What a Mother Knows

by Leslie Lehr

  Copyright © 2013 by Leslie Lehr

  Cover and internal design © 2013 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Mary Ann Smith

  Cover photo © 2011 dm909/Gettyimages

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

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  Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Reading Group Guide

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For my girls, Juliette and CJ

  “If you run away,” said his mother,

  “I will run after you. For you are my little bunny.”

  —The Runaway Bunny

  by Margaret Wise Brown

  Prologue

  No one saw the deadly crash in the canyon on that gray October morning. The weather was strange, an out-of-season sprinkle from the coastal fog drifting inland. Soggy hitchhikers huddling under the umbrella of an ancient oak tree were the last to see the black SUV as it hydroplaned past them into the Santa Monica Mountains. A muffled bass beat trailed as it climbed the winding lane, up and around the evergreen scrub, until it disappeared in the forest crowning the coastal range. A mile farther, at the lovers’ lookout above the vast checkerboard of Valley streets, tire tracks puddled with mud were the only signs of human life.

  As the headlights tunneled into the mist, no one noticed how the worn wipers flailed at the thrumming rain, how they blocked the bird’s-eye view of the gorge that inspired the Tongva name “Topanga,” a place above. No one could testify how the engine groaned as it climbed that ear-popping stretch of sacred land. Or how the vehicle veered around the dizzying curve, spraying water over the edge of the rocky cliff.

  When a coyote streaked past to scale the hillside, the bumper dipped into a flooded pothole. Bright headlights bobbed across a plywood peace sign, then lit a tall pole flying a plaster pig toward heaven. A few yards farther, the beams flashed across the ruins of a legendary roadhouse like the spotlights of decades past. Echoes of Arlo Guthrie and Neil Young lingered in the air, but it was Jim Morrison’s tribute that haunted the highway beyond. “Keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel…Let it roll, baby, roll.”

  The Explorer dove off the cliff. Airborne, the bass boomed louder and reverberated across the canyon, accompanying a chorus of screams. It crashed against a scrubby ledge, then spun through the shower of pine needles, shredded branches and shards of broken grill, hurtling down, down, down, ribs snapping against the steering wheel, head splitting on the dashboard, music still blaring until the SUV smashed against the rock wall, shearing off the side mirror, shattering the window, shooting out into the ravine where the chassis flipped. The car exploded into the creek bed, airbags popping, bones cracking, flesh tearing, as the two ton cage of steel folded like origami into the mud.

  Raindrops fell.

  When the sky cleared, the canyon Cub Scout troop began its weekly hike. They wandered out from the willows lining the flooded creek as the last plumes of smoke rose from the smoldering wreckage. Crows hidden in the hillside canopy flew out in a dark feathered cloud. A rabbit burrowed into his den beneath a steaming puddle of blood. Soon, sirens wailed in the distance.

  By afternoon, the muddy canyon was clogged with emergency vehicles. The sky pulsed with the thwack-thwack-thwack of news helicopters circling for a story. Reporters soon pieced together the who, what, when, and where. But no one could explain the why. The only witness was trapped inside.

  1

  Eighteen Months Later

  Michelle inhaled deeply, intoxicated by the scent of orange blossoms infusing the spring air. She smiled at the sidewalk parade of baby strollers and couples holding hands as Drew drove slowly down their street. He braked for the children bicycling past, then pulled the car into the driveway. Their classic California ranch house rose up behind the picket fence like a mirage, glimmering in the last golden rays of the day.

  Michelle fumbled to unbuckle her seat belt as her husband circled behind the silver Volvo and opened her door. She climbed out slowly, stiff from the long drive home from the hospital. When he gallantly offered his arm, she felt like a queen being escorted back to her castle. Her hungry eyes savored every inch of the yard until she felt dizzy and had to squeeze them shut. She opened them quickly to be sure she wasn’t dreaming. No, she was awake. After all those grueling months learning to walk again, she yearned to dance barefoot in the lush grass. She was tempted to tear the petals off those crazy-big roses and toss them in the air like confetti. And she had never seen anything quite so wonderful as the name Mason spelled out on the mailbox. She was home.

  When a Coldplay ringtone split the air, Drew pulled the phone from his jeans pocket and checked the number. He gave Michelle a quick kiss in apology, then handed her the cane that she rarely used anymore. Worn out from her last physical therapy session, she rested against it like a windblown palm tree.

  She turned to admire her handsome husband as he spoke in the clipped tones of a work call. His hair had thinned to a halo and there were lines framing his face now, but she cherished every one. She was grateful that he had taken such good care of things while she was gone. He pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and wiped his face when he hung up, sighing with happiness or exhaustion, she couldn’t tell which. Drew had always been full of mystery. That’s what had attracted her when they first met, at a student film wrap party eighteen years ago. Or was it twenty now?

