She shifted her eyes toward me. “Florida. I went there once with Lana. We went to the Keys on our honeymoon. It was hot and tropical, and all the colors were so bright. So much brighter than anywhere else.”
My heart leaped. Daneen hadn’t spoken of her wife to me since she’d begun living here. When Lana had died, Daneen had been devastated, so I’d taken that particular memory loss as a comfort and a kindness. But now, if she recalled some of those good times . . . maybe it was a blessing.
I talked with her quietly for almost half an hour, keeping the topic to plants and then moving onto our favorite books and authors. As her nurse had suggested, Daneen still could intelligently discuss details of novels she’d taught decades before. She was giving me her interpretation ofPersuasionby Jane Austen when she suddenly broke off and turned to face me. Her forehead was puckered, but her eyes were clear.
“Alison.” She said my name, and I gasped a little. But before I could react more than that, Daneen went on.
“I’m trying to teach Alison to appreciate Hemingway, but she is so stubborn about that. She says she can’t stand his style. I’ve been digging through all of his work, trying to find one that she might connect with.”
“Who’s Alison?” I asked softly.
“Alison? Oh, she’s ours.” Her simple reply made my throat go tight with emotion. “She belongs with Lana and me. We love her.”
“She must be a very lucky girl, then.” I gripped the arms of my wooden chair.
“Oh, no. We’re the lucky ones.” Her smile was bright, and it was almost as though the old Daneen was speaking to me across the years. And then her happiness faded a little. “But Lana . . . she’s worried about Alison. She thinks she needs to know—to know more. She doesn’t have any information about her parents, her mother. The counselors tell us it still troubles her. I said we should leave well enough alone, let sleeping dogs lie, but you know Lana. She told me to stop giving her ridiculous idioms, and she went ahead with her digging.”
I’d never heard of any of this before. With a slight frown, I ventured to ask, “What did Lana find out? About Alison’s parents, I mean.”
“Oh.” Daneen wagged her head. “It’s a little maddening. Alison told us once that she didn’t care who her mother was because the woman hadn’t cared enough to make sure her daughter had a good family. She just left her at the hospital when she was born.”
“That does seem like maybe she didn’t care.” I didn’t want to push too hard, to upset Daneen, or to make her stop talking. But I wondered if this really had happened. It seemed as though Daneen was certain of this memory, but why wouldn’t I have heard about Lana’s snooping?
“But her mother wasn’t a kid, and she wasn’t a drug addict. Lana pulled at some loose threads and found out Alison’s mother was a reporter. She doesn’t live in California anymore, but some of her friends talked. They said she planned to keep the baby, then at the last minute, she didn’t. They said she was afraid of something or someone. She never told them who the father was, but maybe he was mixed up in something dangerous.” Daneen blinked rapidly. “Maybe he was the governor or the president. You know they say the Kennedys had Marilyn Monroe killed.”
I stifled a sigh of frustration. “Why didn’t Lana tell Alison about this? About what she’d found out?”
Daneen’s eyes clouded. “Who’s Alison? What did she find out? I don’t know her.” Her voice rose at the end of the sentence. I reached out to touch her arm, hoping to offer comfort, but she only pulled away, glaring at me.
“I don’t know who you are. You’re not my friend. My friends build snow forts with me, and my mother doesn’t let me play with strangers.”
I eased back, both sad and frustrated. “All right, Daneen. It’s all right. I won’t bother you.” Pointing out the window, I added, “Enjoy the tree.”
She was mumbling to herself as the nurse approached us.
“Everything okay here?”
I nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset her. She was talking about me when I was younger, and then I asked a question and it was like a switch flipped off. She couldn’t remember me anymore. If she even did in the first place.” I shrugged. “Maybe it was just coincidence.”
“Oh, try not to worry,” the nurse counseled me. “This is how it happens with dementia. There are moments of clarity, and then there are hours of fog and knotted memories and fear. At least you got to talk to her for a little while—and I bet she did remember you. Every now and again, she’ll ask me if I’ve seen Lana or Alison anywhere. I tell her the truth—mostly she just nods. As time goes on, we see that she’s more often lost in the past than aware of the present.”
“I’m not in town very long, but I’d like to stop by tomorrow again, if that’s all right.” I glanced back over at Daneen. “If you don’t think it would be too much for her.”
“Trust me, she won’t remember tomorrow that you’ve been here today. Of course, come by and see her. You’ve come a long way for a short visit. Don’t miss a moment.”
As I left the home, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Daneen had said. Was it true? Had my mother been a reporter who’d believed that leaving me at the hospital was the safest option? She might have been sleeping with someone from the mob, or a man who was dangerous in another way. If she’d feared for my life as well as hers . . . did she make that decision out of love after all?
And in the end, did it matter to me one way or the other?
I laid my hand lightly on my middle, where my baby was growing by the moment. What kind of pain would that be, to know that holding on to that precious little human would risk her life? What would I do to protect this life inside me, even if I hadn’t yet decided to keep the pregnancy?
A fierce sense of protectiveness rose up and gripped me. No one and nobody would ever hurt my child, not if it was within my power to protect her. Or him. I’d give my own life to save that of my baby.
It was an oddly thrilling feeling, filling me with a new exhilaration. Maybe I wasn’t going to raise this child—maybe she’d grow up in a loving home that wasn’t mine—but I’d decided one thing: I was going to have this baby.
9
Noah
