by Jill Cooper
“Your wrists,” I say after I swallow, “look a lot like mine.” I push the sleeve of my pajama top up and show her the red bruising, the deep lacerations against my skin.
Mom leans forward and, for a brief moment, strokes them with her fingers. “They do. How—how did you get them?”
“From being a captive. From trying to get free.”
Mom pushes up and it’s as if I have lost her. She throws the paper bag into the nearby garbage can and takes control of my wheelchair. “That’s enough time for today.”
My spirits deflate, but maybe some part of me reached her. Maybe some part of her knows the truth. It’s farfetched, but I have no choice but to believe.
I have to believe in something.
***
Seasons change and I watch the orange leaves fall from the trees from my hospital room. I stand and my legs feel strong, as if they are tough enough to take me anywhere, but I can’t go anywhere. My room is under lock and key.
But it’s almost time to start the experiments up again. Rex is getting ready to plug me into the virtual world to keep me distracted, to manipulate me. The pain of all that is less than the agony of seeing my mom walk through my door whenever she wants, not knowing who I am. My door buzzes open and I turn to see Mom. She’s carrying my chart and a deck of cards. “I thought you could use some fun.”
Fun. I don’t remember what fun is anymore.
It’s hard to trust her when she’s always writing in my chart. Even when we are outside or she is bringing me food, Mom is studying me. Even if it’s just my behavior she is noting, I am nothing more than her experiment.
But I sit down on my bed anyway and cross my legs. Mom deals the cards and I fan them out as she does so. We play several hands; I win a few and she wins a few.
On my deal, Mom fidgets and I wonder what she’s going to say. I might be new to her, but she’s not new to me, at least not anymore. “When you first woke up last month, you asked me a question. If I knew you.”
For a moment I pause and then I deal the last card. “I remember.”
She leans forward. “I didn’t then, but lately I see your face wherever I go. Even when I dream at night, I swear, even though you’re younger, it’s you.”
I put the cards down and go through the motions of arranging my hand. It feels as if I can’t breathe with the desire to tell her who she is to me, but I can’t trust her yet. We aren’t close enough. Rex could be watching, listening. It’s too soon, I warn myself, but the desire is so strong it consumes me.
“What do you think that means?” I can’t even look up at her.
“I don’t know. But I feel like you do.”
I pause. “I’m not sure how I could know. How could I know?”
She shrugs. “That’s the crazy thing. I don’t know, but I just know.”
Have you told anyone else about that? Your husband? Family?”
Mom frowns. “I don’t have a family. Or a husband. Still single after all these years.” Her face is haunted and her thumb strokes her ring finger as if to spin a ring that isn’t there. A muscle memory. If the memory exists somewhere in there, maybe I can access it. Maybe I can trigger a rebuild of her mind.
Is it possible or will Mom stay this stripped-down version of who she is, where all she has is science?
There’s only one way to find out. It’s been months since I’ve had a goal, a new plan, and finally, I have one.
“Do you live close to this research lab?” I try to keep the expectations out of my voice as I rearrange my cards.
Mom throws a card down and picks up another. “I live here. My work is my life. Is that … weird?”
I lean forward. “Do you remember ever living anywhere else?”
Her face is thoughtful and then confused. “No. I remember the science. I remember games, but no environments. I don’t even remember how I got here. How … how is that possible?”
I move to speak, but she grabs my wrist and her hands are ice cold. “Wait,” Mom says. “I remember a small apartment, with brown paneling. It’s cluttered and … there’s the smell of macaroni and cheese.”
That’s where I grew up. That is the apartment we once shared with Dad, before she was killed. Before Dad is framed for murder in this timeline. There’s a crack in Rex’s system. I need time to exploit it.
“Tell Rex I’m ready to cooperate. Tell him I’m ready to go back into the virtual reality world so he can study my brain. I won’t try anything. I promise.” I squeeze Mom’s hand.
And she squeezes mine back.
