger around the rim of her wine glass. “Not so well.”

              “Ouch. You don’t hold punches, do you?”

              “I wasn’t referring to you. Monica is the one who introduced me to my ex-husband.”