Lindsay

So now probably isn’t the time to tell Jane I snuggled with her son. Although we never really did determine if it was actual snuggling, did we? This much I know: when he’s not standing here, I obsess on how ridiculous it is that I’m tempted by a man sharing the same name as my late husband. Utterly obscene, in fact. But then I see his boyish grin, his gorgeous face, his warm eyes, and soft-spoken manner, and reason flies out the window. It’s as if something clicked between us that can’t be turned off—but that’s exactly why it should be. Ronnie’s life is in turmoil at the moment. He doesn’t know who his father really is, his mother has been lying to him his whole life, and I’ve been aiding and abetting the deceivers.

What’s he going to think when he finds that out? Will his fantasy of me pop?

What’s Jane going to think when she finds out I’ve been kissing her son?

What’s Bette going to say about my Christian love for all involved?

And then there’s Jake. This man I loved, once upon a time, back from the dead (to me) to stake a claim in a future he thinks I promised him if he broke off his engagement.

Oh yeah, I’m fried. Anyway you look at it.

I’m stunned at how different Jane is now from the calm artist who arrived on my doorstep with a cat. She’s weak from her illness, stunned by the arrival of a dangerous stranger, and worst of all, the whole of it seems to have broken her spirit.

I’ve been there. I’ve paid the price for my past, and it’s not fun. I can look at Jane and see she’s aged about ten years in the last two months. That’s the thing about life—you can run, but you can’t hide. Eventually, our past catches up with us, and the wave is that much higher, the longer we’ve waited. It’s stronger and more powerful, ready to pull us back into the depths.

Bette paces the room, and I turn the computer on, and type in my mother’s many names. The last known husband’s name shows something in San Dimas. I dial the number, and I hear Nick’s familiar voice. I’m silent for a time as I take it in.

“Hello? Anybody there?”

“Nick?” I finally say. “Is that you?”

“Lindsay? Well, by golly, girl, where ya been?”

“I’m here in L.A. still. Are you by any chance…are you still married to my mother?” I bite my lower lip as I wait for his answer. The thought of my mother being close by brings an excitement in me that I can’t explain. I feel like this could be it. This could be the time we finally see eye to eye.

“Baby girl, your mama’s in the hospital. Some days she remembers me; some days, she don’t.”

I gasp and cling to the side of the desk. “No, Nick. No, don’t play with me. Put her on the phone. Is she telling you to say that? Put her on the phone right now!”

“Lindsay, honey. Your mama’s not here no more.”

I knew this could have happened, but the reality of it makes me sick to my stomach. I can never make it up to her. I can never make her proud of me, or tell her I was grateful for what she did do. What she was capable of. “Do you think she’d recognize me if I went?”

“She might, Lindsay. She always remembered you as the best thing she ever did. So maybe it would be good for her to see you.”

“What city is she in?”

“She’s right here, in San Dimas.”

“Is her health good, other than her memory?”

“Yes, she’s strong as a horse. Just the mind is gone. You remember how your mama liked her cookies? Well, she went into a diabetic coma, and she wasn’t right when she came out of it.”

A diabetic coma. The irony of my mother forgetting me for the same reason Jane struggled earlier isn’t lost on me. It’s like a great cosmic joke that is in no way funny.

“She told me not to call you, Lindsay. When she’s lucid, she said that you wouldn’t come anyway.”

“Nick, you know that’s not true. You know it.”

“Well, I knew it, but I was trying to go along with her. When she knows who I am, I want her happy.”

“So she didn’t try to find me.”

He’s quiet. He doesn’t want to tell me what I already know. That she never gave a thought to me in her life, that telling me I was the best thing to ever happen to her was a lie.

“I’ve made a mess of things.”

“Your mama was a stubborn woman, Lindsay. You come here and visit me when you’re ready, and I’ll take you to her. There’s more chance she’ll remember if you’re with me. You got the address? I got some of her things for you. Some of the memories in picture books and her ear bobs and things. Stuff she’s not going to be using there.”

I nod. “I’m going to go now, Nick. I’m not up to talking.”

“No, course you’re not. You call here when you’re ready, you hear?”

“I will, Nick. I promise.” I hang up the phone and run into Bette’s arms and just let her hold me while I sob it out. All the regrets, all the realities that come with ugly truths from the past. It never seems to end. “My mom, she’s in a home now…I guess her memory’s gone, Bette. Why did I wait so long? Now I can’t tell her that I loved her. I forgive her. I always did, but I didn’t know how to go to her.”

“Oh, honey, you told her. You did tell her. She didn’t want to hear it is all.” Bette pats my back soothingly.

But nothing can soothe this ache. When will the regrets end?