She doesn’t seem to be any more ready to get out of the car than I am.
“Why did Mamie want to leave France so bad anyway?” she finally asks.
“The war must have been pretty bad for her,” I say. “Like Mrs. Sullivan and Mrs. Koontz said, I think her parents had died. Mamie would have only been seventeen when she left Paris. Then I think she met your great-grandpa and fell in love.”
“So she, like, left everything behind?” Annie asks. “How could she do that without being sad?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know, honey.”
Annie’s eyes narrow. “You never asked her?” She looks at me, and I can tell that the anger, which had gone into hibernation temporarily, is back.
“Sure I did,” I say. “When I was your age, I used to ask her about her past all the time. I wanted her to take me to France and show me all the things she did when she was a kid. I used to imagine her riding the Eiffel Tower elevator up and down all day with a poodle, while eating a baguette and wearing a beret.”
“Those are stereotypes, Mom,” Annie says, rolling her eyes at me. But I’m fairly sure I can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she gets out of the car.
I get out too and follow her across the front lawn. I forgot to turn the porch light on before I left the house earlier, so it looks like the darkness is swallowing Annie whole. I hurry to the door and turn the key in the lock.
Annie lingers in the hallway for a long moment, just looking at me. I’m sure she’s about to say something, but when she opens her mouth, no sound comes out. Abruptly, she turns on her heel and strides toward her bedroom in the back of our small cottage. “I’ll be ready in five!” she yells over her shoulder.
Since “five” usually means at least twenty minutes in Annie-speak, I’m surprised to see her in the kitchen just a few minutes later. I’m standing at the refrigerator with the door open, willing dinner to materialize out of thin air. For someone who works around food all day, I do a lousy job of keeping my own fridge stocked.
“There’s a Healthy Choice meal in the freezer,” Annie says from behind me.
I turn and smile. “Guess it’s time I go to the grocery store.”
“Nah,” Annie says. “I wouldn’t recognize our fridge if it was full. I’d think I’d accidentally gone into the wrong house.”
“Ha-ha, very funny,” I say with a grin. I shut the refrigerator door and open the freezer, which contains two trays of ice cubes, a half bag of miniature Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, a bag of frozen peas, and, as Annie promised, a Healthy Choice frozen meal.
“We already ate, anyways,” Annie adds. “Remember? The lobster rolls?”
I close the door to the freezer and nod. “I know,” I say. I look over at Annie, who’s standing by the kitchen table, her duffel bag propped against the chair beside her.
She rolls her eyes at me. “You’re so weird. Do you just sit here and eat junk food every time I go to Dad’s?”
I clear my throat. “No,” I lie.
Mamie used to deal with stress by baking. My mother used to deal with stress by getting furious about little things, and usually sending me to my room after telling me what a lousy daughter I was. I, apparently, deal with stress by stuffing my face.
“All right, honey,” I say. “Got everything?” I cross the kitchen toward her, moving absurdly slowly, as if I can prolong her time with me. I pull her into a hug, which seems to surprise her as much as it surprises me. But she hugs back, which makes the pain in my heart temporarily disappear.
“I love you, kiddo,” I murmur into her hair.
“I love you too, Mom,” Annie says after a minute, her voice muffled against my chest. “Now could you let me go before you, like, smother me?”
Embarrassed, I release her. “I’m not sure what to do about Mamie,” I say as she reaches for her duffel bag and swings it over her shoulder. “Maybe she’s talking nonsense.”
Annie freezes. “What are you talking about?”
I shrug. “Her memory’s gone, Annie. It’s awful, but that’s what Alzheimer’s is.”
“It wasn’t gone today,” she says, and I can see the inner corners of her eyebrows beginning to point sharply downward as she furrows her brow. Her tone is suddenly icy.
“No, but talking about these people we’ve never heard of . . . You have to admit it doesn’t make any sense.”