Amnesia by G. H. Ephron Page A

get arrested for that?”

    â€œIf you’re living dishonestly, no one has to arrest you because you already are, by definition …”
    â€œArrested,” I finished the thought. “Hmm. I see.” We hung there, suspended, white puffs of dragon’s breath mingling in the air between us.
    Just then, my mother’s door opened and her little white head peered out. She squinted into the dark. “Petey?” The sound was like a fingernail on a chalkboard. “You with someone?”
    â€œAm I with someone?” I repeated the question.
    â€œHello,” Annie said, coming around so my mother could get a better look. Annie towered over her by nearly a foot.
    My mother gazed up at Annie. “You look familiar.” “You have a good memory, Mrs. Zak.”
    â€œPearl.”
    â€œI’m Annie Squires. I work with Peter from time to time. I came by the house two years ago and we met then.”
    â€œTwo years ago,” my mother said, her face clouding as she realized that was for the funeral. “You’re from the hospital?”
    â€œPeter and I do trial work together.”
    â€œI thought we’d met before,” my mother murmured as she put two and two together. Then my mother did this thing where she makes herself smile. It’s as if she sticks her hand inside her own head and turns up the corners of her mouth and eyes. “It’s lovely to see you again.” She stuck her head into her apartment and called out, “It’s Petey!”
    An assortment of voices chorused back. “Hi, Petey!” Mah-jongg night. She slipped into her apartment and quietly shut the door behind her.
    â€œPetey?” Annie said.
    I shrugged. “According to my mother, that’s my name.” I weighed the envelope in my hand. “Should take a couple of hours to get through.” I looked at the door to my house. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent two hours reading in my living room, alone. After ten minutes, I usually found an
excuse to go work on the car, walk to the store, or look in on my mother.
    Annie checked her watch. “I should get going. I’ve got a meeting in Somerville in fifteen minutes.” She started down the steps and hesitated. “I’m free later. We could talk when you’re finished.”
    I was grateful for an excuse to get out of the house. “Meet you somewhere? Ten-ish?”
    â€œI was going to Johnny D’s after my meeting. You know the place?”
    It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I’d been thinking somewhere quiet, coffee. Johnny D’s was a club — probably raucous and I’d be drinking beer. I nodded. At least it wasn’t somewhere Kate and I had gone.
    â€œCatch ya later,” Annie said. Then she rubbed her hand on her pant leg, held up an index finger, and waited. I laughed. As I raised my finger to hers, an enormous spark snapped. “It’s cool when you know it’s coming,” Annie commented. “That electrical thing usually happens so fast you don’t get a chance to see the spark.”
    I left the reports in the living room and descended to the cellar where there’s a small door that leads to a climate-controlled room. I had to heave my full weight against the door before it gave way with a sigh and a little exhale, like when you pop the seal on a can of peanuts. I turned on the light and breathed the damp cool air. I ducked inside. No one had set foot in here for months. The last time I’d tried to drink any wine, grief had so dulled my sense of taste that the rich red liquid may as well have been water mixed with the dust that now coated the bottles. It had seemed like a terrible waste to drink wine without tasting it. So beer and whiskey had become my beverages of choice. That night, for some reason, I felt ready to risk it. I chose a 1990 Simi Reserve Cabernet.
    Back in the kitchen, I wiped the bottle carefully