Her Last Memory

by C. A. Wittman

  Detective Greiner gave Mike Rollins a quick smile. "What did you see when you got there, Steve?"

  "Taylor was lying on the sofa and Enzo was kind of hovering over her, and he yelled at me that she wasn't waking up." Steve's face suddenly went white and his bobbing leg stilled.

  "How was Taylor lying on the sofa?"

  "She was curled up like she was asleep, facing out."

  "Facing out toward the room?'

  "Yeah."

  "What happened then, Steve?"

  "I think Serene tried to check for a heartbeat, or, I mean, a pulse. And then Enzo started shaking her, yelling for her to wake up. Finally he called 911."

  "And Bets and Kanani, where were they?"

  "Just standing there."

  "When you went home after Enzo told Taylor to leave, did Bets, Serene and Kanani stay at Enzo's, or did they go back to Serene's?"

  He ran his palm over the table for a second time. "I'm pretty sure they stayed. At least they were there when I left."

  "Serene said she needed to step outside to get air when you mentioned that you had to go home. Do you remember that?"

  Detective Greiner noticed that he made a show of furrowing his brow like he was thinking.

  "Yeah. She did say that."

  7

  Dora - February 2020

  * * *

  The news of Mara Moreno's disappearance was Dora's second time hearing about the woman. Apparently, Mara and Dora were close. Dora's Facebook page proved that fact through the many pictures of the two of them. Mara and Dora's friendship, just one of the many details of Dora’s life that Erica shared during her second visit.

  By the time Detective Anders, a hawk-eyed, balding older man with a fleeting smile showed up to question Dora at the mental health treatment facility, she had already forgotten about Mara. Mara was one more person among many who were now a part of her life, part of a steady stream of relationships flung across her mental landscape like things strewn across a highway, her life very much like a car crash. And, like a crash victim, she was too disoriented to make much sense of or care about any of it.

  Apparently, Mara and Enzo were married, Anders had informed her, and Dora experienced the same shock at that seemingly incongruous connection to her past as she had the first time Erica told her this same bit of news.

  The questions came, but she could not answer the pragmatic probing of what she was doing the morning of Mara's disappearance, if they'd bickered, or if Mara had confided in her about feeling unhappy in her marriage.

  “I don't remember Mara.” She told the detective several times, panic creeping in, a tight feeling traveling across her chest. It was happening again. The suspicion, the interviews, the scrutiny, but this time she had nothing to give, nothing to tell. Mara Moreno was part of Dora's life, a life Serene had no access to. Choosing to be called Dora didn't mean she was Dora.

  The detective had flashed her another smile and pointed at his temple, his expression conspiratorial. “No. I suppose you can't help. Amnesia. I hear you lost quite a few years.”

  Dora said nothing.

  “Your friend, Cuppa, says the last year you remember was 1996?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was an interesting year.”

  Moisture gathered under her arms and she pulled them tighter to her sides.

  “Isn't that the year you and your friends found Taylor Davis murdered?”

  The detective had waited for her reply, but Dora knew it was best to keep quiet. She had no attorney to help field Detective Anders questions, and she'd learned how the police could twist things.

  “So, a name change, and now amnesia. Unfortunate.”

  “I don't remember being Dora,” she said softly.

  “No. I suppose that would be inconvenient,” Detective Anders said. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, took out his wallet and handed her a card. “Here's my information, in case those memories resurface. Whether you remain here at The Source or return home, don't worry, I'll find you.” He winked and then let himself out of her room.

  8

  Dora - February 2020

  * * *

  The traffic in downtown Culver City stunned Dora. Once a somewhat sleepy town, it now bustled with vehicle congestion and pedestrians. At the intersection of Culver and Washington Boulevard, a new building wrapped around the corner, a massive curving structure with a sleek, shiny exterior and big dark windows. Dora closed her eyes, the hammering of her heart beating out a pulse against her eardrums.

  "You okay?" Erica asked.

  Dora nodded but kept her eyes closed, trying to calm the rising panic of what she was about to do.

  "It'll be okay. We'll just take it slow." Erica's soft voice was calming.

