“At least you remember cable television,” Michelle said, instantly regretting the stupid remark. “I’m sorry, that was—”
“Don’t apologize. You’re absolutely right. I mean . . . I’m thankful I can remember how to talk, and walk, and feed myself with a spoon. I’d hate to start over at my age.”
“So you remember your age?”
“No, dear. But I’ve looked in the mirror. I haven’t forgotten what old looks like.”
Michelle’s mind spun with questions she wouldn’t allow herself to ask—Can they cure it? Is it permanent? What will you do? Where will you go?
“Everyone’s been very nice,” the woman told Michelle, “especially since there’s every chance I will not be able to pay. If this had happened in Chicago . . .”
The woman broke off suddenly, staring at the wall. “Why did I say Chicago?” Her face brightened for a moment, then faded. “The doctor mentioned Chicago the other day. He’s from Chicago, and he thought my speech pattern sounded familiar. It’s not my own memory.”
How horrible, Michelle thought, to have your life handed back to you by strangers, as if you were expected to take what they’d given you and build your existence from the scraps. Is that what Cliff and Darcy had been trying to do, hand Michelle her life back, a life she had blocked out? Had Cassie’s death been too crushing a blow? Cassie had become Michelle’s entire life, especially when Cliff’s presence faded from the marriage. Had Cassie’s death made her life intolerable?
Michelle despaired, not only for this woman’s situation, but her own as well. According to Cliff, everyone close to her had been trying to resurrect Michelle’s own memories for over a year to no avail. What would this woman do? Live alone in hospitals until she recalled who she was? Would they even let her? And what if she never remembered who she was, or where she belonged? Disturbing images of homeless wanderers flooded Michelle’s mind, shuffling nomads in search of themselves, living a life that wasn’t theirs, in search of one that was.
“We always have slightly more strength than the adversity we face,” the woman said, stepping back to the window.
“How do you know that?” Michelle said, contemplating the strange statement, imagining Cliff all alone on the deck, a cold gun barrel pressed under his jaw.
“I don’t know how I know, dear. I just do.”
“What about people who commit suicide?” Michelle asked, feeling a new impatience with the woman.
The woman looked over at Michelle, her eyes shining from her dull face like the last living things there. “I guess they forget. I guess for that one unfortunate, irretrievable moment, they forget.”
Michelle was sorry she had spoken to her in the harsh tone. The woman said something Michelle didn’t catch.
“What?” Michelle asked.
The woman had resumed her station at the window, the curtains pulled back, a stark parking lot light defining the edge of her forehead and nose.
“I know I’m out there somewhere,” the woman said, her features doubled in the glass.
Chapter 28
Mattie didn’t want to talk, but Pink wouldn’t stop asking questions or voicing protests. She ignored his complaints and told him to keep his eyes on the road, unable to look at her son, her mind on Lulu. Even though Lulu and she had talked at great length about Lulu’s impending death, preparing her, Mattie had never imagined how lost she’d feel, how alone, when Lulu was gone. She needed to ask Lulu things, needed to confide in her, ask her advice. Lulu would know what to do now and had warned Mattie that something like this could happen if they tricked the natural order of things. “Cheating one’s fate can bring about an even worse fate,” Lulu had warned Mattie. But Mattie had not wanted to lose Pink and pleaded with Lulu to help her. Lulu reluctantly agreed. Now, Mattie thought, she might lose Pink anyway, not to mention the damage done to Mrs. Stage and her family.
“They ain’t gonna let you in the dang hospital, Mama,” Pink said, interrupting her thoughts. “It’s too late. It’s after midnight!”
“Evelyn will. Lulu cured Hubie’s erysipelas. She owes Lulu. She’ll do it for Lulu.”
“How do you know the Stage woman is even at the dang hospital anymore? Maybe they released her.”
“Loudon told me they might release her tomorrow. She’s in the psychiatric ward.”
“Well, I don’t know why you want to see her anyway. You don’t even know her.”
“I think I can help.”
Pink huffed and fell quiet until they came within sight of the hospital. “Aw, this is crazy, Mama. Heck, I think Evelyn works in the cafeteria or something. How’s she going to get you in the psychiatric ward?”
“She will. Drop me at the front doors.”
“I better come in with you,” Pink said.
“No. You wait here. I’ll only be a minute.”
“Well, shoot, Mama, you don’t even know what Mrs. Stage looks like.”
“I’ll find her, Pink. Just wait here.”
No matter how quietly Mattie tried to walk the hospital corridor, her shoes echoed rudely in the empty hall. Evelyn was seated behind the reception desk, her auburn hair pulled into a tight bun, her white scalp showing through her thinning hair. She appeared to be doing paperwork, when in fact she was reading a novel.
“Hello, Evelyn.”
“Mattie. What are you doing here?” Evelyn spread her novel face down on the desk, the spine wrinkled and strained at the center.
“I need to see someone in the psychiatric ward.”
Evelyn shook her head, her features glum and confused. “I can’t let you on any of the floors, Mattie. It’s after hours.”
“Take me up the back way. Surely there must be a back entrance to all the floors.”
“I would get in so much trouble, Mattie. Can’t you come back tomorrow?”
“No. Tonight.”
“But . . .”
“Did you know Lulu died?”
Evelyn looked down at her novel, running her finger along the spine “Yes, I heard. I’m sorry.”
“How is Hubie?”
Evelyn looked up. “Hubie went back to work, took a job over at the recreation center. No more bouts with the fire. I’ve never seen him so content.”
“I’m happy for him,” Mattie said. “I’m happy for both of you.”
Evelyn stood up, reading Mattie perfectly. She lifted the ring of keys from her desk and placed them in the pocket of her sweater. “Follow me, Mattie.”