Free The Book of M by Peng Shepherd Page B

watching my shadow. It was looking back at me, in the same pose, waiting.
    Then I saw it tilt its head ever so slightly to the side, all by itself.
    There was a moment of coldness, like the entire room had dropped twenty degrees. I tried to take a breath, but I couldn’t move. Then it was gone.

    I didn’t cry. Not that whole afternoon. Instead, I kept busy, taking inventory of our first-aid supplies, cleaning, making sure the window coverings were still secure, double-checking that we had sufficient shotgun ammunition, cleaning and resetting the game trap. I felt like there were so many things to make sure of, and so little time. Like it was all going to end that same night, and I’d just vanish too, forever. I kept spinning around to look behind me, to see if maybe I’d been mistaken, that the sun had just disappeared behind some clouds for a second, or I simply had cabin fever. But it didn’t matter how many times I looked or how many different directions I shone our spare flashlight on my hand. I couldn’t make a silhouette against any surface. In the light on the wall, the plastic cylinder looked like it was floating in midair all by itself, careening wildly about, pointing every which angle. As soon as I noticed, I put it down immediately. I couldn’t touch it again.
    I forgot to start dinner. Instead, I shook out the winter clothes in the storage trunk so they wouldn’t have moth holes in them by the time we needed them. I still didn’t cry.
    Even when I went back in the kitchen and saw that jar still sitting on the counter, and its own twin still painted darkly on the floor, I still didn’t cry.
    Not until after it had gotten dark, and I heard your key in the door.

Mahnaz Ahmadi
    THAT NIGHT, THE NIGHT THE FORGETTING REACHED BOSTON, Naz had spent the afternoon out on the range with her coach, but every shot was terrible. She bungled them one after another for so many hours that finally he cut the practice short, and told her to head home and go to sleep early. Naz knew something was really off when she didn’t argue with him about getting soft on her, for once. Her mind just wasn’t there. It was like she knew something was coming. It’s in your DNA, her mother would have said. They say that DNA has a memory, too. That the things that happen to a people are passed down. Naz would have told her that was nonsense. If they hadn’t disowned each other so long ago.
    When the Forgetting hit, after dark, it surprised Naz that her mother was who she thought of first. Then she thought, I can’t. She’d kept her promise never to speak to her again—since the last time she’d visited Tehran. Her mother had, too. Outside, on the street below, she could hear people screaming in the night.
    Naz picked up her cell phone. She had started seeing someone recently, maybe seriously. She didn’t know. She scrolled to his number, but her finger stalled, hovering over the screen. What did two and a half months mean, really? Fourteen dates, five lays, eighteen glasses of wine, one drive to the airport for a weekend trip. He hadn’t reached out for Naz. There was no message flashing urgently in the blue glow of her screen. It was all right, though. Naz understood. There were other people who mattered more, to them both.
    The call didn’t go through the first time. Naz was sure everyone who hadn’t lost their shadow was busy calling everyone who had. She hung up and immediately dialed again. She was ready to leave avoice mail. I just wanted to say I’m okay, that’s all. Something like that. She was surprised when her mother picked up.
    â€œAre you safe?” Her mother was sobbing. It was disorienting—to listen as things that used to matter so much evaporated. What filled their empty places to justify all that lost time? Naz was scrambling for her shoes and wallet. Would a $15,000 charge even go through on her credit card? She couldn’t