“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” Mom says. “I’ll be the one monitoring you.”
A tentative smile spreads across my face. “I’m counting on it.”
****
Rex is a cocky SOB and I pray this will work to my advantage. He thinks he has me right where he wants me and Mom too. He’s stripped her memories of me and everything that makes Mom, well Mom, from her mind. Rex is so arrogant he doesn’t doubt this system and lets us spend time together, not even fearing she will remember me on some level.
But she does. Even if it’s just a small flicker.
My job is to fan it into a flame.
I have to pray against all rational hope and logic that there is a flaw in Rex’s memory extraction system and that I will be able to exploit it. If I can’t, well, game over.
I slide down onto the bed and rest against the pillows. There’s no need to put me in my cage anymore because I can’t time travel so I’m still in the hospital room. Rex turns the machine on and Mom screws the cable into my brain. To say it’s less than pleasant is an understatement. My hands grip each other and I let out a pained gasp.
“Sorry,” Rex says and backs away. “We are working on ways to make it less painful for you, Lara. Whatever you may think of me, I don’t want to see you harmed. That you must believe.”
I believe it, in the same way I know a jock doesn’t want his sports car ruined. Rex has never seen me as a person and he never will. I’m a means to an end.
“When you pull me out next, I want to see these others Miranda talked about. The ones you’re unlocking time travel in, just like me.”
“Why?” Rex’s eyes twinkle with curiosity.
“I want to see what my brain has done. If they’re suffering, I need to see it.”
“All right, Lara.” Rex pushes a button on the wall and my vision begins to spin. I close my eyes and moan, gripping my lips together tight.
The pain comes hard and fast. The images directly download into my brain and I can’t control the swell of emotion in my chest.
I’m in a church.
Chapter Nine
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Applause erupts around us and Donovan, oh Donovan, lifts my veil. He’s in a fancy tux and it’s a day I’ve dreamt of from the moment he first kissed me—the day he first took my hand and professed his love even though we were far too young to know, to understand. The dream started that day.
He kisses me and it is sweet and full of promise. The future is before us. My hand grips my bridal bouquet and my other touches his arm to make sure he’s still real, to make sure he didn’t die in an alley alone while I was whisked off to my own prison. A place of torture and emotional torment; that is the prison I fear.
But here it’s nothing more than a nightmare.
Here I’m living the dream.
I smile, my nose against his, and I can’t deny the happiness and love that spreads over me. Donovan kisses my cheek and we turn to the crowd to see everyone cheering for us. They’re happy, standing on their feet in a standing ovation that is reserved for rock stars—heroes. Donovan and I have weathered all of the problems we have faced. We’ve been to hell and back. Now it’s time to move forward.
Mom and Jax sit in the front pews with Dad.
Sweet little Mike is grinning in his ring bearing tux.
And there’s Molly, my gorgeous little Molly, in a soft, flowing, lavender gown. My
little flower girl is holding a woven basket of flower petals. I extend my hand and wiggle my fingers at her.
She breaks out in a wide grin that shows off her one missing tooth and her adorable twinkling dimples. Molly rushes to me and I squeeze her close. Her smile is so wide I can’t help but stroke her soft cheeks. So innocent and full of such promise, I would do just about anything for that girl. For her face.
Everything I do is for her.
I’d risk it all.
We walk down the aisle and I keep Molly close. She throws the petals down to cushion our steps. Donovan throws the double wide doors of the church open and sunlight streams inside. I gather up my wedding dress in my hands so we can walk down the front steps together. My lover, my husband, Donovan takes my fingers and kisses them delicately. “I love you.”
I whisper the words back in return and stand with my back facing the crowd. Taking the bouquet in both hands I whip it over my head. The women behind me squeal and there’s the sound of rustling dresses as everyone rushes to intercept. When I glance over my shoulder, I see Mom is holding the slightly crumpled flowers.
Her mouth is open slightly in a gasp and beside her stands Dad. They glance at each other and quickly away.
