What You Remember I Did (24 page)

like another lover's

love.

Come with me

or stay,

let's find each other.

Catherine was sound asleep. Pressing her fist to her mouth, Nan held onto Matt's book and wept.

No matter how hard she tried, Nan couldn't ignore the signs of spring. Resurrection and light-after-darkness certainly didn't have much to do with her these days but she was almost looking forward to the pizza pilgrimage with her students that had become an annual pre-Easter tradition, though what pizza had to do with spring was a mystery.

She might even make it through the rest: putting those disgusting marshmallow Peeps in the refrigerator so they'd get stale the way Ashley–and now Jordan–liked them; dipping eggs in old-fashioned dye and new-fashioned glitter even though nobody in the family liked hard-boiled eggs; buying a pastel outfit.

Yellow Easter dress with green ribbons. White patent leather shoes with straps. Frilly lacy pink underwear. Mother's hands–
What kind of memory was that? It felt sweet and scary, happy and sickening all at the same time.

With relative good cheer, Nan got ready for the last day of teaching before spring break. She'd stop for coffee on the way to the courts and for Peeps on the way home. When she was dressed and ready, she turned her attention to her mother who wanted to be Deborah Kerr for the day, not as Anna this time, but as the wounded bird in
An Affair to Remember
. Nan helped her dress and added a string of pearls and matching studs. Catherine was positively giddy.

Glancing out the window to see if Arlene had arrived, Nan noticed the first daffodil of the year turning its sunshine face to the sky. She took her mother's hand and led her outside.

Reaching way back into her childhood, she chanted, "Spring is sprung, the grass is
riz
, I wonder where the
boidies
is?"

She expected little or no reaction from her mother, but Catherine beamed. "The
boid
is on the wing! Why, that's
absoid
. The wing is on the
boid
!" Often now, she didn't remember her name, but the silly words seemed to return without effort.

They laughed together, in a way they hadn't for a long time. Nan took her inside and sat her gently on the sofa, covering her with the pink and purple afghan Ashley had crocheted for her last year.

Catherine's moment of lightness had already receded into that other sad world she now inhabited most of the time. Touching her cheek and smoothing her hair, Nan thought, as she had so often, how fine the line was between laughter and tears.

"Okay, Arlene." She turned on the Nanny Cam, pushing away the daily thought that no camera could tell her everything that happened in her absence. When she'd stacked up all three versions of
An Affair to Remember
, as well as
Sleepless in Seattle
, a close relative, she said aloud, "You can come now, Arlene. You'd better come now, or I'm going to be without caffeine and late for my first lesson."

"I want Liz," Catherine whimpered, as Arlene at last came inside through the open doorway.

Nan slipped
Love Affair
, the oldest of the movies, into the VCR and started it. Irene Dunne and Charles Boyer were glorious in the 1939 film. She wanted to stay and watch, but she kissed her mother on the head, waved at Arlene, and left. By the time she returned, they'd have watched the Deborah Kerr version, too, and the most recent one with Warren Beatty, and would be in the midst of the second cycle. Good thing Arlene liked classic movies, too.

There was no time to pick up coffee, so she was doubly pleased to find a latté and an almond biscotti waiting for her at the gate to the courts. First her mother's brief lucidity, now this. After so auspicious a beginning, she told herself, she had no choice but to enjoy the day.

She made a particular effort to praise her students and called Matt during a break to thank him for his gift, stopping just short of inviting him to join her group for pizza. The party-of-sorts was for her students, and this semester especially she had reason to lobby for their good graces without Matt Mullen to distract her.

The small pizza parlor in New City had been there for a lot of years. Owners had come and gone. Each one brought a variation on the theme–new toppings, free sodas, calzone, which was what she ordered to take home for her mother. She preferred it to pizza herself, but decided it would be unsociable not to share in the large pies that crowded the table. What none of the owners could do was bring back the family of ducks she used to watch crossing the road through the window when she and Gary had first moved to Rockland County.

