by Kristy Tate
She grabbed her suitcase and novel away from him, said thank you a beat or two later than she should have to be polite, and brushed past him on her way to the large desk with the word INFORMATION hanging above it.
“Can I help you?” a gum-smacking woman asked.
Lizbet cast one more look over her shoulder. The dark man with the widow’s peak had left. Tension eased from her shoulders, and she smiled at the middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk.
“I’m looking for Rose Wood,” Lizbet said. “Can you tell me what room she’s in?”
The woman clicked her fingers on a keyboard and stared at a screen in front of her. “I’m not seeing any Rose Wood,” she said after a few smacks of gum. “You could try the Veteran’s or the Presbyterian.”
Lizbet scratched her head and blinked back a few tears, wondering. Did this woman really think she could ask just any veteran or Presbyterian about her mom? “Do you know where would I find veterans and Presbyterians?”
“Well, the Presbyterian is about four miles that way, and the Veteran’s is near Lake Union.
A heaviness that nothing to do with the weight of her suitcase and bag pressed down Lizbet’s shoulders. “Are you sure?”
Smack, smack. “Absolutely.”
Lizbet recalled her conversation with Officer Mayer. He had called her mom a Jane Doe. “Do you, by any chance, have any Jane Does?”
The woman stopped her gum chewing for a moment to give Lizbet a brief are-you-crazy sort of look.
Lizbet mentally shrugged, hugged her bags against herself, and went back out the wide doors. Once again, the magic doors slid open for her, but this time, instead of welcoming her in, she felt as if they were spitting her out.
Not knowing what else to do or where to go, Lizbet spotted a small park on the corner of Horacio and Mabel and she headed toward it. She selected a bench beneath a maple tree and sat down. Now what?
She drummed her fingers on her leg. “Tennyson?”
The cat didn’t answer, which made sense. After all, she’d told him to wait for her on the corner of Mabel and Cedar. But she wished he was here now.
A long black car pulled up to the intersection. The windows were darkly tinted, but for a flash of a second, Lizbet thought she could see the man with the widow’s peak sitting in the back seat.
Strange. She knew him somehow. Her thoughts went back to her mom’s ginger root. She missed her mom, she worried about her, but at that moment, she was also incredibly angry.
The world couldn’t be the hostile, villainous place her mother had made it out to be. Lizbet glanced around the park and saw mothers and babies, children laughing and playing on a swing set, youths riding boards, a young man strumming a guitar, and a girl about her own age sitting on a blanket and reading a book. Not one of them looked as if they possessed an evil bone. Why had her mother kept her locked away from all of this? And how many doses of ginger root had she been given to cloud her memory? For all she knew, her mom may have been going on frequent trips to the city and giving her ginger root tea to make her forget her absence.
Lizbet’s whole life seemed like a lie. She didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“There you are,” a familiar voice said. Tennyson jumped onto her lap.
“How did you find me?”
“I heard you call. We felines have excellent hearing, you know. Let the dogs have their smell—that’s a double entendre in case you hadn’t picked up on it. Hearing is much more useful and much less distracting than intense olfactory function.”
“I suppose,” Lizbet muttered, stroking the cat’s fur.
“Did you find your mother?”
“There’s no one by the name of Rose Wood in the hospital.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s not there.”
Lizbet sat up straighter. She glanced at the gigantic building with its myriad of windows and slunk back down feeling defeated. It was so huge. Her mom was just one person. And a small one at that.
“What if I don’t find her?” Lizbet asked. What if she died? Lizbet didn’t know much about life in the city, but she did know she was incredibly ill-equipped to get along on her own. How long would her money last? And how would she manage when it, too, was gone?
“Who are you looking for?”
Lizbet’s head whipped around. The young man and Beetle stood in front of her.
Tennyson rose with a hiss. “I’ll go and see what I can find.”
“There he goes again,” the young man said with a grin as he watched the cat bolt across the lawn. “Will you chase him up another wall?”
