He Never Forgot Read online

  “Fascinating. I’d love to meet him myself, if you want to include me on the list of recommendations.”

  Zachary hesitated to add Dr. B’s name. “How does that work, when you have two patients who know each other? I mean… with confidentiality and all.”

  “You would both have complete confidentiality. I wouldn’t repeat anything that either of you said to the other.”

  “But what if… I had concerns about him or something he said, or vice versa. You’d have to bring it up, wouldn’t you? Or take some kind of action.”

  “If you’re not comfortable with me counseling both of you, that’s fine, Zachary.”

  “It’s just that… well, we both discuss personal stuff sometimes. Anxieties. Mental health stuff. Relationships.”

  “I don’t want to do anything that would make it harder for you to talk with me. That’s fine. You have a few names that you can give Rhys. Hopefully, one of them will work out.”

  Zachary nodded. “Yeah. If he goes all the way down the list and doesn’t have any success, maybe then. Because I want him to get the treatment he needs too.”

  Dr. Boyle nodded. “You’re a good man.”

  “Well,” Zachary’s face warmed. “I can see myself in him. I can feel his pain.”

  “Yes.” Dr. Boyle gave a little frown. “I am a little concerned, though…”

  Zachary’s heart thumped harder. He didn’t like Dr. Boyle’s tone or that frown. “Uh… what?”

  “It sounds like the two of you are very close.”

  “Well… friends, yes.”

  “You are discussing mental health issues and relationships. That’s very intimate to be discussing with a teen.”

  “He doesn’t really have anyone else who understands…”

  “Yes, I get that. But you need to be very careful. This kind of situation can lead to inappropriate relationships. You’re much older than him and you’re discussing very personal issues. You don’t want to end up…”

  Zachary swallowed. “It isn’t that kind of relationship. No. We’re not talking about sex.” His face grew hot just at the suggestion and he knew he was turning beet red. Would Dr. Boyle think that meant he was lying?

  “Not now, maybe. But what would you do if he wanted advice? Or expressed an attraction or made an unexpected advance?”

  “I wouldn’t get into that kind of relationship with him. I wouldn’t.”

  “Have you thought about how you would react? Because emotional closeness can cross boundaries. If you haven’t made plans ahead of time, thought about how to handle it or made sure that you’re never in a compromising situation, it can be difficult to make good decisions in the heat of the moment. You know your impulsivity is an issue that often works against you.”

  “His grandma makes sure that we only meet at the house. She’s asked me not to take him out anywhere. For burgers or anything. We only meet when she is there.”

  Dr. Boyle smiled and nodded. “That’s good. That’s a good rule to have. I’m glad that she’s already anticipated any possible issues.”

  Zachary nodded. His face was still burning and he didn’t try to explain to her that Rhys didn’t always follow his grandmother’s rules and had shown up at his apartment by himself twice. Just the kind of situation that Vera and Dr. B would want him to avoid. And instead of sending Rhys immediately home, Zachary had made some less-than-optimal choices.

  He wouldn’t let that happen again. He’d told Rhys that he needed to follow his grandmother’s rules. If Rhys ever did that again, Zachary would take him straight home. That was the only proper thing to do.

  “All right. Let’s move on with your session,” Dr. Boyle said. “Our time is short now, but I’m glad to hear how you’re helping Rhys out. You have a very compassionate heart.”

  Zachary shrugged and looked away.

  “So, do you have something particular you want to bring up today? Or did you want to let me know how things are going with Kenzie?”

  He and Kenzie had gone in for several couples sessions now, and it was getting easier for Zachary to talk about their relationship in front of Kenzie or to deconstruct how things were going when Zachary met with Dr. Boyle alone. Which was good, because the first time they’d done a couples session, the anxiety had been so brutal, he had thought he was going to have a heart attack and die.

  “I guess… talking about things with Kenzie works. If you think I need to.”

  “What do you think?”

  Zachary looked down at the carpet where Dr. Boyle’s desk met the floor. Talking about their intimate relationship, he needed something to focus on other than Dr. Boyle herself.

  “I think… things are pretty good. We’re close. But… we still have problems. You know.”

  “With you dissociating?”

  Zachary nodded. He was glad that his face was already red from their discussion about Rhys, so she couldn’t see him coloring again. It didn’t just embarrass him to talk about his physical relationship with Kenzie. He felt completely inadequate. He should be able to have intimate contact with her without either getting overwhelmed by flashbacks or losing himself and mentally floating away from his body, making Kenzie feel like she was in the room by herself.

  Zachary had hoped that after a session or two with Dr. Boyle, things would be fixed. He would be able to go on and carry on a normal relationship with Kenzie. What was even more embarrassing to him was that he had not had problems with dissociation while he’d been married to Bridget. He didn’t want Kenzie to think that it was her fault. It was Zachary’s problem and had been triggered by an assault that had triggered the emergence of a whole slew of repressed memories.

  “I know you’re disappointed by that,” Dr. Boyle observed.

  “I wanted… I hoped that we’d be able to work through things, and I’d be… I’d be normal.”