“Miranda,” I say loudly, “keep remembering where I grew up. Remember the macaroni and cheese. All right?”
I doubt Miranda will see the images and hear the dialogue as I say it in this virtual world, but she will see the raw data, the technology of my brain. I’m hoping if she sees a pattern maybe she will notice. Maybe she’ll become open to what I’m about to say. Maybe, just maybe, Mom will begin to remember.
And then I’ll have an ally.
A real ally.
I hug Molly goodbye and wave at the rest of the crowd. Molly bounces on her toes and throws petals of flowers in the air. The raining petals cascade around us as we get inside the limousine and we are whisked away by the driver. I lean into Donovan’s arms and he gives me a slow, drawn out kiss.
“What was that about?” Donovan asks softly. “Calling your mom Miranda?”
I shrug. “Just trying to get her attention.”
Donovan seems suspicious and I’ll need to remember to be more careful. I don’t know if Mom will drive the plot of the virtual reality, but Rex will. I don’t need to plant doubt in his head before I manage to make any progress.
“Nervous about tonight?”
Our wedding night. Joy overcomes any nerves that may be bubbling inside my belly. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
“I’ll make it special.” Donovan tightens his arms around me. “Maybe even some truffles.”
A girl loves chocolate. “We’re an us now.”
“Montgomery, don’t you know we’ve always been an us? Always.”
****
The house my mom shares with Jax is cozy as ever as autumn sets in. From the kitchen window, I can see the big elm tree on the street has lost most of its leaves and the ones it does still have are orange and red. Such a beautiful sight; I wish the twins were there to help me rake a big pile, but they have an important day too, out with their dad to the pumpkin patch along with their new big brother-in-law, Donovan.
Our family has become seamless and, as Mom bustles in the dining room, I am hoping for more.
The pot on the stove is boiling so I pour the macaroni in from the old blue and yellow box. I’ve made mac and cheese so many times I can do it without even looking. On the counter is a small bowl where four tablespoons of butter wait and beside that a quarter of a cup of milk.
I stir the macaroni with a wooden spoon and cover my mouth with my arm. For some reason the act of cooking makes my stomach roll. I feel like I am going to be sick. The steam is warm and wafts into my face and I turn from it as I set the stove to a low simmer.
The clang of silverware in the dining room draws my attention. “Are you all right?” Mom asks as she sets the final place setting on the table.
The table is set for three.
“I’m fine.” I stand still as Mom slides her forearm onto my forehead.
“Normal.” Mom sounds disappointed. “But you look so pale.” She pats my cheeks and stares at me like she’s very worried.
“I’m probably just hungry.”
“Probably,” Mom’s voice echoes. “You want to tell me what we’re doing here today? Who is the mystery guest you’ve invited to dinner?”
“Dad,” I said with a scrunch of my nose and Mom’s face goes pale and limp right in front of me. “It’s not that bad.”
“Lara Montgomery James, if you’re up to some sort of reconciliation nonsense—”
I shake my head. “No! Of course not. Just macaroni and cheese. Just like all those other times.” I slide my hand onto hers. “In our old brown paneled apartment. Don’t you remember?”
Her eyes flutter. “Well, of course I remember. Who could forget? We were as poor as mice.” The doorbell rings and she jolts. Fear shows in her eyes.
“Don’t be nervous. Just go get the door.”
“I’m not nervous. I’m just… Okay, fine, I am. I testified at his trial, Lara. I helped convict him of something he didn’t do. I supported him being released, but how can that be enough?”
“You’ve been together before.”
“Yes!” Mom’s eyes widen. “For you. To stand by you at Patricia’s trial, but this…” When the doorbell rings again, Mom gasps and stares off toward it even though it’s blocked by a wall.
“Unless you actually have x-ray vision, you can’t actually see him.” I push her toward the hallway. “Dinner is almost ready.”