Lizbet gave him a halfhearted shrug.
“What’s your name?”
“Until a few moments ago I thought my name was Lizbet Woods, but now I’m not so sure.”
“What changed?” He settled down on the bench beside her and Beetle nestled at his feet.
Lizbet felt his warmth and was drawn to it. She fought the ridiculous desire to tuck her fingers into the pockets of his jacket. She debated on whether or not to confide in him. As he gazed at her with his liquid blue eyes, her hesitation melted and all the warnings that her mother had instilled in her for years and years flitted away on the breeze. So she launched into her story. She told him about the island and her solitary life with her mother leaving out the crucial details of her ability to speak with the animals, because even she, with her lack of social skills, understood that talking to animals just wasn’t done. Although, she wasn’t sure why not.
When she got to the part about the man in the boat and how her mother had sent her away and when she’d returned she’d found her mother struggling for life, the beautiful boy beside her fell still and she felt his indecision. She read the disbelief in his eyes. “Here I’ve told you all about me, and I don’t even know your name.”
He nudged her with his knee. “My name is Declan Lamb.”
“Well, Declan Lamb, do you know any veterans or Presbyterians?”
“What? Why?”
She nodded toward the hospital. “The woman told me to check with veterans and Presbyterians if they knew where my mother is, and that just seems so...” she waved her hand in the air as if searching for something to grab, “...random.”
He laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
“Seriously?”
Her eyes welled with tears.
“Oh, geez, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean... I’m an ass. Of course you’re serious.” Although, his expression told her he didn’t quite believe her. “I’m sure she meant the veterans’ and Presbyterian hospitals.”
“Oh.” Relief swept through her, although she wasn’t quite sure why. She would still have a hard time finding or getting to either place. But finding a hospital seemed much easier than finding a veteran or Presbyterian who might know anything about her mom.
“Meow!” Tennyson sat high in the branches of a maple tree directly above them. Beetle glanced up and shook his tail at the cat, letting his air of bored disinterest slip for a moment.
“I found your mother,” Tennyson said. “They are calling her Daugherty Westmoor.”
Lizbet bounced up.
Declan looked at her as if she’d sprouted cauliflower from her ears.
“I have to go,” she told him as she gathered up her bags and hurried back across the street and through the wide magical glass doors that slid open just as she needed them to.
CHAPTER SIX
“To kill an error is as good a service as, and sometimes even better than, the establishing of a new truth or fact.”
—Charles Darwin
From Declan’s Research
She found her mother on the second floor in the ICU unit. Lizbet smiled gratefully at the large pine tree right outside the window, knowing it had played a key role in helping Tennyson find her mother. She dropped her bags and sagged in relief when she saw her mom lying in the hospital bed. Yes, her face was pale, her lips gray, her hair greasy, and she had tubes and wires hooked up to her
, but she was still Lizbet’s mother—the only person that Lizbet really knew.
Or did she?
Why were they calling her Daugherty Westmoor? Had her mom had been lying to her about her name? And if so, what else had she lied about? And why?
Lizbet brushed aside these dark thoughts. There was one thing she knew for sure: Her mother loved her. And if she’d lied, she must have had a very good reason. Lizbet pulled a stiff plastic chair away from the wall and dragged it closer to her mom’s bedside so she could sit while holding her mom’s hand. Her mom’s skin felt cold—nothing like Declan’s radiating warmth. “I really need you to wake up now,” she said.
Her mom didn’t respond.
A tiny nurse in thick white shoes strode into the room. She had a clipboard in her hand, a tag with the name Stacy over her left breast, and a tight smile on her lips.
“Any idea when she’ll regain consciousness?” Lizbet asked.
Compassion flickered in the tiny nurse’s gaze. “I’m sorry, no. I wish I had a better answer for you.”
“Can she hear me?”
