Page 37 of What You Never Knew

“I loved them so much, I had them blown up and framed,” he continues. “I hope that’s okay with you?”

“They’d be worth a lot, you know,” I say proudly. “She was pretty famous before she died.”

“I know,” he says, matter-of-fact. “But they’re worth far more to me hanging on that wall than selling them to the highest bidder.”

Another wave of tears threatens to erupt. I feel like I’m on a roller coaster today; going up I feel happy, coming down I’m sad, and it just keeps running along that track. Ezra seems to sense that, and we don’t say another thing about the photos.

“These gardens are amazing,” I point out as we walk toward the stone cottage where his mother lives. The whole yard is packed with all kinds of flowers—pink, white, yellow, orange—along with bushy, electric-green ferns.

“Yeah. She still remembers how to do that, which is good. She spends a lot of time out here.”

We enter right into the kitchen, and it’s like we’ve been thrown back in time. I can see why Ezra wanted his own space. There are Formica counters, a mustard-colored fridge and stove to match, and linoleum on the floor that’s supposed to look like red bricks. All of it perfectly preserved and spotless.

“My god, your mom is clean,” I say under my breath.

“She forgets she’s cleaned so ends up doing it almost every day,” he whispers back. “It keeps her busy, though, so that’s good.”

Leaving the kitchen, we go through the dining room and into the living room. It’s a small room, with rose-colored plush carpeting and a chintz couch with two matching armchairs. There are shelves with knickknacks, but not so many that the place feels cluttered.

Willa sits in a rocking chair at the big bay window that looks out onto the lake. She turns away from the view when we walk in. “Hello,” she says, her voice cracking slightly.

I go stand in front of her. “Mrs. Keen, it’s wonderful to see you.” I feel like a shy child again.

She stares up at me with an expression I can’t quite read. Is it fear, confusion, distaste?

“Mom,” Ezra chimes in. “You remember June?”

She gives her head a shake and smiles slowly, still staring up at me. “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry. I thought I saw a ghost for a second there. You look so much like your mother.”

My skin bristles slightly. In this house, that can’t be a compliment. “I’ve heard that before, Mrs. Keen.” Is all I can think to say.

She waves a wrinkled hand at me. “Call me Willa. Please.” Her hair is still long, worn in a thick braid now and almost completely white. The years have clearly taken a toll, the tanned skin of her face a system of deep grooves and wrinkles, each one representing some hardship or tragedy. Her body doesn’t seem meant for this world much longer; her frame is so thin that it seems she could flap her arms and take flight at any moment. Her green eyes, though, are still piercing and alert, giving you the feeling that she can look right inside you.

I perch on one of the armchairs, my hands folded in my lap. I’m uncomfortable. There’s so much in the past that connects our two families, so much that I feel ashamed about, that I know she suffered because of—but it isn’t mine to apologize for. My hope is that there’s some kindness in dementia and that she’s forgotten all the horrible stuff of life.

Willa looks deep into my eyes. “You got your dad’s eyes,” she says with a smile.

I just nod in response. My father’s eyes were brown and mine are blue, but I don’t correct her.

I point out the window. “Your garden is lovely.”

She smiles proudly, then begins pointing out each type of flower, what kinds of insects they attract, how long they stay in bloom, and other gardening knowledge that goes right over my head.

I’m able to keep the conversation light by asking her how long she’s lived in the cottage, what the winters are like. A few times she stops midsentence and stares at me with deep scrutiny, but I just pick up the thread of conversation and get her back on track.

After half an hour or so, Ezra says we should get going. He goes to his mom and kisses her gently on the cheek. She takes hold of his hand and strokes it for a few seconds before releasing it. The affectionate gesture touches that soft place in me, and I well up with emotion once again.

When I stand up to go, she motions for me to come closer. I bend down and she grasps my shoulders, her grip much stronger than you’d imagine possible. She pulls me in so that she can whisper into my ear.

“You should not have come back here.” Her grip tightens. “You promised, April.” She leans in even closer. “You promised never to come back.”

My stomach clenches with awkwardness. I gently pull myself free and say, “It was lovely to see you too, Willa.”

Ezra doesn’t seem to have heard what his mother said to me. He tells me to go to the boathouse and he’ll meet me there in a minute, that he just has to get his mom some medication. I agree without question—happy to get out of that house.

Stepping out into the backyard, still distracted by Willa’s words, I barely have time to duck as a bird swoops down in front of me, a wing just missing the side of my head. I stay crouched on the ground, my heart racing. “What the hell?” I say, quietly to myself.

Pushing myself back into a standing position, I glance over at the stone cottage. Willa’s still sitting at the window, watching me. I force a smile and wave, but she sits as still as a stone statue, her gaze seeming to look right through me, her expression dark. I turn away and walk down to the water to wait for Ezra, trying to get the feel of her bony hands and whispered words out of my head. The whole thing gave me the creeps.