I hurry back to the kitchen to drain the water from the pot and the steam surfaces up from it. I can smell the macaroni and it turns my stomach. What the hell is wrong with me? I love macaroni and cheese. So I can’t begin to even fathom—
“Thanks for having me over,” Dad says and Mom giggles with nerves. “When I was here for Lara’s birthday I didn’t get a chance to tell you what a nice place you have.”
“Oh, thanks, John. That’s so nice of you. You didn’t need to bring wine.”
“Sorry, it’s white. I didn’t know what Lara was making. She said it was special.”
Happily, I present mac and cheese in a large mixing bowl. “Surprise!”
“Your favorite.” Dad shakes his head with a chuckle and kisses my cheek. He grabs my arm when he does it and I feel so warm inside. Everything feels so perfect that I start to forget that this place I am in isn’t even a real place. It isn’t a place at all. It’s just a corner inside my mind.
“Hi, Dad.” I place the bowl down on the table and I dish it out into the three floral bowls that are on the table. Mom has gone all out with the yellow placemats and special silverware. As I set everyone’s filled bowls down, she is leaning across the table and lighting the white pillar candles in the center.
“You don’t need to go to so much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.” Miranda gives Dad a sly smile. “Please, sit.” She gestures to the seat in the middle, which puts him closest to me.
We settle in and I pick up my fork. I poke at my mac and cheese and watch the heat rise on up. Taking a deep breath I can smell that starchy mix of pasta and cheese, but it turns my stomach. I get close to gagging so I pick up my ice water and sip it.
No one seems to notice as they are chewing their food. “Should I open the wine?” Mom asks and holds the bottle. “For us adults anyway.”
Married, but still too young to drink, I force a smile. “Do you remember, Dad, when you taught me to make mac and cheese after…” Crap … after Mom died. “Well, you used to let me stir. When Mom was out late.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Dad spins the fork in his hand and his eyes darken. He glances over at Mom across the table. “It was a long time ago.”
“It sure was.” Mom fiddles with the edges of her napkin. “We used to tuck you into that small bed. The one with the … brown walls.” Her voice flits and her eyes flutter.
> “We covered it up with pink fabric and cute drapes. But I don’t get why the walk down memory lane, Lara. I thought we were trying to move on,” Dad says.
“We are. Some of the memories are happy ones, for me. They make me feel good.” I spoon some mac and cheese into my mouth and it’s hot, but that isn’t what bothers me about it.
It’s the taste. It’s disgusting. Squishy and like someone warmed wet socks in my mouth.
I try to force it down, but I can’t. I grab the nice, yellow, cloth napkin by my bowl and bring it to my mouth. I spit the mac and cheese out and rush the moldy taste away with water. “Ugh,” I sputter out and take another sip.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, you love this stuff. You probably need to buy stock in the company.”
I scowl at my bowl. “It just … tastes funny. Don’t eat it. Maybe the milk’s expired.”
“Funny,” Mom says, “but the milk’s fine. And so is this.” She chews. “Yes, this is fine. What do you think, John?”
“Tastes just like mac and cheese should. Over processed, which I’m pretty sure that’s what we are going for. You used to think it tasted funny too.”
“I did?” Mom scrunches her nose as she thinks back. “Oh, I did! I didn’t know why until I found out about food aversion…” Her eyes go wide. “Lara!”
“What?” This dinner isn’t going like I thought it would and not only am I frustrated, I’m annoyed.
“When I was pregnant with you I couldn’t eat mac and cheese or chicken. Only fruit and cottage cheese. Everything else tasted, well, wrong.”
Dad’s eyes grow. “You mean… You think…”
Mom nods as if it’s going out of style. I put down my fork and cross my arms. I have no idea what she’s getting at until she blurts out the words. “Maybe we’re going to be grandparents!”
“You’re not talking about me, are you?” I lean across the table and study their faces. “You think I’m pregnant? Me?”
“Well, you are married, honey.” Mom smirks on one side of her mouth. “Imagine Mike and Molly as aunt and uncle. They’ll be so tickled about this.”
