"She told me once that she liked coming here because you guys were so normal."
"Oh? She did?” Her grandmother's eyes softened a little. "Well, things were a bit unusual across the street. That grandmother of yours." Grandma Maggie pursed her lips. "I suppose your mother was just looking for some direction."
"Yeah. I suppose."
"You know, life is funny," Grandma Maggie continued. "Now, your great grandmother, who you were named after, she was just as normal as apple…" The words died out on her lips. She ran the palm of her hand over the arm of her chair, apparently deciding that the cliche expression might be offensive. "Anyway, someone like Barbara having a daughter like Ramani––well, that was unexpected."
Barbara picked up a coaster from the stack on the coffee table and placed her glass on it. "I wanted to invite you and Grandpa and Aunt Carrie to come over this Saturday for dinner. I don't know if Aunt Carrie told you, but my mom doesn't remember much beyond being sixteen."
"I don't know the particulars," her grandma said. "Only that she lost her memory. Does she remember you kids at all?"
Barbara shook her head no, and her grandmother's hand rose slowly to her mouth. "That's awful, Barbie."
"But she remembers Dad, and she seems to come alive whenever he's around."
Something flashed in her grandmother's eyes. Barbara wasn't sure what it was. Disapproval? No, Barbara decided, studying her grandmother. It was protectiveness. It was her dad's heart that had been broken. Her mom left him, not the other way around.
"I know that you and Grandpa haven't always seen eye to eye with my mom, but I know that part of that has to do with the recent years. Mom––she's just––well, she just doesn't remember any of it, and the few times I mentioned you guys she seemed interested. I thought maybe it would be nice if we had dinner together as a family. I think my mom would actually like seeing you two because you're a part of a past that she does remember."
"And Erica?"
Barbara bit her lip. A few times, Erica and her grandpa had gotten into it. Grandpa Ron seemed to be the only person on Earth who could actually rile up Erica to the point of yelling, really yelling. Six months ago, they'd argued about Jesse when he showed up to visit at their grandparent's house with barrettes in his hair. It was before he'd fully begun dressing like a girl. The screaming match ended with grandpa Ron calling Erica a fascist, black dyke bitch who had broken up his son's marriage and was now intent on turning his grandson into a freak. Erica had sworn that his racist butt would never be allowed in their house again.
“It’s not your house, though, is it?!” He'd roared, slamming the door in her face.
"I talked to Erica," Barbara said. "They’re willing to put aside differences for my mom's sake."
Grandma Maggie dipped her head and then glanced back up at Barbara.
"I'll have a talk with him, Barbie. Ron can be stubborn, but I know he misses being a grandpa to all of you, and frankly there's no reason for us to go on like this."
Barbara was surprised at this small admission. Her grandfather could have fooled her. She had never really felt that Grandpa Ron had taken much interest in his role as a grandfather.
"We're a different generation," her grandmother said as if reading her thoughts. "Ron's never been the buddy type of parent. We've always worked and let the kids get on with being kids. None of that helicopter parenting they talk about today. But I know he misses throwing a BBQ or taking you kids to the ballpark."
Barbara grimaced inwardly at the idea of hanging out at a sports stadium.
"When were you thinking, for dinner?"
"Saturday?"
"The day after tomorrow then."
Barbara nodded and picked up her glass of water.
"A refill?" Her grandma asked.
"Sure."
When Grandma Maggie got up to go into the kitchen, Barbara let her eyes roam the room. It hadn't changed much, if at all, from when she'd been small. All of the same pictures were still up in their same spots. Only Barbara's and her siblings’ photos changed, updated with the school year. Aunt Carrie and their dad's high school and prom pictures sat over the fireplace mantel, fossilized in time. Their dad had taken some other girl to the prom, a blond. After Taylor's murder, Barbara's mom and dad had stopped hanging out. They didn't reconnect until they were in their early twenties. Grandma and Grandpa's wedding photo was on the opposite wall alongside her dad and mom's wedding picture. Aunt Carrie hadn't married yet. She'd been engaged once. On an end table sat a bronzed baseball glove, a picture of her dad as a kid in Little League back when they lived in Indiana. Her grandparents’ house was starting to take on the look and feel of a home that was no longer alive, a mummified version of its once vibrant self. Barbara saw other older couples like her grandparents around the neighborhoods of Culver City, some much older than Maggie and Ron. She'd often watch them from a distance, taking out their garbage bins, poking at their lawns, grey hair fluttering in the breeze like goose down. They were part of another time, and one day they'd be gone, taking the fantasy they'd created of the 1950s and 60s with them.
