Nothing.
Relieved, Lillian took a breath. How could she ever have believed something like this would happen to her own mother? Or that it could have been caused by the father she adored?
“They’re both gone,” Anna said, her eyes still closed.
“What’s gone?” Lillian asked. Or was it who?
Anna opened her eyes and looked at Lillian.
Lillian thought she saw a flash of recognition in Anna’s eyes, but whatever it was, it quickly dissolved.
“My scar and my Lilly,” Anna said.
Lillian shook her head, trembled, as if the ground below her was cracking. “Your scar?”
“Let’s go,” Peter said. “That’s enough.”
“No, it’s not,” Lillian said, catching her breath. “What scar?”
Anna touched the other arm and Lillian knew she had checked the wrong one. Even though the external scars had faded, the internal one stayed deep and ragged.
“Who did that to you? Was it someone at the other hospital?” Horror stories about Byberry and other asylums had flooded the news in the 1940s. But something inside Lillian told her that her mother had arrived at Byberry with the scar.
Anna didn’t answer, then she said, “We can’t eat in our rooms, so if you brought me dessert, we’ll have to go to the lounge.”
“I’ll bring dessert next time. I . . . I just came . . . to make sure you knew that Lilly is safe.”
“Oh, I’m so glad.” Anna sighed and stared into the room, away from Lillian. “If you see her, will you give her a message?”
“Of course.” Lillian patted Anna’s hand and leaned closer. At last she’d hear a personal message from her mother, even if Anna didn’t realize it. A message just for her.
Anna closed her eyes again. Lillian hoped she hadn’t fallen asleep. The silence went on too long, and Lillian shook Anna’s arm. “What do you want me to tell her? To tell your Lilly?”
Anna opened her eyes again. “Tell Lilly to always be a firecracker. My Lilly always loved Independence Day.”
She had. Allowed to stay up late to watch the fireworks, she and her mother used to stand side by side, staring up at the sky. While her father lit the touch paper on the fireworks with his glowing cigar.
After forty-five minutes with Dr. Paul, and after reviewing a dozen medical articles and quoting a myriad of research findings, Lillian’s heart finally stopped racing. He’d explained that patients with early onset dementia, like Anna, could dip into some long-term memories—like a young daughter—and forget others—like physical pain and the passage of time.
Her mother was content and well cared for at Friends. At least that was a blessing that Lillian could hold on to. A blessing that was due to Peter, that would never have happened if she hadn’t married him.
Dr. Paul addressed Peter, as if he were Anna’s offspring, not Lillian. “We chose not to dwell on the—” He hesitated. “Marital problems that might have precipitated her condition. If Anna was hurt by her husband, it’s better for her that the memory be vague, that the pain be blurred.”
Lillian nodded, pretending that the doctor had actually spoken to her instead of her husband. If her mother’s erratic memory meant that her memories of Lillian—and her father—were vague and blurred, so be it. It was a small price to pay for her mother’s peace of mind. Especially after all these years.
“Is there anything we can do for her?” Peter asked.
Dr. Paul looked at Lillian. It was the first time he’d addressed her voluntarily. “Even if she doesn’t remember you, she enjoys your visits, you know.”
Lillian suddenly felt ashamed that she’d become only a bystander in her mother’s life.
The doctor was still talking. “The fact that she has lost her memories doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yours. You can honor your mother no matter her condition.”
“How so?” Lillian asked, knowing Dr. Paul was now managing her mental well-being and wanting to milk his professional opinion.
“By doing what she would have wanted you to do.”
Anna wanted little Lilly to be a firecracker. Surely she was too old to be jumping up and down with enthusiasm, making noise, forcing people to get out of her way. That’s what firecrackers did. Lillian wondered what being a firecracker would mean for a wife and mother. Was she living up to Anna’s expectations?
“You’re a mother, Lillian. What do all mothers want for their daughters?”
A husband, children, security, she would have said, not so long ago. Yes, but no. The real answer became clear and settled into Lillian like a familiar song. What did any parent want for their child?
“She would want me to be happy.”
Chapter 23
LILLIAN
It had been years since Lillian had been to Sunny’s house, and she felt intrusive arriving on the woman’s doorstep unannounced, uninvited. Doing so went against every rule of etiquette. Yet when Sunny answered her knock and saw Lillian’s face, she simply said, “Hello,” opened the door wider, and invited Lillian to step into her living room.
Normally Lillian would have looked around, taking in the surroundings for information she could use later, to buy Sunny a gift or inquire after something like the slipcovers on the sofa or the chintz curtains. But she was still shaken from the visit at Friends Hospital.
Peter had let her talk on the way home, merely nodding from time to time, for which she was grateful. When they had arrived home, he started raking the leaves. Nothing would deter him from finishing what he’d started. Although Lillian felt exhausted by the day’s events, she told him she had a few errands to run and needed the car. The first place she went was to her mother’s best friend. The closest thing Lillian had to a mother herself.
“Your mother used to get that look when she didn’t want to say what was eating her, but she needed to say what was eating her.”
Lillian chuckled. Sunny knew them both so well. She depended on that reliable memory of Sunny’s to help her rebuild her own. That’s why she’d come.
Sunny indicated the sofa and, when Lillian sat, Sunny slid down next to her. “This is about that girl from the other day, isn’t it?”
Lillian shook her head.
“All right then. I can see it’s going to take my cherry pie to get it out of you.” Sunny rose and headed toward the kitchen.
“Sunny, wait. It’s not that girl. It’s . . . it’s about my mother. I just went to see her.”
“I haven’t seen her for a while. She didn’t know me last time I went. Must have been a month or two ago. Is she okay?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”
Anxiety was visible in the tension on Sunny’s face. “That’s not good. So how can I help you?”
“When I saw her today, she recognized me in an old photo I had with me. It’s the first time she’s done that. She still doesn’t know who I am now.”
“That’s good, though, right? A beginning, maybe?”
“Perhaps.” Lillian fell silent for a moment before asking, “My father. Was he a good man?”
Sunny looked directly at her, startled. “What makes you ask that?”