The Memory Child (17 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Diane

Present–July

T
his little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home.” I wiggled Grace’s toes and sang to her. She stared up at me, her eyes wide and full of joy. The most precious smile I’d ever seen stretched across her face as her tiny hands rea
ched out.

All I wanted to do today was be a mom. From the moment I woke up, I knew this was the right decision for me. To be here, with Grace. Nothing else
mattered.

It was amazing, really. I felt lighter, in control, and for the first day in weeks, I had no
headache.

It was going to be a good day.
I knew it.

“Come on, sweet angel, let’s go sit outside.” I couldn’t wait to feel the sun on my skin. Lately, my hands were always freezing, and no matter how thick my sweater, I just couldn’t
get warm.

With Grace in my arms, I made my way down the stairs. I couldn’t wait until she was old enough to walk down them herself. I could almost picture her tiny fingers holding on to the railing as she took one step at a time. I wanted to hear her laughter in the house and listen to her footsteps as she ran down the hallway, with a puppy chasing after her. I thought of the birthdays we’d celebrate here, the Christmas trees decorated with her handmade o
rnaments.

It didn’t hit me until we were almost at the kitchen that in none of those instances did I imagine Brian
with us.

“Yes, I know what today is…I still think a separation at this time is
too soon.”

I stopped as Nina’s voice carried down the
hallway.

“Yes, I understand. I agree. It’s why I’m here, af
ter all.”

Grace started to stir in my arms. I rocked her slightly while rubbing her back to soothe her. The last thing I wanted was for her to alert Nina to our presence. I had a feeling she was speaking to Brian. Who else co
uld it be?

“Let’s see how today goes first. I’ll keep you i
nformed.”

Grace fussed all the more and I knew Nina would have h
eard her.

“Shh, little one. You’re okay.” I headed into the kitchen and decided to act as if I had overheard
nothing.

“Good morning, Diane.” Nina placed her phone in her pocket as I walked into the room. “Can I get you something to drink? Another cup of coffee
, maybe?”

I turned Grace around so she faced Nina in hopes that would soothe her. She started to fuss in earnest now, and her whimpers bot
hered me.

“She’s been like this all morning, Nina. Is this normal? Could she be t
eething?”

Nina barely gave Grace a glance. “Perfectly normal. Now, would you like a cup of tea or
coffee?”

I ground my teeth at Nina’s ignorance. Really? What, because I was home today, she focused on me only and not Grace? What kind of a nann
y was she?

Maybe it was time for me to take more of an active part in Grace’s daily routine. Time to cut the apron strings, so to speak. I really wasn’t sure if I wanted to go back into work full time in the near future, so the need for a nanny wasn’t as necessary as it had been before. Knowing Walter, I could probably convince him to let me work from home until Grace was old enough to go to
day care.

“Nina, what’s your usual routine? Since I plan to be home more often now, I’d like to keep it similar so as not to upset Grace too much.” I kept my voice light, safe…even though if Nina bothered to look me in the eyes she’d know she was on dangero
us ground.

“Your schedule. Yes, let’s talk about that a bit. I think it needs some adjusting.” She poured coffee into a mug and handed it to me. “Are you sleeping enough a
t night?”

“I think so. I’ve just got a lot on
my mind.”

I turned Grace around and tempted her with a pacifier. When she started to suck on it heavily, I realized she must be hungry. And yet, Nina was supposed to have fed her an
hour ago.

“Could she be going through a growth spurt, maybe? I think she’s hungry. Again. Didn’t you just feed her?” I laughed, as if I found the idea funny that my child could be hungry. “Do you have more bottles made up?” I headed to the fridge and glanced inside. Empty. Why didn’t she have an
y made up?

“I wish you had never talked me into letting my milk dry up.” The memory was cloudy, but I remember never having felt so much pain and discomfort as in those first few days when my milk dried. The medication I was on helped, but that pain, of being engorged and knowing there was no relief, of listening to my baby cry and not being able to hold her until after she’d been fed…it
was agony.

I wished I could remember the first few days of Grace’s life. Instead, they were shadows in my mind. There were so many firsts I had missed out on—or at least didn’t remember taking part in—and no photos. How could I have no photos of Grace’s f
irst days?

I searched the cupboards for bottles but couldn’t f
ind them.

“Did you rearrange the kitchen? Why can’t I find anything I’m looking for?” I glanced over my shoulder. It was a little awkward trying to hold Grace while searching the
cupboards.

“What are you looking for?” Ni
na sighed.

“Bottles.” My shoulders tensed up and I could feel the twinges of another headache starting. No. Not today. Today was supposed to be a perfect day, with no issues. Just Grace and me. I let out a long, deep breath and kissed the top of Grac
e’s head.

“I thought maybe we’d sit outside on the deck while I feed Grace, since it’s so beauti
ful out.”

This caught Nina’s a
ttention.

“And maybe go for a walk tonight after dinner when Charlie gets back,” I added. Charlie had left early this morning to run some
errands.

Nina smiled. I felt like the cat trying to lure the mouse into a trap. Except I had a feeling I underestimated
the mouse.

“Now, that sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day. You go on out and I’ll make up
a tray.”