  Over the past weeks, Dora grew to trust Erica, to like her even. But she never let the woman touch her and she cringed inside when people referred to Erica as her wife. She could not imagine that she had ever chosen to be with this sturdy, quiet woman in an intimate way. The thought disgusted Dora.

  Erica kept her distance. She seemed to have a knack for knowing how far to take a conversation, how close she could sit by Dora, when it was time to go. Over time, Dora looked forward to their visits. Twice, Erica mentioned Ramani's requests to see her, and when Dora said no, Erica let it drop. She never pushed anything. At one point, Dora asked Erica whatever became of Darpan.

  "Darpan?" Erica echoed. "He's in San Quentin. Ramani remarried. Her husband's name is John."

  Dora had sat with that news, Erica waiting for her to speak. When she remained silent, Erica let it drop. She was good like that, not pushing for anything Dora wasn't ready to give.

  * * *

  Jackson Avenue hadn't changed much. The giant willows and jacaranda trees still lined the street. Some new houses had been built or were under construction, but most of the homes were still there as she remembered them. They pulled into the familiar driveway. Instinctively, Dora turned to look at the house across the street, the brown craftsman bungalow where Steve and his sister Carrie had lived. An American flag was erected on the front lawn. At the living room window, a curtain parted, and Dora caught a glimpse of someone peering out at them.

  "A friend of mine lived over there," she said to Erica as they got out of the car. Erica frowned at the comment. The door to Dora's house opened and a teenage girl stepped out, green eyes traveling slowly over her while two younger girls hung back.

  "Mom," one of the younger girls called out.

  "Shh," the eldest one said, shepherding them back inside. Dora gripped her door handle, feeling dizzy for a moment. Stinging hot bile shot up her throat and into her mouth.

  "It's okay, you can do this," Erica said. "Do you need a minute?"

  Dora took a deep breath. "No. I'll… Are those my kids?" She knew they were, had seen pictures. Still, she needed to ask for it to be real.

  "Yes," Erica said quietly.

  Dora took another breath, but it came out shaky and a bit like a moan. "I'm okay," she said after a moment.

  "You sure?"

  Dora nodded.

  "Look, I know this is difficult for you, but I need you to put on a brave face. I'll be right next to you, but the main thing to remember, Dora, is that they love you, that's all. They love you because you're their mom."

  It was the most forceful Erica had ever been, and Dora tried to rise to her words. She wanted to take Erica's hand like a small child but was afraid of the physical contact. If she took Erica's hand, would Erica think that Dora was getting used to the idea that she was her wife?

  Inside, the children were lined up, unabashedly curious, a spark of worry centered in the youngest's eyes. Cuppa stood closest to the kitchen, her posture rigid. Everything was different. Gauzy white curtains hung at the windows. The walls were painted a light mineral taupe color. Low lying couches with dark grey linen covers dressed with Belgian flax colored pillows had replaced the antique furniture of her grandma's. Beige and moss green throws draped two plush accent
chairs with chunky wooden frames. The dark wood floor was replaced with cold washed stone of mottled greenish-brown, a natural fiber area rug as the centerpiece. Her grandmother's mustard yellow dining room table set and the matching plastic bucket seat chairs with metal legs had been brought back to the dining room, a swirly orange and yellow rug under the dining set. The china had been put back in the cabinet next to others sets of different designs, mismatched cups and plates stacked together, giving the collection a whimsical look. Hanging plants bathed in the natural light. The old family pictures her grandmother had had up originally now decorated the dining room. New family pictures decorated the living room along with several enlarged black and white artsy photographs of the actress, Natalie Wood. Next to the actress's 1960s photos was a picture of Ramani when she was Brenda Wilson, posing against the red Mustang. Serene could see why those pictures were grouped together. Brenda had looked so much like Natalie in her youth, especially when she wore her hair straight.