  “These issues didn’t just develop overnight. I know it seems a little like that, because you weren’t having them with Bridget, but they were already there, they were just under the surface.”

  “Why couldn’t they stay there? Or why can’t I… repress them again?”

  “Even though you want to, repressing them is not healthy. That was the only way you could deal with them when you were younger, but you’ve grown and developed since then. You have other tools in your toolbox, and you have the ability to work through them instead of just shoving them down.”

  “So you think it’s good that I’m having problems.”

  “Well… not exactly. But yes, I think it’s better for you to be able to talk about the issues and work through them in therapy than not to deal with them. Repressed memories just continue to fester and to pop up here and there as other kinds of problems.”

  Zachary stared at the carpet, thinking about this.

  “Have you ever had an unexplained reaction to something?” Dr. Boyle asked. “You get really angry when someone puts their hand on your shoulder, or you hear a song or smell a scent and feel like something bad is going to happen?”

  Zachary nodded. “Yeah. I’ve had that happen.”

  “That could be due to repressed memories. Your body and brain have a reason to react to a stimulus like that, but you have no idea what it is. You don’t remember what happened to you and don’t know why that trigger is there. You may learn to anticipate it, and avoid that trigger to avoid it happening again, but that doesn’t mean you’ve dealt with the memories; you’re just avoiding them.”

  “I have a client who is trying to find where he used to live. He can’t remember a lot from that long ago, but I can see him reacting to things when I ask him a question or make a suggestion. I know he’s not lying to me about not remembering. He just… can’t reach it.”

  “Exactly. Sometimes things are locked away so tightly it can take years to identify them and work them out.”

  “So… you think it will take years for me to sort things out with Kenzie? Because I don’t think she’s going to wait that long.”

  “N
o, that’s not what I meant. Your memories have surfaced, and that means that we can deal with them. While they were still locked away, we couldn’t deal with them, could we?”

  “Well, no. Not if I didn’t even know they were there.”

  “And it may take a long time for your client to be able to access his memories. Or it may need… a big trigger to bring them to the surface.”

  “Like I had.”

  “Hopefully, not like you had.”

  “Yeah.” Zachary wouldn’t wish what he had gone through on anyone. Burton was better off drinking and not remembering. Better if he just went home and quit looking for his past.

  12

  It was nearly two o’clock before Zachary got a call from Ben Burton. Zachary determined not to ask Burton any questions about where he had been or how much he had drunk the night before. Zachary had enough issues of his own; he didn’t need to take on Burton’s too.

  But he was grateful that he had never become addicted to alcohol. Unlike Tyrrell, who had been an alcoholic before he’d managed to pull himself out of the hole. Or their parents. Joss, too, had dealt with alcohol and drug addiction. Zachary was lucky to have avoided that particular issue. He mostly avoided it due to his meds, but he had remembered how ugly his parents had gotten when they drank, and he didn’t want to be like that. Didn’t want to be like that with his family, when he had still hoped to have a family of his own. He wouldn’t ever want to treat his children the way his parents had treated him and his siblings.

  But would he ever have children? It became less and less likely. First getting married to Bridget, who had insisted she never wanted to have children but was now pregnant with twins, and then getting into a relationship with Kenzie that he couldn’t seem to stay in mentally. Yes, he could still perform physically, but what woman would want to have children with a man who checked out like that? And if he still had so many emotional problems, what were the chances that she would ever trust him around children? What if one of them triggered an involuntary response? What if his impulsivity put one of them in danger?

  What if he couldn’t be a good father?

  Burton called at two o’clock. “Driving around looking at houses isn’t getting anywhere,” he growled without preamble.

  “I have an appointment set up with the social worker who placed you, if you can get yourself together for a three o’clock meeting. I was just about to cancel it.”

  “I’m up. I can get wherever you want.”

  “We’re meeting at a coffee shop,” Zachary told him. “She wanted something on neutral ground.” In reality, he just didn’t want Burton in the bar. He would probably bring a flask with him, but he would have far less alcohol available than he would if they met in the hotel lounge.

  “Do you want to pick me up?”

  “You can take a cab. Here’s the address.” Zachary gave it to him slowly, taking extra care to get the numbers in order. He didn’t want Burton to have any obstacles in getting there. Zachary wouldn’t have to put up with Burton getting into his car reeking of smoke. Hopefully, if Burton had to take some responsibility in getting himself there, he would be sober and more receptive to whatever the social worker might have to say.

  Burton muttered something that Zachary didn’t hear. Zachary could hear background noises; rubbing and banging and Burton cursing under his breath. Eventually, Burton’s voice was in his ear again. “Okay, I’ve got a pen. Can you give that to me again?”

  Zachary got to the coffee shop before the meeting time they had arranged. He looked around for anyone who appeared to be a retired social worker sipping a cup of coffee while waiting for him, and didn’t see anyone who fit the bill. There were only a couple of people who were there by themselves, and they were intent on their phones. One had a phone in one hand and a notebook under the other, scribbling occasionally in the notebook. Too young to be the social worker. A student, maybe.

