The Memory Keeper

by Jennifer Camiccia

  “Trees.” Clay nods and keeps eating.

  “One day with my papa,” Gram continues, “the clouds beckoned me. I thought if I could climb high enough, I could touch them. Perhaps even sit on one. So while Papa took a nap, I climbed.”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “But, of course, the branch snapped, and I fell and broke my arm. Papa woke up to me howling. He scooped me up and drove to the hospital faster than I’ve ever been in a car since. It’s a miracle we didn’t crash. My arm mended, but I sometimes dream of the pain. The sharp ache while it healed. This was how my heart felt when I first lived here. It ached for my old life in Russia, for Jacob, and for Papa.”

  Gram rubbed her arm. Is she homesick even now?

  “Ouchie?” Clay points to Gram’s arm, his eyes wide with concern.

  “No ouchie,” I say. “Gram’s okay.”

  Gram doesn’t seem to hear him. She continues talking. “When the ache overwhelmed me, I’d close my eyes and see Jacob’s face like a picture. But after a while the picture began to fade. I couldn’t see the shape of his nose or the color of his eyes. I was afraid when I finally saw him again, I would no longer recognize him. Would he know me? Or would we be strangers?

  “I waited for years to see him again. I worked hard to get into the college we agreed on before I left Russia. The only American college we’d heard of—Harvard.”

  I lean closer. “How did you know Jacob would get out of Russia?”

  “Indeed,” Gram says with a shake of her head. “We had big plans but no way to know if any of them would come true. I had no way of knowing if Jacob would be there. We set up the plan so long ago, and I worried he might have forgotten or not been able to defect. I waited every day. I wore a red sweater, as planned. I did it all, but he wasn’t there. Then one day I was sick and couldn’t go until later in the afternoon.” She pauses dramatically. “And there he was!”

  I grin and clap. “Yes!”

  “I knew him the moment I saw him,” she says with a small laugh. “His hunched shoulders and bushy black hair. My Jacob. His voice was deeper, and he was even taller than before. But he insisted he recognized me instantly too. He said it wasn’t my red sweater that gave me away, but my beautiful face.” Gram laughs again, reminding me of Olivia when she holds her mouth to keep in a giggle. “The flatterer.”

  “Like when you guys played chess,” I say with a smile.

  “Yes,” Gram says, her own smile fading as she continues. “Our friendship didn’t skip a beat. He told me about the brutal time he had after I left. How he’d lost his mother when he was sixteen. I hated to think of how alone Jacob must have felt. He said he survived by hoping for the day he would see me again.”

  I want to ask about her papa, but something stops me. She stares out the window, far away with her memories.

  “I told him about my life here in America,” she says. “But it felt wrong to talk about my happiness here when he had struggled so much. Even here it was still hard for him. He’d been in the army since he was sixteen.”

  “How did he leave Russia?” I ask.

  “My stepfather, Mark, used his influence to bring him here. I will always be grateful to him for so many things, but that most of all.”

  “Did you love Jacob?” I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but I want to hear her say it.

  “I did,” she says in a low voice that shakes with emotion. “I loved him. I’d always loved him, but I thought he only saw me as a friend. I was afraid he’d never love me the same way.”

  By now, I’m pretty sure I know who Jacob is. I just don’t know why Gram didn’t end up with him when they were so obviously in love.

  I’m trying to think how to ask Gram when Clay shrieks, “Mommy!”

  “Good morning, everyone.” Mom sails into the room wearing a flowered sundress and a floppy hat. “Are you going with us to the zoo, Lulu?”

  I shrug. Couldn’t she have waited five more minutes before barging in?

  “She is,” Gram says. “I think Olivia and Max will be joining us as well, yes?”

  “Zoo!” Clay pounds both fists against his tray. “Tigas!”

  Mom wets a paper towel and wipes Clay’s sticky fingers. “You want to see the tigers, sweetie?”

  My phone buzzes, and I look at all my missed messages. I’d been so caught up in Gram’s story that I forgot to check my phone.