  "This is for you," the middle girl said and thrust a large card in Dora's hand. It had a picture of a mother bird flying back to its nest of waiting babies. Inside, someone had written in pretty handwriting, “Welcome Back Home Mom.” Little flowers and hearts were drawn around the words, and there were personal notes from all of them. Dora glanced over the notes, but didn't read them right then. She looked back up at her waiting children. They were all so white. The eldest girl, Barbara, was stunning, tall with thick, wavy dark hair cut in flattering layers grazing her collar bone, green eyes, a pert nose, and full lips, the skin cracked and dry. Somehow this didn't detract from her looks, only added to them. She wore a fuzzy blue knit turtleneck sweater and high waisted jeans. Her feet were bare and perfect looking, the nails painted a light blue. The two youngest girls were both blond with the kind of mermaid hair that Robert Plant from Led Zeppelin used to have, the sort of hair Dora had always loved. The middle girl, Sara, had light eyes too, but the hue leaned more toward blue. Her cheekbones were high and her nose similar to Dora's own, aquiline and prominent. The youngest, Jesse––Dora had to keep reminding herself that Jesse wasn't a girl––had the same long mermaid hair as Sara, and brown eyes. His features were closer to Barbara's and he held a kind of ephemeral appearance. She did not know what she expected, exactly, when she did meet her son, but this went way beyond a boy who likes to wear dresses. He wore a soft floral rayon bohemian garment, which only added to the pixie-like quality he exuded.

  At that moment, Jesse threw his arms around her, pressing his head against her chest. He smelled like cinnamon toast. Dora hugged him back, glancing down at the fair head pressed up against her chest, and then back up, locking eyes with Barbara.

  Dora had a sudden thought that Barbara was way out of her league. How could she have anything to do with this girl, so well put together? She looked like she contained vast amounts of intelligence in that pretty head of hers. Barbara was the kind of girl that Dora would never have bothered trying to get to know. The type of girl who was sure of herself, comfortable in her own skin, who got good grades and knew where she was going. If she'd lived on Maui, she would have gone to Seabury, a private school, and intermingled with other well-off white and Japanese kids. Privileged kids who traveled several times a year and left the island after graduating to attend ivy-league colleges. A girl like Barbara would never have visited Serene in her ramshackle country house or run in the local crowd. A girl like Barbara would have lived on a gated estate with horses and the latest new everything. She would have been kind and polite, but held herself apart, separate from someone like Dora.

  Barbara stepped forward and Sara followed. The two put their arms around Dora and hugged tight.

  "Welcome back," Barbara said, and Sara started to cry.

  Dora stroked the girl's head, feeling stricken and overwhelmed. "I'm sorry," was all she could think to say.

  "Right, then," Cuppa spoke up. "How 'bout we all have a cuppa tea, get settled in?"

  Erica came forward and gently pulled Sara away from Dora. The other two went to sit on the sofa, folding lanky legs up under lithe bodies.

  "Do you want some tea, Dora?" Erica asked.

  Dora nodded and tucked her hair back behind her ears before sitting in one of the chairs. Sara squeezed in next to her and rested her head against her breast.

  "We're out of earl grey," Cuppa called out.

  This was obviously for Erica's information because Erica said, "I'll take whatever black tea we have."

  "What?" Cuppa called back.

  "They're having black tea, whatever kind there is," Barbara spoke up.

  They're? Dora frowned. Who was Barbara talking about?

  "I missed you," Sara said and wiped at her eyes. Jesse got up and sat on Dora's lap. Dora petted her children's heads, a tight, tense feeling collecting in her throat. A month ago, she was Serene, sixteen years old, the thought of children or a marriage not even on the horizon of her mental landscape. Now, here she was, a mother. A mother of three. Forty. Gay. Well-off from the looks of things. She tried to think of something to say to the two girls––well, girl and boy––who held onto her like clinging vines. Other than her younger brother, she'd never spent much time with children, had never babysat or been interested in little kids. What did you say to kids who missed their mother and thought they had her back, but were only looking at a facade?

  "Maybe after we have our tea, you can show your mom around," Erica said. "There's still a lot she doesn't remember, but we'll help her with that."

  Weeks ago, Erica told Dora that she'd explained to the children about her amnesia. She'd left out the identity alteration, though, which she said might be too confusing and disturbing for them to understand.