“Maybe. There are instances of people who have woken up from a coma with memories of their time asleep.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s had a head injury. Most coma patients are completely unarousable, and unresponsive to even their own needs.” Stacy shrugged. “It’s hard to say how long this stage will last. It can be for weeks or months. There’s no way of knowing when or how she’ll wake.” Stacy cocked her head. “Are you close?”
“She’s my mom.”
“Really?”
“Why does that surprise you?”
“You look nothing alike.”
Lizbet smiled. “She used to call us salt and pepper.”
“What nationality was your father?”
“I never knew my dad.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She blushed. “Please forgive me. I need to learn to mind my own business, but sometimes, as a nurse, it’s really hard since nosey questions are a part of my job. After asking people when they last moved their bowels, asking about their fathers seems not as personal.”
Lizbet smiled. “It’s okay. I’m curious about my dad, too.”
“Wouldn’t your mom know?”
“You’re a nurse. You should get that she might not.” Lizbet squeezed her mom’s hand. “I still love her.”
“There might be more to that story,” Stacy said.
“And only she can tell it.”
“No, remember, there’s someone else, too. But like you said, he didn’t stick around to see the ending.”
Footsteps pounded down in the hall and soon a small crowd entered the room. The first was a short bald doctor with the nametag Dr. Chow clipped on his breast pocket. A woman resembling Rose, tiny, fair, and pink-cheeked, followed. She wore a black suit and sported a man’s haircut. An elderly woman, wearing a lost and confused expression and a patchwork skirt, denim shirt, and lace-up boots trailed behind them.
Lizbet kept her mother’s hand in her grip, but stood.
Nurse Stacy hugged her clipboard to her chest.
“Who are you?” the Rose look-a-like demanded.
“I’m Lizbet. Who are you?”
The woman snorted.
“You’re Lizbet?” The elderly woman’s hand fluttered near her chest. “So am I. Well, they used to call me that. My name is Elizabeth.”
“What I meant was,” the carbon copy of Rose said, “what’s your relationship to Daugherty?”
Lizbet dropped her mother’s hand and went to pick up the elderly woman’s. Her skin felt smooth and warm. “I’m Rose’s...Daugherty’s daughter.”
The middle-aged woman snorted again. “Oh, this is just ridiculous!”
Elizabeth blinked. “It’s wonderful. A miracle. My daughter has been missing for nearly twenty years. And now she’s returned and brought a daughter of her own with her.”
The woman took Elizabeth’s arm and drew her away from Lizbet. “Mother, be reasonable. We don’t know who this is. We can’t even be sure this is Daugherty!” She waved an arm over the bed like she was brushing away cobwebs.
“Nonsense, Josie.” Elizabeth’s eyes gazed into Lizbet’s. “How can you doubt this is Daugherty? She looks just like you, except for better.”
Which Lizbet thought was a really insulting thing to say, considering her mom’s gray skin and bloodless lips.
Josie must have thought so, too. “Mother!” She stomped her high-heel.
“Maternity is easy to validate,” Dr. Chow murmured.
Elizabeth gave him a quick scowl. “We don’t need to waste our money on unnecessary tests. Of course this is my daughter. She’s the spitting image of her sister and her Aunt Connie.” Elizabeth peered at Lizbet as if trying to determine her blood pool. “I’m not sure where you sprang from, but knowing Daugherty, I’m sure it will prove to be an interesting story.”
“You don’t know this girl from Adam!” Josie protested.
“I highly doubt she’s from Adam, if you mean the husband of Eve, but the most important thing is she knows where she’s from and she can tell us what Daugherty has been up to these past twenty years.”
“I can tell you what I know,” Lizbet said, “but you might be disappointed at how little that is.” Lizbet stared at Elizabeth. Was this truly her grandmother? Was this Josie, a hostile carbon copy of her mother, her aunt? Did she have family after all, and if so, why would her mom hide from them? Elizabeth, at least, looked harmless.
Elizabeth wiped a tear from her eye. “This is such a miracle...”
“Yes,” Josie muttered, sounding much less awe-struck. “Dr. Chow, why don’t you tell us my sister’s prognosis?”
