The Memory Keeper

by Jennifer Camiccia

  I’m as ready as I can be when Yakov opens the door. He’s wearing a Kiss the Chef apron that barely covers his stomach. Somehow it makes him look even more intimidating.

  “Ah, little Tatyana,” he says with a jovial laugh. “You are persistent, da?”

  “Are you Jacob?” I blurt.

  “Way to lead up to it,” Max mutters under his breath.

  Olivia shoves his arm. “Shut it.”

  Yakov frowns down at me, but it’s not a scary frown. It’s more of a sad frown, his eyes shining with something I noticed the last time he saw Gram. Protective, but filled with love. Like how Gram looks at Clay and me.

  “Yakov is Russian for Jacob,” he acknowledges. “But only one person ever calls me Jacob. I think you know who, da?”

  I show him the journal. “I need to know about Gram’s life in Russia. I know there’s a secret—something I’m missing. You’re a loyal friend to her and her oldest friend. I even know your dad was a monster and that she was the person you turned to when he took his anger out on you and your mom. She told me the stories.”

  He glances back inside. “Come with me,” he says, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. He stalks around the side of the house, motioning for us to follow.

  “He’s taking us to where he tortures his victims,” Olivia whispers.

  I elbow her and glare.

  “She might be onto something,” Max mutters, eyeing the narrow path between the tall hedge and outer stucco walls of the house. We’re completely secluded from the road.

  I roll my eyes. This is Gram’s Jacob. He’s not going to hurt us.

  Yakov ushers us into a small office off the side of the garage. It’s surprisingly airy, decorated with leather couches and a huge mahogany desk. He points to a couch. “Sit.”

  I perch on the edge, my fingers tapping nervously against the back of the journal. I can’t let him brush us off again. I need to know. He puts his hand out for the journal. I let it go, my grip tightening on the edge before he takes it. Yakov flips it open to the first page and starts to read.

  Olivia grabs my hand and squeezes it. Max leans forward like he’s ready to grab the journal if needed.

  “Does your babushka know you have this?” Yakov asks. He leafs through the rest of it, lingering on the later pages before abruptly closing it.

  “No,” I admit. “But there’s something she hasn’t told you.” I take a deep breath, not sure if I should continue. But if he loves her, I have to trust he’ll help.

  Yakov motions for me to continue. “Go on, little Tatyana. I am listening.”

  I continue in a rush of words. “There’s something wrong with her memory. She’s forgetting things, and if I can find out what happened to her in Russia, I know I can help fix her.”

  “We all forget things,” he says with a sigh. “Some things are better forgotten.”

  “Not if they’re why she’s losing her memory in the first place,” I argue. “I’ve been doing research. There are times where our brains experience severe trauma, and it can cause amnesia. If I can find the memory that’s causing the trauma, then I can help.”

  Yakov glances at Max and Olivia. “I think I will talk about this with you only.”

  Olivia stands up and grabs Max’s arm. “Come on, let’s get some air.”

  Max grumbles under his breath but follows her out the door. “Call out if you need us,” he says over his shoulder.

  “You have good friends,” Yakov says. “That is extremely important.”

  “I have great friends,” I agree. “And I guess you know how important that is since you and Gram were best friends for so many years.”

  Yakov sits at the chair next to his desk. His look of concern draws his bushy eyebrows together. “I love Tatyana. I will always love her. You can trust me with the truth about her.”

  I take a deep breath and let my words out in one long stream. “She sometimes can’t remember where we live or who I am. I can’t leave her alone with my little brother because she wanders off without him. I’m afraid to let her drive unless I’m there to give her directions. I’m afraid one day she’ll leave and forget how to get home.”

  He closes his eyes, pain etched in the deep grooves along his mouth. “Ah, Tatyana, my beautiful one. Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “She’s scared,” I say. My voice echoes in the small room. “She won’t admit it, but I can see it. She’s done everything for Clay and me—I have to make this better.”

  “There are some things that can’t be fixed, no matter how hard we try.”

  A knot in my stomach pushes against my ribs. My legs begin to shake. “I don’t believe that. Just because you gave up on her so easily doesn’t mean I will.”

  He opens his eyes and stares. “Is that what you think? That I gave up on her? I left the country I love for her. I offered to give up my marriage for her. No, little one, I never gave up on her. She gave up on me.”

  “Why did you marry Margaret if you loved my gram? You both worked so hard to find each other again. How could you marry someone else?”

  He sighs. “My biggest weakness is I always wanted my Tatyana to be happy. I would do anything for this. When her friend Margaret tells me that Tatyana wants to date another boy but is afraid of hurting my feelings? I am hurt, yes. But more importantly, I want Tatyana to have everything she wants. I don’t want her to be with me unless she loves me as I love her. Margaret says the only way to push Tatyana to date this boy she likes so much is if Margaret and I start to date.”

  I let out the air I’ve been holding in a rush. “She tricked you!”

  “Da, she tricked me. I think Tatyana’s friend is so sweet to make sure she is happy. At my wedding to Margaret, I am confused when I ask Tatyana where her boyfriend is and she tells me she isn’t dating the boy anymore. She is crying, so I think it’s because the boy broke her heart.”

  “But it was because she loved you and you married someone else. Did she tell you?”

  He shakes his head sadly. “No, she would never do that. Margaret confessed it to me. Her conscience finally bothered her and she wanted me to know why she’d done it. That she loved me.”

  I want to cry for my gram and this giant of a man in front of me. “But why did you stay married to Margaret? She lied to you.”

  A look of pain flickers in his eyes. “Tatyana wanted me to be nobler than I am. She begged me not to betray my promise. To be loyal to one’s promises—it was everything to her. So I stayed married to Margaret. But if your babushka would have said yes, we would be together right now.”

