Forget to Remember

bowl, and two glasses. She placed it on the table where Carol had gambled with Mr. Ault. She obviously kept a pitcher available.
    Ault poured glasses of tea for each of them while holding the pitcher with both hands. He drank his tea straight. Carol put sugar in hers. He had been chatting about inconsequential things. Now he proposed a toast. “To a beautiful friendship.”
    They clicked glasses. Carol wondered what he meant. He looked at her directly with his green eyes. “Tell me about yourself. You’re the mystery girl. All I know about you is you’re a hustler who doesn’t hustle and are drop dead gorgeous.”
    Uh oh. She appreciated the compliment, even knowing he probably said that to all the girls, but she didn’t want to talk about herself. She said the first thing that came into her head. “I was a majorette.”
    Ault’s face lit up. “My first wife was a majorette. We went through high school together.” His eyes had a faraway look. “She was the love of my life.”
    Carol wondered what had happened to her. How many wives had he had?
    He answered one unspoken question. “She died of leukemia.” He looked pensive, then snapped back to the present. “Can you still twirl a baton?”
    “Sure.” The answer was more positive than she felt. She hadn’t done that badly at the football game, but she was rusty. At least she wouldn’t have to prove her prowess here.
    “I kept all her batons.”
    Oops. Carol began to get apprehensive when Ault rang his bell. Hildy appeared, and he asked for Kyle. When Kyle entered the room, Ault asked if he knew where the batons were. Kyle hid his surprise well and cast a glance at Carol. She tried to telegraph Kyle to forget it, but he was too good an assistant to pay attention to her silent plea.
    He thought for a moment. “I believe they’re in the storage area above the garage.”
    Kyle ran off to look for the batons. Fortunately, Ault didn’t ask her any more questions. Instead, he told her all about his first wife. In great detail. From junior high school until her death at age twenty-eight. She must have been a wonderful woman. She certainly held a position of honor in Ault’s memory.
    He talked about her all through dinner while guzzling iced tea. She tried to be a good listener. He was a lonely old man who needed someone to talk to—someone to listen to his story. Carol wondered why he hadn’t written his memoirs. By the end of dinner, she’d forgotten about the batons. They got up and returned to the living room.
    That’s when Kyle marched in, triumphantly holding a silver baton. His tie and coat were gone and his immaculate pants had dirt on them. “They were where I thought, but it took a little digging to unearth them.”
    Ault was overjoyed. He took the baton and held it gently, as though it were a precious jewel. He handed it to Carol. “Would you like to give us a demonstration?”
    The caffeine in the tea must have been affecting her, because she had a what-the-hell attitude. She held the baton and gave a few exploratory twirls. “Sure, why not?”
    “Can Kyle make a video of you?”
    She froze, momentarily, but then relaxed and glared at Kyle. “All right, but if you laugh at me, I’ll throw this at you. One more thing. If this video ends up on YouTube—or any other tube—I’ll kill you.”
    Kyle pushed the air between them away in a no-problem gesture. “You have enough of a reputation here that I believe you’d do it. Don’t worry.”
    He went to get the camera. Carol kicked off her shoes. The hardwood floor felt solid under her feet. Her skirt was longer than the majorette skirts she was sure she’d worn, but it gave her plenty of freedom of movement.
    When Kyle came back, she asked if he could provide some marching music. He fiddled with a sound system that would have done credit to a rock band and somehow was able to play “Stars and Stripes Forever.”
    Carol felt pumped up when she heard the inspiring music. Now she knew for sure she’d done this before. All in all, she didn’t perform badly. She twirled using both hands and even made throws as high as the domed ceiling would permit. She hummed along at one point, smiling at the words she apparently remembered from high school: “So be kind to your web-footed friends, for a duck may be somebody’s mother…”
    She only dropped the baton a couple of times, including the time she fell while trying to catch it and her skirt flew up to her waist. When she was done, Ault