Too much pizza and a lot of laughter later, Nan made her way home. Because of the hour, it was a longer drive than it might have been. By the time she rounded the corner of her block, it was past the end of Arlene's workday, but she was reasonably reliable and didn't seem to have a problem staying on when Nan was delayed. Then again, she usually called home if she was going to be late.

When she didn't see Arlene's car, anxiety tightened her throat. An unfamiliar car screeched wildly away from the curb and she swerved barely in time. Belatedly, but without a doubt, she recognized the driver, and her stomach churned. What the hell was Tonya Bishop doing here? Why was the front door wide open and where was Arlene?

She pulled on the emergency brake, jumped out of the car, and raced toward the house. Her mother was lying in the doorway, wheezing and crying and rocking. Nan felt a powerful urge to lie down beside her. This was all too much.

Catherine was clutching her inhaler. Nan pried it loose and shook it vigorously before holding it to her lips. "Open your mouth, Mom. Breathe in." Her mother obeyed.

Nan squeezed, shook the inhaler again and squeezed it for a second time. She
propped
her mother against the front door and pulled her cell phone out of her handbag. Dialing 911, she thought about calling Matt, too, but didn't.

When Catherine's breathing began to calm, Nan lifted her to her feet and guided her to the sofa, then went into her room to pack an overnight bag, talking all the while. "It's okay, Mom. You're going to be all right."

When, no more than five minutes later, she came back into the living room, Catherine was slumped over onto the couch, and for a split second Nan thought she was dead. But the old woman rasped, "Nanny Nanny
Nanny
Nanny
" as if it were a nonsense word.

Nan sat down beside her mother, stroked the damp thin hair, and rewound the tape on the camera. "What happened, Mother? Where's Arlene?" It was silly to ask, of course, and of course Catherine gave no intelligible response.

Nan went to her own room and popped the videotape out of the VCR connected to the Nanny Cam. The tape showed Arlene in front of her mother, blocking her view of the television screen. The aide looked at her watch and said, "I have to leave early. The office will send a sub."

Catherine glared at her and waved her aside.

"You hear me? I have to go. Your daughter's not answering her cell."

Nan gasped and checked her cell. She hadn't heard it ring in the pizza parlor, but, indeed, there were several missed calls.

Arlene bent and whispered in Catherine's ear. Nan would never know what she'd said, but tears rolled down her mother's face as the aide turned and walked out of the room and out of the house, leaving the front door ajar.

Next to her on the sofa, Catherine began to whimper. Nan picked up the remote to turn off the film, but her mother slapped her hand, shook her head vehemently, and pointed at the screen. The apparent purposefulness made Nan shiver, and she forced herself to continue watching.

For some minutes, the camera showed no movement. Then, mesmerized, Nan watched as the door was pushed open and Dr. Tonya Bishop entered the house, dressed in a tailored pink suit, perfect for the warm spring day.

Catherine looked at Tonya, beamed, and opened her arms. "Liz!"

"I'm–" Tonya stopped. "Is Nan home? I want to talk to her about some legal matters."

"Let's have cookies," Catherine chirped. "And hot toddies. We'll have high tea." She clapped her hands girlishly. "In the rose-covered villa in Porto Santo, Madeira, with Terry and Michel and his Grandmother
Janou
." She was in the world of
Love Affair
.

Tonya did not miss a beat, though it was unlikely she'd understood the reference. "No. Not my grandmother. My mother. She was the evil one. I see it now."

They were talking at cross-purposes and neither of them cared. They drank delicately out of Russian tea glasses with handles and nibbled at cookies, yet the mood grew ever darker.

"I used to do this with my mother," Tonya said.

Your mother, the Queen of Hearts
, Nan thought wildly as the Mad Hatter's Tea Party went on.

"There's a wonderful place like Tomorrow Land," Catherine sang out. "You'll forget all about today."