  A car horn honked. Michelle turned to see a white Jetta pull to the curb. She hugged her bad arm out of habit and called to the young woman in periwinkle scrubs who was climbing out. “Hi, Lexi! I thought we lost you.”

  Lexi hung a nurse’s case over her slim shoulder, then yanked her blond ponytail free of the strap. “Serves me right for finishing your discharge papers at rush hour. On a Friday, no less.” When she opened the trunk, a bouquet of helium balloons burst out. She grabbed for the ribbons, but they were already rising high
above her. The words Good Luck flashed until the balloons flew from sight. Lexi looked over with a pained expression.

  Michelle laughed. She didn’t need balloons to make this day special. She felt as if she were flying herself, nearly bursting with joy. She had dreamt of this day for as long as she could remember.

  Lexi scooped up a large bakery box then shut the trunk with her elbow.

  Drew waved. “Need help with the cake?”

  A husky voice called from the front door. “Did someone say ‘cake’?” Michelle smiled at her son, Tyler. After spending the last few weeks limited to cafeteria food between family sessions at the hospital, he could easily devour the rest of the cake in one sitting. Michelle would have to save a slice for his big sister, Nikki, who’d been away at school for months. She was due home in the morning, a mere twelve hours away. Nikki was the treat that Michelle craved most—she was starving for the very sight of her.

  The bark of a dog drowned out whatever Tyler said next. Their St. Bernard barreled out of the house and headed directly for Michelle. Drew stepped in quickly to block the shaggy beast from knocking Michelle over.

  “Bella!” Tyler called, but she kept jumping to get at Michelle. Tyler ran over and grabbed the dog’s studded collar. “She missed you, Mom.”

  Michelle scratched behind Bella’s ear. “I missed you too, Bella. Hard to believe you’re the same pup I found licking hamburger wrappers on Sunset Boulevard.” She looked up at Tyler. “What are you feeding her?”

  “Hamburgers,” Tyler admitted. His eyes were jade green, like his father’s, and when he pulled his mother up for a hug, she saw that he was almost as tall. “And Easter candy, but don’t worry, I saved you some.” While his words were lighthearted, she could feel the longing in his embrace. She squeezed him back with her good arm to assure him that yes, she was still that person, still the one who loved stray dogs and chocolate—and him.

  The front door banged open and a few friends leaned out to wave. “Welcome home!”

  Michelle caught her breath and looked at Drew with her eyes brimming. He kissed her forehead and ushered her slowly inside. Before she knew it, Michelle had been swept right through the foyer into the living room, past the fireplace and French doors and over to the oak dining table. She was touched to see the spring bouquet and the boxed candle and the homemade lemon bars. There was even a bottle of bubbly wrapped with a red bow. But she took the most comfort from the sight of the table itself. The deep scratch in the center reminded her of that day early in their marriage when she and Drew had bought it at an after-earthquake sale. Since the accident, entire months were missing from her memory, so this fleeting glimpse of that moment inspired hope.

  Julie, her wine-tasting buddy from across the street, gave her a tender hug. “Oh my god, Michelle, it’s so good to have you home. You look fabulous! I never noticed how thin you were, wrapped in that hospital bathrobe.”

  Michelle looked down at her gaunt frame draped in cotton pants and a Velcro-tabbed top. “It’s called the Coma Diet,” she teased. “But I wouldn’t recommend it.” She took in Julie’s curves, displayed to great effect in her fitted blouse and black pencil skirt. And after wearing slippers for so long, Michelle nearly drooled at the sight of Julie’s burgundy pumps.

  “Oh hush, it’s been almost a year since you woke up. Didn’t you get the case of Girl Scout cookies I dropped off at the hospital?”

  “Sure, but aside from learning to talk and walk again, one of the first things I had to learn to do was share. The other patients in my ward finished them in a week.”

  “No worries,” Julie said. “The gamine look becomes you. Like Audrey Hepburn.” She pointed at Michelle’s hair. “And how brave to go au naturale.”

  Michelle fingered her short gray locks. “I couldn’t color it myself.” She automatically looked down at her limp right arm, immobilized in a skin-colored compression sleeve from above her elbow down to her withered fingers.

  “Of course not,” Julie said quickly. “I’m just surprised they didn’t have a salon in that place—your husband claimed it was state of the art.”

  “That hardly seems important,” a woman’s voice interjected. Cathy, the wife of Tyler’s baseball coach, set plastic forks on the table, then joined them. “How are you feeling, Michelle?”

  “Wonderful,” Michelle said. Cathy was shorter, but her embrace was so warm and her sweater was so soft that Michelle was reluctant to let go.

  “We’re so glad to have you back,” Cathy said, smoothing her sweater over her flowered skirt. She glanced at her husband, Kenny, who stood at the other end of the table speaking with Drew. Both men were circling forty, but Kenny still had a full head of brown hair. The stocky build beneath his Dodgers baseball jacket was a compliment to Cathy’s cooking. “Want to sit down?”