Carefree smiles.
Patent leather shoes.
MGM Studios.
Ice cream parlors.
Diners.
Big, shiny cars.
Suits and ties.
Crew cuts.
Red lipstick and bouffant hair.
Blemish free white lives.
It was never a thought Barbara shared with anyone, but she hated to lose that era, passing like a ghost through her life. Grandma Maggie and Grandpa Ron encapsulated all of it in Barbara's eyes. Perhaps that was what her mother meant by normal.
51
Steve - March 2020
* * *
"Steve, Dora's here," Tera called from downstairs. The buzzer from the gate had pulled him out of his concentration over Emily Lovett's contract. The young actor was recently cast in a new show, Changeling, a three-season deal with Netflix with possible future negotiations if the show was to extend beyond three seasons. Emily was only ten years old. She'd done some commercials and bit parts in film, but this was her big break. He'd been on the phone almost every day with her dad, answering his questions. Steve rubbed his eyes and pushed himself away from his desk. He made his way downstairs where Tera waited for him, arms folded.
"She just stops by now, whenever. For god's sake, the kids aren't even here."
Steve held up both his hands, palms out. "Hey, I didn't know Dora was coming by. We talked last night and she seemed like she needed a friend. I told her she could come by and visit some time, but I thought she'd call first."
"And you didn't think I should be part of that discussion? You didn't think to ask how I felt?"
"Jesus, Tera, she's the mother of my children. The woman lost her memory, decades of her life. She's a bit mixed up right now. Give her a break."
"You act like I'm some cold-hearted person. It's not a lot to ask to be kept in the loop. I live here in this house, too. I'm part of this relationship. But lately you act like you live by yourself. You work all hours of the day and night."
"I'm an attorney. That's what we do!"
She kept talking, not pausing for breath. "I have to beg you for scraps of time. That's bad enough, but now we have to deal with your ex-wife popping in whenever. Isn't she married? Doesn't she have her own spouse to help her work through her psychological problems? I told you how I felt about all this the other night. Have you forgotten? Or do you just not care?" Tera's face reddened as she talked and Steve sighed, walking around her. When had his girlfriend grown tiresome? Something had started to wither between them months ago. After Tera and Laird moved in last year, he'd assumed Tera would be happy to live in this house, have anything she could ever want. She didn't have to work. He provided all this luxury living, he thought bitterly to himself.
"Are you listening to me, Steve?" Tera spoke to his back.
He took a breath, reigning in his temper, and turned around to face he
r, forcing a smile to his lips. "Dora's still out there. Why don't you let me answer the door and see what she needs? Later, we can talk if you like, but I need to answer the door right now."
Tera marched away and he exhaled, pressing the button to let Dora through the gate.
* * *
She stood with her hands in her pockets and carried a cloth purse slung over her shoulder, gazing about her with wonder like she'd done the other day when she came by. Her natural hair burst out like a lion's mane of new growth above her perm. She had pulled it all back in a ponytail.
"Hey,” he said in a hushed voice. The sort of voice he used to greet each of his children into the world.
Dora's eyes, dark and luminous, met his. She rubbed her cheek absently and sighed.
"I don't know what I'm doing anymore.” She smiled shyly, apologetically.
"Oh yeah? Something happen today?"
Sheena, Tera's dog, padded over to them and sniffed Dora's shoes and pants.
"I was at Ramani's."