  Olivia: I’m in. Mom says she can drop me off in ten minutes.

  Max: Have to teach a lesson. Can you and Olivia swing by later, though? I’m waiting on something that might be interesting. Don’t worry—I didn’t break the law.

  Me: What???

  Max: I’ll tell you when I know for sure.

  28. The Outer Zone of the Cerebral Cortex

  The biggest part of the cerebrum is the cerebral cortex. It’s made up of the famous gray matter you hear so much about. This “outer zone” of nerve tissue determines how smart you are and what kind of personality you have. But the coolest thing about the cerebral cortex is that parts of it will take over for another part if it’s needed.

  Just like how Gram took over for Mom and how I’m trying to take over for Gram. We help one another out. That’s how a family works.

  * * *

  “The text said what?” Olivia hisses.

  A man in a blue cap bumps into me before I can respond. “Excuse me,” he murmurs before heading toward the popcorn truck.

  Clay tugs on my hand. “Churro,” he chants over and over. We’re waiting to buy some, and the line is moving at a glacial pace. It’s more crowded today than usual. The fog has burned off and the sun shines down on us, making me glad I wore shorts.

  “Almost there, bud,” I tell him as patiently as I can. He comforted me last night. The least I can do is not get annoyed at him asking for the same thing twenty million times. I look back to Olivia.

  “The text was from Yakov. He asked if I knew the truth.”

  Her eyes widen so much, I worry they might pop out of her head. “The truth? That your gram is a spy?”

  “Nope.” I shake my head. “That’s not it. I think the truth is that Yakov is actually Jacob from her stories.”

  “What! Why do you think that?” Olivia pays for her churro and takes a huge bite. “Mmm.” Her eyes shut as she chews. “This is worth smelling disgusting animals all day.”

  “It just fits,” I say. “There’s the picture of the tall guy who was totally in love with her. Then Gram tells me this story about how Jacob found her again in college and how he hid all his tattoos so he wouldn’t scare the students. Sound familiar?”

  Olivia wipes sugar off her chin. “Didn’t Yakov say they met in college?”

  “Yes! See? I’m not sure why he’d change his name to Yakov, though.”

  “Because he’s a spy?”

  Clay drops his churro, and his lip trembles. I quickly hand him mine. He shoves it in his mouth with a happy gurgle. “Why is your answer always that the person is a spy?” I say, louder than I need to. “I’m trying to tell you that isn’t what’s going on.”

  “I get it. You don’t want it to be true. But it might be.”

  A quick burst of impatience hits me. “Just because your dad left—” I quickly shut my mouth, but not before the arrow hits its target.

  Olivia’s face falls, her eyes slicing me with her pain. I wish I could rewind the last few moments and take it back.

  “I’m sorry, Olive.”

  She shrugs and blinks furiously to keep from crying.

  Clay spots Gram and runs to where she’s sitting. Mom walks ahead of us, taking pictures of everything that captures her fancy.

  “I love your gram,” Olivia says over the shouts of a crowd of kids from a summer camp. “But just because she’s great doesn’t mean she isn’t a spy. You saw the redacted files Max had. There’s too much evidence for you to just ignore it.”

  “You guys ready to go see the tigers?” Mom’s voice reaches us from ahead. Her smile is tired. She never does wel
l in crowds. She glances at a little girl whose curls spiral around her face like Maisie’s used to.

  “Tigas,” Clay screams.

  “Here’s your milk.” Gram hands him his cup and flashes Mom a concerned look. “Why don’t you rest here, Rose? We’ll go see the tigers and come back for you.”

  Mom nods. “Thanks, Sue.”

  We wind our way through the crowd. I glance back to see which bench Mom chose when I notice a man behind us. He looks vaguely familiar, with dark hair covered by a dark blue baseball cap. I whip back around and grab Olivia’s arm.

  “I think there’s someone following us.”

  “What?” She cranes her neck around.

  “Don’t look! He’ll see.” I pull her until we’re right behind Gram and Clay.

