“I am Charlie,” she said to her reflection, smoothing down her hair again nervously. “I don’t have to convince John that I’m me.” The words sounded thin in the small room. Who else would I be? Charlie washed her hands again, straightened her shoulders, and went back out into the dining room. She sat down and put her paper napkin in her lap, then looked John squarely in the eye.

“I still don’t remember,” she said abruptly, seized by an obstinate recklessness.

John raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“I don’t remember what you said to me that night. I know it’s important to you—I know maybe it’s why you think what you think about me, but I just … don’t remember. I can’t change that.”

“Okay.” He slid his hands off the edge of the table and let them rest in his lap. “I know—I know that. Um, a lot happened that night. I know.” He sighed for a moment but then smiled almost reassuringly. Charlie bit her lip.

“If it’s that important, why can’t you just tell me?” she asked gently. Instantly, she could see that it was the wrong thing to say. John’s features hardened; he drew back from the table slightly. She looked down at the napkin in her lap; she had been shredding the corner of it without noticing. “Never mind,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, letting several long minutes pass. “Forget I said anything.” She looked up, but John didn’t respond.

“Excuse me for just a minute. I’ll be right back.” He got up and left the table.

She stared at his empty chair. The waitress approached and cleared her throat; Charlie heard her, but did not move. She wasn’t sure she could move. This is going horribly. Maybe I’ll just sit here forever. I’ll be a statue of myself, a monument to Charlie-that-was. Charlie-that-will-never-be-again.

“Miss?” The waitress sounded concerned, and it was enough for Charlie to, with herculean effort, turn her head. “Is everything all right, miss?” the waitress asked, and it took Charlie another long moment to comprehend the question.

“Yes,” she said at last. “Could I have another napkin?” She held up the first, half-shredded, as evidence of her need, and the waitress went away. Charlie turned back to John’s empty chair.

John slid back into view and sat down, breaking the line of her vacant stare.

“Everything okay?” he asked. She nodded.

“The waitress is getting me another napkin.” Charlie gestured vaguely in the direction the waitress had gone.