He gave her a wry grin. "Say no more. Uh, hey, why don't you come on in?" Steve glanced at the wall clock in the foyer. It was almost seven in the evening. The smell of curry wafted through the house.
She didn't move. "Maybe I shouldn't have come by."
"Nonsense. Tera just made dinner. You can join us."
Dora followed him into the dining room. There was no one there. He pulled out a seat at the table for her. "Glass of wine?"
"Sure." She slipped into the seat and Steve went into the kitchen. There were pots on the stove, a low flame under one of them.
"Tera?" He called out quietly. "Ter?" Had she gone upstairs? He made his way out of the kitchen. At the bottom of the stairs, Tera was holding Laird's hand. They were both in sweaters. Her phone bulged in the front pocket of her jeans.
"Where are you going?"
She stooped to pull Laird's hoodie up over his head, her cheeks flushed.
"It's too hot," the little boy complained. "Why do we have to go? I'm hungry."
Steve stepped toward them. "Yeah, why do you have to go?"
"I need a little space," she said tersely.
"What? Is this necessary? I told you––"
"Yes. Yes, you did," Tera cut him off. "The problem is that you're always telling me. It's never a discussion, just you telling me."
"That's unfair, Tera."
She sprang up from her squatted position, her eyes holding his. "Take some time," she said quietly. "Whatever it is she needs from you, you two can talk about it. I'm just extra at the moment."
"Listen, Tera, this is ridiculous."
Tera's jaw flexed. "Have dinner. Have your talk. But when I get back, I want the same consideration."
"Where are you going?"
"To my sister’s."
"Aunty Lucy's?" Laird cried out and clapped his hands. "Can we get pizza?"
Tera forced a smile. "It's already on its way."
Steve watched them walk out the door. The headlights of her Range Rover flooded the foyer. And then she was gone.
The feeling of relief surprised him.
* * *
Over dinner, Dora was relatively quiet. She apologized a few times for the impromptu visit, which Steve waved away, hoping she hadn't overheard his argument with Tera. Dora gave no inclination that she had, but that was Dora. She'd always been a private person and respected the privacy of others. That was one constant through all her transformations. Between bites of basmati rice and green coconut curry with chunks of browned tofu, Dora told him that she changed her name back to Serene. Steve wanted to ask her more about the decision to go back to her original name. He wanted to ask her deeply personal questions about her thoughts and feelings regarding her amnesia. Steve desperately wanted to know who the woman sitting at his table was. Instead, he inanely said he'd try to remember, but it would take him a while to get used to calling her Serene again.
Later, they moved into the living room, each clutching a glass of Merlot. Steve fiddled with the light panel, giving the room a rosy glow. Dora sat in one of the leather easy chairs and released the footrest, leaning her head back and stretching out her legs, closing her eyes. The subdued lighting softened her features, softened the new strain of tension in her face that hollowed out her cheeks. She'd lost weight, he noticed. But years seem to vanish under the ambient light, and Dora, who had asked to be called Serene, looked almost like the girl he'd met when he was just a big dopy kid himself. While Steve studied her, Serene opened her eyes and reached for her glass.
"Thank you for dinner," she said. "It was delicious."
"That was all Tera."
Serene's lips parted slightly and then she sipped her wine. The motion was almost sensuous. Steve reached for his phone, reached for something to anchor a desire he thought he'd moored years ago.
"It's weird, the phone thing," Serene said.
"Hm?" He looked up, making a pretense of vague distraction. "Oh. I don't even know why I picked it up. A habit,” he said.
"That's what I mean. Everyone's, like, obsessed with them."
Steve's left brow shot up. "Says the woman whose phone is glued to her palm."
Serene frowned. "I was like that?"
Steve laughed. "Instagram queen. Every moment had to be recorded and posted to Instagram."
She wrinkled her nose, then laughed, unsure. "Not."
He gave her a mock serious look. "I'm afraid so."
"What was I taking pictures of?"