Lizbet motioned to the chair and Elizabeth sank into it with a grateful but nearly inaudible sigh. It was easy to see her relationship with Josie was strained. Lizbet began to wonder how Rose had fared growing up with Josie.
Rose typically wore her hair loose around her shoulders or tied back with a strip of ribbon. Josie had her hair clipped close to her head. The mannish cut suited her and showed off her strong chin. She wore a black well-tailored suit, dark hose, and two-inch high heels, and she tapped on her phone while the doctor spoke. It took Lizbet a moment to realize Josie was taking notes. This helped Lizbet to not completely hate her.
“So, as you can see, this stage can last for minutes or years,” Dr. Chow concluded.
“Years?” Josie’s voice cracked. “I’m sure she wouldn’t want to remain in this vegetable state for years.”
“She’s no more a vegetable than I am a fruit,” Elizabeth said.
“That’s certainly debatable,” Josie muttered.
“In fact, I believe that she’s listening to us right now.” Elizabeth pushed back the pale hair from Rose’s forehead.
Josie audibly swallowed.
“I hope so,” Lizbet whispered.
“Well then, I hope she wakes up soon so she can answer some questions!” Josie said, frowning at her sister.
“The best thing we can do is keep her comfortable,” Dr. Chow said.
“And that includes keeping your conversations positive,” Nurse Stacy put in, giving Josie a nasty look. “She has to want to wake up.”
Josie rolled her eyes. “Mother, I must get back to work.”
“Of course Jose,” Elizabeth said. “I think I’ll stay here and get to know my granddaughter.” She winked at Lizbet. “If that’s okay with you.”
“How will you get back to the ranch?” Josie asked.
“You can pick me up after work.”
“I don’t have time for that!”
“Well, then I’ll have Perez come and get me.”
Josie snorted and looked like she wanted to stomp her high heel again.
Elizabeth waved her hand as if shooing away flies. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
Josie slid Lizbet a suspicious glance. “It’s not you I’m worried about,” she muttered as she str
ode out the door. Dr. Chow and Nurse Stacy followed. The room fell silent save the buzzing and beeping of the monitors.
“Why does she hate me when she doesn’t even know me?” Lizbet asked, breaking the silence.
Elizabeth blinked at her with clouded green eyes. “She doesn’t hate you child. She hates her life.”
“Then why doesn’t she change it?”
Elizabeth lifted her eyebrows. “It’s not an easy thing to do. Especially when you’re scared.”
“What does she have to be scared of?”
“The world’s a scary place.”
“That’s what my mother always said, too.”
Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me about your life with my daughter.”
Lizbet glanced out the window and spotted Tennyson sitting in the tree. He flicked his tail, letting her know he had all day. Eventually, Lizbet would need to start worrying about where she would spend the night. She didn’t want to leave Queen Anne as long as her mother was there, so going back to the island on her own was an impossibility, but she didn’t know how much hotels cost or if they allowed cats.
“Do hotels accept cats?”
“You have a cat?” Elizabeth was clearly surprised by the turn of the conversation.
Lizbet nodded at Tennyson.
Elizabeth twisted to peer at the cat on the other side of the thick glass pane. The two studied each other.
“You and your furry friend can stay with me,” Elizabeth announced.
“Do you...Don’t you think Josie will mind?”
Elizabeth chuckled. “I’m more concerned about Lucy.”
“Who’s Lucy?”
“My housekeeper. She’s a fussbudget and not very fond of cats. Josie would like to believe that she controls my life, but she doesn’t. In fact, Lucy has more say than Josie. Now, why don’t we have a nice long chat before we worry about how we’re going to get your cat out of that tree?”
Lizbet knew there were plenty of more troublesome things to worry about, but she sat down on a chair opposite Elizabeth and told her everything she thought Elizabeth might find interesting. She did not, however, tell her that she could talk to animals. Although, that was probably the most interesting thing about her.