  Jesse stroked Dora's arm, gazing up at her, his fine features pinched together. "Do you remember us, now that you're here?"

  Dora licked her lips. It was getting harder to breathe, especially with him sitting up against her stomach. She wanted to say, “Time out, I've had enough for one day. I need to rest, to be alone. I need to wake up and for my life to make sense again.”

  They love you because you're their mom. Put on a brave face.

  Dora tried to think of what a mother would say to Jesse's question. An old TV show came to mind, The Donna Reed Show. She'd found old videos in the room that used to be her grandmother's office and had become her bedroom. She had sometimes played the tapes at night, not really watching, but listening as she did her homework or dozed off to sleep. The characters were soothing, and she sometimes wondered if her grandmother had been like Donna Reed. Donna would have been honest but reassuring.

  "I want to remember," Dora said. She could almost hear the well-modulated tone of the actress in her head. "And I will, Jesse, because it's the most important thing to me, that I do remember my children." She took a breath and stretched her mouth into what she hoped looked like a calm and maternal smile. Her son's hand reached up to stroke her hair and he said,

  "You sound different. You don't sound like you."

  Dora's smile flickered. She shifted her gaze to Barbara, who leaned forward in her chair, watching. Her chin tipped up slightly, eyes peering down as if she were looking into a telescope at something far away.

  9

  Barbara - February 2020

  * * *

  Barbara always knew she had a cool mom, a young mom, a smart mom, a mom who was chic and quick, business savvy and fun. Barbara didn't experience any of the teenage angst and distancing that so many of her friends went through with their parents. Well, maybe a little with her dad. For the most part, though, the adults in her life were just cool, especially Dora. Dora knew how to talk to people, make them laugh. Make stuff look good. She had a clothing rental business called Dora's Closet and a lifestyle blog and podcast where she discussed fashion, food and travel from a socially and environmentally responsible perspective. She got people. She got kids and teens and never embarrassed Barbara by trying to dress too young and compete with women half her age. She wore a
little mascara and usually lip gloss or an earth red lipstick. She took care of her skin with natural organic cleansers and face creams. Dora stayed fit, running marathons and cycling around town. Dora was engaging. She said things like, I've got this, let's make space, I'm gonna show you the goods, because I'm extra, baby, and, thats a bold statement. Dora kept a small garden in the backyard and recycled everything. She loved interior decorating and “switching things up” in the house.

  Dora was casual about things, like when Barbara turned thirteen and she allowed her to have a glass of wine with the rest of the adults at dinner. And when Barbara started vaping, Dora gave her literature on the dangers of vaping. Still, she told Barbara, if she was going to vape that she'd buy her the best quality organic vape juice with B12. “I don't know if it's BS,” she'd said with a laugh, “but it's better than the poison kids are getting on the black market.” Barbara's vaping phase lasted all of one month.

  When Jesse started borrowing Sara's dresses, Dora took him shopping. She asked him what pronoun he wanted to go by, what gender he identified with. Jesse told her he wasn't sure, maybe he still identified as a boy, he just wanted to wear a dress sometimes. Dora compiled a stack of pictures for Jesse of men in dress-like garments throughout history, as well as trans women wearing skirts, swing dresses and ball gowns. She was affectionate and cuddly with Erica and put up bemusedly with Cuppa, who so obviously was in love with Erica, but pretended it was only about friendship for her.

  Barbara's parents' divorce had been a little messy, a little contentious. But Dora worked to smooth out the edges with their father, to not get sucked into his sometimes barbed comments. Instead, she welcomed him in when he stopped by to pick up or drop off Barbara and her siblings. Dora would offer him a coffee if it was morning or a glass of wine if it was evening. And sometimes when her dad could get over himself, he and Dora would go for a walk or out to a cafe nearby and have one of their long, rambling conversations about when they were kids and they used to skateboard, the TV shows they both had liked, or gossip about old friends. They'd fall into a way of speaking where the C-Ks at the end of their words ended in a hard cuh sound. After all, Barbara's parents were best friends before they were ever a couple.