  Michelle wasn’t sure if they’d seen her wobble or were just being polite, but her legs still throbbed from walking the hospital hallways long enough to prove herself competent to go home. She settled in the chair that Julie pulled out. “Join me?”

  “I’ve been sitting all day,” Julie said. “Plus, I like being taller than you.”

  Cathy refused as well. “We don’t want to wear out our welcome. You must be exhausted. Can I get you anything to eat?”

  “Thanks, but I had cake earlier. Or did I?” she called to Lexi, who laughed from a few feet away, where she was setting out slices on party plates. Michelle smiled at the others, who exchanged looks of concern. After a year of rehabilitation she was used to being prodded and poked, but not stared at. They were making her nervous. “That was a joke—I ate my piece and most of Lexi’s. I do have memory problems, but I never forget dessert. Especially chocolate. Of course, now I’m forgetting my manners—have you two been introduced?”

  “Oh, we’re old friends by now,” Cathy said. “Julie’s daughter is in my Girl Scout troop this year. The girls are off at a cookie meeting with my co-leader.”

  “Goodness,” Michelle said, looking at Julie. “Last time Nikki babysat your kids, Sophie was in Brownies.” She rubbed her bad arm, wondering how much her own daughter had grown since she last saw her. She knew Nikki had visited in the hospital, but it was all so fuzzy. Straining to remember made the passage of time more real, and more painful.

  Lexi noticed Michelle’s distress and joined them. “Did someone say cookie meeting? Because I’d love another box of Thin Mints. I’m Lexi, by the way, Michelle’s care manager.”

  Michelle relaxed when Lexi stepped to her side. “She’s been torturing me since I came out of the coma.”

  “Almost a year now,” Lexi agreed. “That may sound long, but most of my patients never make it out of Acute Care. They’re either permanently disabled or…”

  The women exchanged fretful looks. “Was Michelle’s injury similar to that congresswoman in Arizona?”

  “Yes, except with Michelle it was tons of steel crushing her instead of a bullet in her head. It’s rare to recover from any traumatic brain injury, but Michelle is a fighter.”

  Julie shivered. “I’ve always hated driving through Topanga. It’s pretty, but Sophie gets carsick around those curves. I’d rather sit in freeway traffic, especially in the rain. It’s a miracle you made it.”

  Michelle put a finger to her lips. “Shhh! A miracle won’t look good on Lexi’s résumé.” Lexi laughed.

  Cathy spoke up. “So, Michelle, do you remember the accident at all?”

  “Nothing. Last thing I remember is gift-wrapping a camera for Nikki’s sweet sixteen a few weeks earlier. Weird, huh?”

  “That’s not atypical,” Lexi explained to Cathy and Julie. “She remembers things before that. It’s as if her brain is trying to protect her from the scary stuff so she can focus on feeling better. The mind-body connection is pretty amazing that way. Most of it will probably come back to her over time.”

  “Every once in a while I get a flash of something, but…it doesn’t always make sense.” Michelle lowered her voice and gestured t
o Julie’s chest. “For instance, I don’t remember you being so voluptuous.”

  “You remember right about that,” Julie said, winking.

  Cathy frowned and turned to Lexi. “So, at some point, it will all come back?”

  “Hard to say,” Lexi admitted. “Some TBI patients take a few months, some years; some never recover any memories at all.”

  “I’m not sure I’d want to remember,” Julie said. “First all those surgeries—then being kept in a coma for all those months? What was that like?” Julie felt Cathy’s glare. “I’m sorry, was that rude? I don’t want to upset you.”

  “What could upset me now?” Michelle asked. “It’s over. The coma felt like a long deep sleep. Then sort of an increasing awareness until one day…I woke up.”

  “Like Sleeping Beauty,” Julie said.

  Michelle glanced at Lexi, who smiled. “Once Michelle could speak comfortably, she started reading fairy tales to the patients who weren’t functioning as well. They really responded to the fantasy aspect and the happy endings. It was brilliant.”

  Michelle interrupted. “I was bored. Newspapers and TV were off limits in our wing. They said we were anxious enough without outside stimulation.”

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it,” Lexi argued. “Anyway, Sleeping Beauty was always a big hit.”

  “It’s very romantic,” Julie said. “But I’m glad you didn’t have to sleep a hundred years for a prince to wake you with a kiss.”

  “Five months was long enough,” Cathy agreed. She glanced at her husband, still deep in conversation with Drew. “You can miss a lot in five months.”

  “I didn’t mind missing my fortieth birthday,” Michelle said.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Julie said. She picked up the bottle of champagne and read the card. “Who’s Becca? And more importantly, will she mind if I open this?”

  Michelle shook her head. “She’s my best friend from film school. Sorry she’s not here, but she’s a party girl—wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”