  Once we’ve entered the tiger enclosure, I look around again. The man stands in the back checking his camera.

  “The man in the blue hat and gray sweatshirt. He’s got a camera around his neck. I saw him when we first got here, and he bumped into me when we were getting churros. He’s always behind us, and he’s definitely watching us.”

  Olivia stretches and pretends to tie her perfectly tied sneakers. When she stands back up, her face is flushed. “He’s totally watching us! Do you think he’s CIA? Or a Russian spy sent to see if your gram is talking?”

  I don’t even try to argue. I don’t know what to believe anymore. “I wonder if she knows him.”

  “Ask her,” Olivia says, her mouth hanging slightly open as if she’s had the idea of her life. “They’re always talking about strangers and trusting your gut. Tell her your gut says this guy is a weirdo and he might be a kidnapper. If she knows him, she’ll try to talk you out of it.”

  “I don’t know.” I want to ignore him and hope he goes away.

  “If you don’t do something, then we might never know.” Her eyebrows go up, and she jerks her head to the side where he’s still standing. “He might be here to hurt her.”

  I take one more peek. He lifts his camera to take a picture of the tigers and swings it slightly in our direction.

  I pick up Clay and turn so the man can’t see my face. “Gram, there’s a man following us. He just took our picture.”

  She frowns at me, her eyes flicking over my shoulder to where Olivia points. “He’s probably just part of one of these groups.”

  “He’s been everywhere we’ve been today, and he keeps taking pictures of us. Trust me, he’s definitely following us.”

  Gram glares at the man. “Let’s find your mother,” Gram says, grabbing my hand and then Olivia’s.

  We walk fast with the man still behind us. “See,” I say when Gram glances back.

  “Yes. I see.” Her mouth is in a straight line of pinched lips, and she looks forward with worried eyes.

  Mom is leaning back on the bench where we left her. She stares at the clouds with a dreamy smile on her face.

  “Rose, there’s a man who appears to be following us. I think it would be wise to alert the authorities here at the zoo. He might be a predator.”

  “A tiga,” Clay shouts. He’s a lot smarter than he looks, this brother of mine.

  “Really?” Mom looks around, her mouth a perfect circle. “Point him out.”

  “The man with the camera wearing a blue hat,” I whisper.

  Mom shakes her head. “He looks harmless.”

  “Gram, please,” I say, turning to her in protest. “He was following us.”

  Gram’s mouth flattens even more. She turns back and points at the man. “You there! Are you following my grandchildren?”

  The man lowers his camera and points to himself.

  “Yes, you,” Gram says. People around us stop and look.

  “Sorry.” The man waves the camera at her. “I’m a photographer for the zoo. It’s my job to take pictures.”

  “Prove it,” Olivia says.

  Mom looks startled at Olivia’s challenge and steps away from us like she’s embarrassed. But Gram nods to him, waiting for his proof. He reaches into his pocket, takes out an ID card, and gives it to her.

  “I usually wear it around my neck, but the string broke,” he says. “I’m really sorry if I scared your little girls.”

  Olivia clenches her fists. I grab her arm before she can do anything stupid. “I think he’s really who he says he is,” I whisper.

  “Still doesn’t mean he can get away with calling me a little girl,” she hisses.

  Gram frowns at us before addressing the photographer. “We are sorry for the misunderstanding. Perhaps you might consider getting your ID fixed before following two young girls around?”

  Olivia turns to me with a grin. Go, Gram, she mouths.

  The man frowns. “Look, I said I was sorry. If you’d like, I can give you some of these pictures for free.”

  “You frightened all of us,” Gram says, pulling Clay and me closer. “That’s unprofessional at the very least. I think you owe us more than free pictures.”

  “Lady, I don’t owe you nothing.” The man’s face goes from pink to red.

  “I’ll be speaking to your manager.” Gram pockets his ID.

  The man’s mouth hangs open. He looks over his shoulder at the crowd gathering.

  “Sue, maybe we should just go,” Mom whispers.

  “He threatened my grandchildren,” Gram says, not even trying to keep her voice down.

