Chapter 5 - My Mother Had Been Waiting For Me To Ask The Right Question
My mother answered on video.
She was in her kitchen in Richmond, chopping something with far more aggression than dinner required.
“Did you know Maya Hayes?”
The knife stopped.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did you know Walter?”
“Yes.”
“Marcus Vale?”
“Yes.”
“Mom.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
She set the knife down.
“Probably not.”
That prevented me from unloading immediately.
I held up the note from my file.
“Did I write this?”
She looked at it.
“Yes.”
“You've had six years.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her face changed.
“Because you told me not to.”
“I told you not to force memories. I did not tell you to hide a whole person.”
“You did more than write that note.”
“What?”
She sat.
“You asked me directly.”
“When?”
“During rehab.”
“I remember rehab.”
“Not all of it.”
Apparently.
“What did I say?”
My mother stared at the screen for several seconds.
“You said everyone kept standing over your bed asking whether you remembered Maya.”
My chest tightened.
“Walter?”
“Not then.”
“Who?”
“Doctors. Investigators. People from your unit. Me.”
“What did I do?”
“You started guessing.”
That sounded bad.
“You would say maybe you remembered a red jacket. Then somebody would tell you Maya owned one. Then you didn't know whether the next image was yours or theirs.”
I looked at the note again.
“So I asked everyone to stop.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“You didn't say.”
“And you decided six years?”
My mother looked down.
“No.”
“Then?”
“You stopped asking.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Her face tightened.
“I watched you spend a year rebuilding your life.”
I waited.
“You slept. You worked. You laughed again. You stopped waking up angry because somebody had told you a story you couldn't place.”
“That doesn't make the story disappear.”
“No.”
“Why didn't you say, ‘Rachel, there was somebody important and you asked us not to fill in the blanks, but if you ever want to know, ask’?”
My mother opened her mouth.
Stopped.
Finally:
“Because I was scared you would ask.”
There.
No medical theory.
Fear.
“What did you think would happen?”
“That you would find out how much she mattered and feel guilty for not remembering.”
I laughed quietly.
“And now?”
“Now you’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“That may be healthier.”
“Don't make this sound wise.”
“I’m not.”
She looked tired.
I asked:
“Did Walter contact you?”
My mother’s face changed.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“Did you answer?”
“Twice.”
“What did he want?”
“To know whether you remembered.”
“And?”
“I said no.”
“Did he ask to see me?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
My pulse climbed.
“Did I ask you to do that?”
“At first.”
“At first.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
She looked away.
“Later, I decided it was better.”
I stood from the hotel desk.
“You decided.”
“Yes.”
“Did Marcus know?”
“Not about the later calls.”
“Walter?”
“He knew I was refusing.”
I stared at her.
“So he thought the Army was keeping me away.”
“Maybe.”
“No. He said ‘they finally let you come back.’”
My mother closed her eyes.
“I told him your doctors didn't want old trauma forced.”
“Six years ago?”
“Four years ago.”
I laughed.
“That wasn't true anymore.”
“No.”
“Why?”
She raised her voice for the first time.
“Because he wanted something from you.”
“What?”
“His daughter back.”
I went quiet.
My mother breathed.
Then:
“He wanted you to remember Maya in a way that would answer his questions.”
“What questions?”
She hesitated.
“Whether Maya was afraid.”
“Of dying?”
“Yes.”
“Of him?”
My mother said nothing.
That hurt differently.
Then she added:
“Rachel, Walter wasn't the only person using your missing memory.”
“Who else?”
A long pause.
“Marcus.”
I stared.
May you like
“What did he want?”
“He wanted you not to remember the last conversation you had with him.”
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