"I told you. Fucking everything. Pancakes you made the kids, the outfits you wore, flowers along the road."
"Shut up," she laughed and this time she sounded truly tickled. It wasn't Dora's laugh. Dora had a loud, pay-attention-to-me laugh. This was different, soft, a bit unsure but pleasant––Serene's laugh.
"What?" She sat up a little, catching his look.
Steve felt a blush coming on and wiped something non-existent off the sofa cushion. "Nothing. You're just different. Anyway," but Steve didn't finish that thought. He opened Spotify on his phone and pulled up his playlist of relaxing music, pairing it with his Sonos speakers. The opening chords of “Dry The Rain” by The Beta Band washed over them.
Serene leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temple.
"Headache?"
"A little."
His phone buzzed in his hand—a message from Tera.
Spending the night. I'll see you in the morning.
He tapped back a quick okay.
Dora still there?
Yeah. The evening's winding down. She's going home soon.
There was no reply.
When he looked up, Dora's eyes were closed, and she was really working away at her temple.
"I've got some Tylenol if you like."
"No. I'll be okay," she mumbled.
"What happened at Ramani's?" He'd waited for her to bring up the visit over dinner, but she never did.
Dora shook her head. "I… it's still stuff I'm trying to get my head around. I'm not ready to talk about it yet."
"Yeah, totally. When you're ready."
She gave him a tiny tired smile.
"Hey, come here." He motioned for her to join him on the sofa. Serene frowned, suddenly looking leery. He patted the seat next to himself. "I know what to do. Trust me. You used to get those headaches a lot. The tension is in your shoulders and neck."
"I got headaches?"
"Yeah. They started, I think, after you had Jesse. There's this spot between your shoulder blades that if I press on it, it seems to make it go away."
Serene got up a little clumsily and made her way over to him. She held herself rigid, leaning away from his body. Steve placed his hands gently on the top of her shoulders. The muscles felt tense, like hard little blocks under the skin. He applied some pressure with the palms of his hands. Slowly, he moved them in a circular motion, starting near her neck and working his way out and back in again. After a minute, he could feel her begin to relax.
"What is this?" She mu
mbled in question of the next song that began to play.
“The Ocean,” Steve said.
"It's nice."
He worked his way down to her left shoulder blade, easing the edge of his hand under it, and found what he was looking for: a hard pebble-like thing. He pressed down hard with his thumb and Serene gasped, then let out a low moan of relief.
"There it is," he said under his breath.
"I can feel it all the way up into my eyeballs."
He laughed. "You always say that."
She moved closer to him as he applied a little more pressure. Steve closed his eyes, lulled by the music and a comfort he hadn't felt in years. This felt right. This was Serene. She continued to relax and her body leaned all the way against his, her back against his chest. He could smell her hair, slightly musky with a hint of vanilla. Steve opened his eyes and watched Serene's hands reach back toward him. He let her fingers entwine with his, a dreamlike feeling spreading as his heart rate increased. Serene shifted her body, her hands still clasped in his, and gazed at him from over her shoulder. She was beautiful. He held himself very still, hardly daring to breathe. Waiting. Her lips touched his and it was like a lit match being thrown over a field of dry grass. The rush of heat through his body was sudden and intense. He opened his mouth, moaning.
Serene unclasped their hands and turned fully around, her chest just grazing his. Steve wanted to gobble her up. His hands raced up and down her arms, but then he forced himself to slow down and administer the same gentle kisses back. Eyes. Cheeks. Chin. Sternum. Breasts. She unbuttoned her jeans and he helped her wiggle out of them. She sat before him in her shirt and lacy white underwear. Steve kissed her quivering belly and guided her back, kissing the triangle of fabric between her legs, inhaling her odor. They made love there on the sofa, and then he took her upstairs where they made love over and over.
* * *
He hadn't meant to be so cruel, to rub Tera's face in it.
He hadn't meant to sleep in.
The sound of the door opening woke him up, his eyes oddly crusty.
Her Last Memory Page 26