I glanced down at Grace, who sucked eagerly at her pacifier. Her eyes were closed and it looked as if she could nod off at any time, which might be a good thing. If I stretched out her feedings, it might make it easier to keep to her
schedule.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Mommy’s home now and will take good care
of you.”

I
wrapped my housecoat tight around me and made my way to the loft, where a girls’ night was about to begin. Charlie had come home a little while ago after a day of running errands and suggested a movie and
popcorn.

“So, what are we in the mood to watch?” Charlie sat on the couch, legs curled under her. On the coffee table in front of her was an assortment of snack food, everything from popcorn to chips to brownies and even my favorite
cupcakes.

“When did you get those?” My eyes had lit up at the sight. A tray of the most succulent, decadent buttercream cupcakes I’ve ever tasted. It’d been so long since I last had one of those cupcakes—since before Grace was born
, I think.

“While I was out. Figured we deserved to treat ourselves.” She reached for one and placed it on
a plate.

“What’s the occasion?” I sat down beside her and pulled a blanket over my lap. Once again, I couldn’t
get warm.

“No reason,” Charlie hedged while she handed me
my plate.

I didn’t buy it. It was our tradition only to get cupcakes when we had something to celebrate or t
o discuss.

“What’s going on?” On edge now, I placed the plate with my cupcake down on the seat
beside me.

When Charlie took a bite and refused to look me in the eye, I knew something w
as wrong.

“Do you remember how Mags used to tell us that if we let our hearts lead us in life, we could never g
o wrong?”

I nodded. It was Mags’s favori
te saying.

“Do you think we’ve do
ne that?”

I shrugged. “I think we have to the best of our ability. Do
n’t you?”

“Sometimes I
wonder.”

I looked at Charlie, really looked at her. The dark circles were still evident beneath her eyes, just like when she’d first arrived. She was a slender woman to begin with, but her cheekbones were more pronounced, her collarbone more
distinct.

“Charlie, is something wrong? Are you sick? Is there something going on that you haven’t told me about?” A million possibilities swirled in my head, and I knew if I could just reach up and pluck one of them out among the masses, I would know what was
going on.

When she didn’t respond, the hairs on the back of my neck stood at
attention.

“Are you leaving?” The thought set my heart racing. I wasn’t ready for her to leave me. I couldn’t handle another person aban
doning me.

“What? No. I promised I’d stay as long as you ne
eded me.”

“Explain the cupcake then.” I settled in. Whatever it was that she wanted to discuss, I wanted her to know I was open to it. How bad co
uld it be?

A sheepish grin crept on her face for a few moments before it disappeared. She set her plate back down on the coffee table and reached for
my hand.

“Have you looked through the box I brou
ght yet?”

I was really hoping she would have forgotten about that box. I could have lied and said I hadn’t looked through it yet,
but…

“You don’t really want to talk about i
t, do you?

“What’s there to talk about? Are you really wanting to rehash our childhoo
d again?”

“I’d like to talk about this.” She bent down and picked up something from
the floor.

I watched as she reached into her purse and pulled out a book I would always instantly
remember.

The book itself was nondescript. A soft yellow cover that had faded with age. But it was a journal that I had kept secret from both my sister and my aunt, the one in which I tried to understand our parents’ actions and how they had molded me into
an adult.

But that wasn’t the only reason why I had kept it secret. I let out a long sigh and held out my hand. It took her a moment, but she released
it to me.

“Please tell me you didn’t read it.” I knew that was wishful thinking by the way her chin dropped to
her chest.

It really wasn’t the words written inside the journal that I didn’t want her to read, but what was contained between the pages. I’d placed the note our mother had written right before she killed herself in there; the note I had kept from Charlie for all the
se years.

She shook her head. “I didn’t read your journal. We promised each other we w
ouldn’t.”

Relieved, I held out my hand for the book, but she pulled it closer and opened it, flipping through
the pages.

“I did find this, however.” She pulled it out and he
ld it up.

I didn’t know what to say, how to explain…nothing I would have said would make up for what was written on t
hat note.

Nothing.

“Why didn’t you burn this? Why keep it as a reminder? Why torture yourself li
ke this?”

“I couldn’t.” I smoothed the blanket that was on my lap and picked at stray pieces of lint. “Those words were the last things Mom said. I didn’t…I couldn’t…” I struggled to find the words t
o explain.

“I would have.” There was a harsh determination in Charlie’s voice. “I would have been okay remembering how Mom was that morning when we said good-bye. How she gave me an extra hug and kissed the top of my forehead, how she smelled, and the slight whiff of coffee on her breath. I would have been okay with that. I would have remembered her last words to me for the rest of my life and forgotten all about this note. She told us she loved us.” Charlie wiped at the tears pooling in her eyes. “Do you remember that? That she loved us more th
an life.”

Of course I remembered that. How could
I forget?

“She lied, didn’t she?” Charlie looked away from me. “I never thought about that until now. That she lied to us. Did she know that morning what she was going to do or was it a decision she made later? Did she even think about us, how it would af
fect us?”

I reached my hand out to touch her. I could hear in her voice how much this a
te at her.

“She never lied to us, Charlie. You have to belie
ve that.”

Charlie
snorted.

“I do.” I wasn’t just saying that either. I really did b
elieve it.