  He ordered himself a coffee and sat down at a table where he could watch the door for the other arrivals. The social worker was the next to arrive. A tall woman, mature figure, long graying hair that had probably been done up in a bun when she had been on the job. Now softer around the edges. Someone who was no longer required to see the worst that society had to offer every day. Zachary waved a hand at her.

  “Ms. Pace?”

  She walked over to him and Zachary stood up to shake her hand. “Aurie. And you must be Mr. Goldman.”

  “Zachary.”

  She gave him an appraising look. He remembered the many social workers and other professionals who had dealt with him while he was in foster care. Many different faces, and yet all the same face. The same looks in their eyes as they examined him, coming to conclusions about what kind of a boy he was.

  Mostly wrong.

  Sometimes horribly accurate.

  “Yes. Have a seat. I’m just waiting for my client.”

  She made a motion to the counter and went over to get herself a pastry and a cup of tea, and returned to sit with him.

  They made small talk while waiting for Burton. Awkward, Zachary watching Aurelia Pace break the pastry into bite-sized pieces, getting flakes all over her napkin and the table, occasionally looking at her face, wondering what she must think of him. It was an unusual situation, a private investigator contacting a social worker to ask about one of her old cases. He hoped that they would be able to get something out of it. Something Pace said could lead them to the house or could provide Burton with part of his story.

  It was quarter past three by the time Burton pushed through the door and made his way over to the table. He didn’t bother to get a cup of coffee at the counter. He slid into one of the free chairs and looked Pace over with interest.

  “You’re the social worker?”

  She put her hand out. “Aurie. Aurelia Pace.”

  “Aurie,” he repeated. “I would have known you as Mrs. Pace? I don’t remember you.”

  Pace withdrew her hand and continued to worry her pastry. “Why don’t you tell me who you are?” she said. “We need to establish your identity before I say anything at all.”

  “Ben Burton. I don’t know who I was when you knew me. What my name was before.”

  She just looked at him. Burton flushed. He reached into his back pocket and worked out a wallet. He removed his driver’s license and tossed it across the table to her. “My parents are Elsie and Jack Burton. They live in Colchester. I was about five when I was adopted.”

  She checked his identification and slid it deliberately back to him. Zachary could see the beginnings of recognition on her face. Zachary remembered seeing Tyrrell for the first time when they had been reunited. Seeing his eyes and knowing him. No matter how he had changed, Zachary knew those eyes. They had been the same when Tyrrell was small. Everything that had happened since the fire had not extinguished that twinkle.

  If Pace recognized Burton, then she remembered placing him. Remembered his case and what his history had been.

  “Robert,” she said finally. “That was your preadoption name.”

  Burton’s jaw worked. His name. Somebody knew his name. Now he knew it too. “Robert what?”

  “I told Mr. Goldman that I could only give non-identifying information. I gave you your first name. I can’t give you your last.”

  Burton’s eyes were angry, but he kept his temper and didn’t even raise his voice. “And they lived here? I lived here? In town?”

  She nodded.

  He relaxed slightly. A confirmation that his memories—or the feelings he’d had—were correct. Confirmation that he wasn’t crazy.

  “What happened? How did I end up being adopted?”

  “Are your parents still living? Your adoptive parents?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you already know the details from them. Your profile was shown to them. They had been waiting for some time and knew that it was unlikely they could get a child that was any younger unless he was severely handicapped. There were a couple of meetings bef
ore placement so they could see whether you all clicked, whether they thought you could all function as a family.” She paused, looking at him. “Are they still together?”

  Burton nodded. “Yeah. They are.”

  She smiled slightly. “So many couples end up divorcing. I hoped that it would work out. But you never know.”

  “Why? Because I was so difficult? My mom said that I was an easy child. Quiet and well-behaved.” He pulled a flask out of his pocket, unscrewed it, and took a few gulps. “I didn’t start developing problem behaviors until later.”

  Burton was putting it all out there. Not pretending to be a mature, well-adjusted man. He was what he was, warts and all.

  “Quiet and well-behaved doesn’t necessarily mean well-adjusted,” Pace said, taking it all in stride. She’d seen humanity at its very worst. She wasn’t going to be shocked by a man drinking and being antagonistic. Zachary imagined that a lot of her former charges had ended up self-destructing. He’d seen that in foster care. While there were good homes and kids who managed to rise above their less-than-stellar beginnings, all too often, they just ended up crashing and burning—ending up on the street homeless, addicted, starting a brand-new cycle of abuse. Or obliterating themselves with a gun, razor blade, or some other method.

  “But I want to know the other side,” Burton said. “I want to know why I was in foster care in the first place. What happened?”

  “Your biological parents were unable to take care of you.”

  “Why?”

  She considered the question silently, swirling her tea. “You were apprehended for abuse and neglect,” she said finally.

  Just as Zachary had expected. But it wasn’t much information to go on. No specifics.

  “What were they like? My biological parents? Did you meet them?”

  “I did not.”

  “But you knew about them. What did you know about them?”