Page 18 of The Right to Remain

She stepped behind his desk. Their wedding photograph was still in the silver frame she’d picked out for him. Beside it was a photograph of Austen when he was five. He was wearing a tee-ball uniform and holding a plastic bat. Austen hated that photograph. It was the one and only time in his life that he’d played sports. He was terrible. Like most kids, Austen liked what he was good at. And he was exceptional at dance.

Helena breathed in and out. She remembered the last time she and Austen had visited Owen in his office. It was December. They had tickets to see the Miami City Ballet performThe Nutcracker.Owen needed ten minutes to finish a project, and then they would go. Helena and Austen waited on the couch. Owen needed quiet, so Austen borrowed his mother’s phone and used her earbuds to listen to music. He was the only one in the room who could hear it, but Helena knew it was Tchaikovsky, and not just because the album cover was displayed on her iPhone. More important, she could see how it was making Austen move. He wanted to dance. So, she let him. It was enough to push Owen over the edge.

“Stop that, Austen,” he said sharply.

His arms were so long and beautiful as he breezed across the room to the music only he was feeling. “I’m dancing.”

“Stop it. Please.”

Austen turned on the ball of his foot and continued gracefully in the other direction.

“Austen,” his father said firmly, “knock it off.”

“But I—”

“Someone is going to see you.”

“I want everyone to see me.”

“Austen! Stop flittering around the room like a fucking—”

Owen caught himself, as if suddenly mortified by his own words.

Austen stood frozen, unable to move.

Helena took him by the hand. “Let’s go, Austen.”

“Wait,” said Owen, rising.

Helena started toward the door, nearly dragging Austen along with her.

“Helena! You know I didn’t mean that.”

“Leave us alone,” she said, and she hurried out.

A quick knock roused Helena from her memories. She opened the door. It was C. J. Vandermeer.

“Is there anything you need, Helena?”

She was still flustered from that unpleasant slice of the past. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

He stood in the open doorway and waited, but she didn’t invite him in. “Do you have a minute?” he asked, inviting himself.

“Of course.”

He entered and closed the door. “My lawyer tells me it’s unwise to put myself alone with a woman behind a closed office door. But you and I are friends now, right?”

Helena could only imagine the workplace complaints that had informed that legal advice. “Is there something you’d like to discuss, CJ?”

He walked around the desk and took a seat in Owen’s chair. “Sit, please,” he said, pointing to the wing chair.

Helena obliged. They were on opposite sides of Owen’s desk.

“I’m glad you finally decided to come to the office,” he said.

“Finally?”

“It’s been more than a month since Owen passed. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but this office can’t become a shrine.”