  “Look, lady. I’m sorry.” The man holds out his camera. “Please, look at the pictures. You can have them all.”

  Gram sniffs. “No, thank you. My daughter-in-law is a wonderful artist. Her pictures are far superior, I’m sure.”

  “Fine. Whatever. What can I do to make it up to you?” The man starts to look desperate. He shifts uncomfortably as Gram stares at him.

  “Apologize and promise not to do it again,” she says with a sigh.

  “Sorry,” he mutters. “I won’t do it again.”

  Gram shakes her head and puts her hand to her ear like she couldn’t hear him. Olivia snickers.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, this time in a clear voice. “I won’t do it again.”

  “Very well.” Gram nods and hands his ID back to him. “You may go.”

  I hug her arm tight as we watch him leave. The crowd begins to scatter.

  “Gram,” I say, my eyes wide with admiration. “You were amazing!”

  “You’re a total superhero,” Olivia declares. “I wouldn’t want to fight you.”

  “Superman!” Clay reaches for Gram.

  Mom stands quietly off to the side. “You were very brave, Sue,” she finally says, but there’s something to her tone that doesn’t ring true.

  “You were the best.” I kiss Gram’s cheek. Mom’s silent judgment makes me want to reassure Gram even more.

  As we head to the car, Olivia leans in. “I don’t think that guy was really a photographer for the zoo. I’m just saying.”

  I look back and see him standing by the edge of the gate, staring after us.

  29. Axon

  Axons take information away from the cell body. These nerve fibers make up the pathways in the brain. Without them there are no connections, and no connections means no memory.

  What makes Gram remember details of growing up in Russia but forget how to get home? Why can she remember every detail of Jacob’s appearance but forget who I am?

  * * *

  The man following us must trigger something in Mom. A maternal side she’d buried underneath a mountain of depression and acrylic paint. As soon as we get home, she leaves Clay with Gram and Olivia in the kitchen and pulls me to the side. We huddle in the hallway near Dad’s office, and she takes my hand in hers. Her eyes swim with tears, and I look down at our hands so I don’t have to see her cry.

  “Lulu, I know I haven’t always been the mom you needed,” she says, her voice catching. “Today at the zoo, Gram was incredible, and I saw how much you and Clay rely on her. When there was trouble, you turned to her.” She bites her lip and tries to compose her
self.

  I frown. Gram’s the one who is always there for Clay and me. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that we’d turn to her when there was trouble. “You didn’t stand up for us. She did.”

  Mom sighs shakily and nods. “I deserve that. But I can see that I need to step it up and listen to you more. I remember how hard it is to be almost thirteen. I want you to know how much I love you. I’ve loved you from the first moment I knew I was pregnant. You do know that, right?”

  “Yes, Mom.” I clear the irritating scratchiness from the back of my throat. It feels strange to have her staring at me like this. Like I’m the only thing that matters.

  “I think you’re ready to hear this,” she says, and just like that, she has my full attention. Ready to hear what? I lean closer, and she lets out a breath as if it hurts to speak. I’m almost afraid of what she’s about to say.

  Does she know about Gram’s past? Is she going to finally answer all these questions buzzing in my head?

  “I’ve been struggling since your sister died.”

  Mom takes another deep breath and looks down at her hands covering mine. It’s all tangled veins and fingers. Like a framework of muscles and bones tied together in a strange patchwork of grief.

  “I was so happy when I found out I was pregnant with your brother. Having Clay helped a little,” she continues, glancing back up at me. “But sometimes women can get really depressed after they give birth. And, unfortunately, this happened to me.” Watery, smudged lines paint her face, but her voice is steady. “My art helps me make sense of how I’m feeling. It helps me forget the pain and focus on something beautiful. I find pieces of myself every time I create something, and it’s easier to fit back into… reality, to make myself whole again. I know what’s important, and I’m trying really hard to get better.”

  I don’t know what she wants me to say. Does she really think I don’t know she’s been depressed? Does she think I don’t care? Would it matter if I told her how much I do care?