"Or maybe it was both of them. We drank tea and nibbled on petit fours and everything was all very elegant." Tonya gestured with her teacup.

"Close your eyes, make a wish, and you're there." Catherine swayed in three-quarter time.

"And they did things to me. And they had me do things to them. And it was our little secret, and it was lovely, nobody got hurt, and it wouldn't do to speak of it. Nobody got hurt. Nobody got hurt. I didn't mean to hurt anybody." Tonya raised her voice alarmingly. "I didn't!"

"Oh, it's nobody's fault but my own!" Catherine said, repeating a moment from the movie that always had the audience sobbing. "I was looking up...it was the nearest thing to heaven! You were there."

Tonya leaned over and took hold of her arm. "Stop it! Listen to me! Tell me what's true!"

"You're hurting me!" Catherine screeched, looking down at the rising red welt on her arm. "Why are you hurting me?" She had started to cry and was wheezing. "I didn't do anything wrong. You're a bad girl. A bad girl."

Tonya pushed hard, sending Catherine and her chair tumbling backwards. The old woman pulled herself to a crouch and crawled to the sofa. Yelling unintelligibly, Tonya followed and bent over her.
Her back was to the camera, blocking Catherine from view–all but her mother's legs and feet, which were kicking out and her left hand which was pushing against Tonya. She was holding the remote control, which connected with Tonya's temple.
 
Tonya let go, staggered, and stumbled from the room
.

Nan and Catherine sat mute and still as the rest of the tape played out and gray static filled the screen. Finally Nan whispered, "Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me." But, as the ambulance pulled up outside the house, her mother lay glassy-eyed and unresponsive across her lap.

The figure in green scrubs put on a surgical mask, then picked up a small metal tray and walked into the room in which Catherine had been admitted. "Meds," she said.

"No thank you," the patient said. "I'm perfectly fine." The intruder leaned over her. With deliberation, Catherine hit the tray, sending it across the room.
 
"Someone's trying to kill me," she screamed, theatrically.

The figure moved quickly toward the door, looked back once, and left. Shedding the scrubs in the parking area was simple.

The next step was being in control while driving home. Cars were, after all, a lethal weapon.

Patrick flopped down on Nan's couch and put his feet up. She slapped them off. "Who's Michelle?" he wanted to know.

Nan glared at him. Practically from the moment he could talk he'd been doing this, asking a question completely without context and acting as if you ought to know what he was talking about. She was not going to bite this time. She went back to pretending to read the paper and demanded querulously, "Is
Becca
with her now?"

He nodded. "I left when she got to the hospital. When I walked out, Mom was still asking for Michelle. 'I want Michelle. Tell Michelle I'm waiting. Tell Michelle to come.' Who the hell's Michelle?"

"Never heard of her," Nan snapped without looking up. Her siblings were driving her crazy,
Becca
and Patrick always around, Stuart not around enough. Ashley was annoying her, too. She was glad her daughter wasn't rushing right over, and offended on Catherine's behalf that Ashley didn't care enough to drop everything she was doing to join the queue of attendants.

Patrick said, as he'd said maybe a million times when they were kids, "What's
your
problem?"

Nan put down the paper and gave his knee a sisterly nudge instead of the punch he deserved. "Sorry, Pat. I've got a lot on my mind."

"She's my mother, too, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry." When he didn't look mollified, she got mad again. "Hey, I'm
sorry,
okay?"

Although she wanted him to ask what else was on her mind, it was a good thing he hadn't, because she had no idea what to do about the videotape of the events that had precipitated their mother's collapse, including whether or not to tell her brothers and sister. Her first instinct, which she probably should have obeyed, was to hand it over to the police. Her next idea had been to give it to the attorney conducting the class-action lawsuit, which would have been fine had she made the commitment to participate in it. She'd thought about giving it to Tonya; she'd even contemplated destroying it. She'd also considered asking Matt to watch it with her and advise her what to do. Nothing felt right, so that's what she'd done. Nothing.