  “What does Margaret think?” I can’t help but feel sorry for his wife—the woman I thought I hated only minutes ago. It’s funny how fast feelings can change when you know the whole story. I’m still mad at Margaret for betraying Gram. But I feel bad that she’s married to a man who will always love another woman.

  “We never speak of it.” His laughter is tinged with bitterness. “She prefers it that way.”

  “What happened in Russia? I think I know why Gram and her mom left the country. Was it because my great-grandma fell in love with Mark?”

  “You don’t give up, little Tatyana,” he says. He rubs his hands together. “I will tell you one thing, but she won’t like it. She will never forgive me if I break her confidence.”

  I wrap both my arms around myself. “It won’t matter if she can’t remember you. You need to tell me so I can help her. Please.”

  Yakov opens a drawer and takes out a picture of a young girl scowling at the camera. “This is your babushka. This is how I remember her when I close my eyes and dream of Russia.”

  I bring it closer. She looks exactly like me. I meet his eyes and smile.

  “Her stories to you are not all true,” he says. “You said she told you about my father. My father died when I was a baby.”

  I put the picture down, my heart drumming in my ears. I don’t understand what he’s saying. If Gram wasn’t talking about Yakov’s father in h
er stories, then who was she talking about? “Why would she lie about your father being a monster?”

  “Because the monster wasn’t my father,” he says slowly. “It was hers.”

  32. Breaking Our DNA

  Our brain cells literally break our DNA to make memories. Creating damage that neurons must repair is important to our memory and learning. Over time, some people’s brains stop the repairs. When that happens, the brain starts to deteriorate along with the memory and ability to learn new things.

  It’s weird that what allows us to have memories is the thing that might also take those memories away.

  * * *

  I sit back so hard, my head smacks the wall. I barely hear what else Yakov says. All I can think of is Gram hiding in a closet from her own father.

  I think about her visiting her mother in the hospital and then having to go home to the man who put her there. How did she live with the memories? Was this why she was forgetting?

  “This is it,” I say, interrupting Yakov midsentence. “This must be why she’s losing her memory. The trauma is too much for her.”

  Yakov looks at me with his mouth twisted, like he wants to cry. Doesn’t he understand what I’m saying? I want to scream at him, to make him see I’ve found the answer.

  “This is it,” I say again. “I can help her now. I can give her back the right memories and take away the painful ones.”

  “Why is she forgetting sixty years after it happened? If it were the trauma, wouldn’t it have happened sooner?” he asks gently. Almost like he’s afraid I’m the one about to cry.

  I open my mouth and close it. I don’t have an answer for this.

  “I have a perfect memory,” I finally say. “I can remember everything that’s ever happened to me. I can remember like it’s happened just a second ago.”

  My scattered thoughts settle in a pattern I recognize. I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat and keep talking. “It doesn’t seem fair that I have so many memories but she’s losing all of hers.”

  He rubs his jaw, listening carefully.

  “Our brains are very complex,” I say. “Scientists change what they believe all the time, and I’ve been studying how we make memories. How our brain stores them…” I don’t know what I want to say. What if he’s right? That the traumatic thing I’ve been trying to find isn’t the reason Gram’s forgetting? What if there’s no cure and all of this was for nothing?

  “It is true that our brains are complex,” Yakov says, each word measured. “But sometimes people get sick. Did you know that Tatyana’s mother had Alzheimer’s? It happened when she was even younger than Tatyana is now.”

  “No one told me,” I say. Why hadn’t Dad said anything about his grandma? Was this why he suspected Alzheimer’s in the first place? All my theories are spinning out of control.

  “It was a painful thing for your babushka. Olga was everything to her growing up. She was very protective of her mother.”

  “Olga?” That was the name Alexei used. He’d been talking about Gram’s mother.

  Someone pounds on the door. “You guys done yet?” Max says loudly.

  Yakov nods to the door. “Should I let them in?”

  I nod, all of my energy gone. I don’t know what to do anymore. If I can’t fix Gram’s memory by helping her remember, then what else is left for me to do?

  Olivia rushes in like she expects to find me murdered.

  “Find out anything good?” Max’s gaze darts between Yakov and me.

  “I can’t help my gram,” I say, trying not to cry.

  “You can help her,” Yakov says, touching his finger to my temple. “You save all her memories up here. In this magnificent brain. You keep them safe for her, and then you can tell them to her. You say she tells you her stories, da?”

  I blink away the salt of my tears. I don’t even care that I’m crying in front of Max.

  “Then you tell them back to her. When she doesn’t know them, then you remind her. As long as you remember, she will never be gone.”

  My tears drip down my cheeks. I wipe them off with the tissue Yakov hands me.

  Max puts an arm around my shoulders in a quick side hug. “Can I ask him something?” he whispers to me.

  “Go ahead. But I’m ninety-nine percent sure he isn’t a spy.”

  “Hey!” Max shakes his head at me, his eyes wide in mock horror. “Let’s hope he isn’t because I’m pretty sure we’re in major trouble after you just gave us away.”

  A giggle pushes past my tears, and Max grins at me.

  Olivia rolls her eyes and turns to Yakov. “He wants to ask about the file the government has on her gram. It’s, like, all marked out in black or something. We thought it might be because she’s a spy.”

  Yakov’s laughter barks out in harsh rumbles. His entire body shakes with it. Even Olivia can’t stop a quick laugh of surprise at the force of it.

  “Her papa was very influential in the Russian government. He would have been able to track them anywhere they went. Mark made sure he’d never find them and hurt them again. He must have classified whatever information the United States had on Tatyana and Olga. It would be the only way he could have kept them safe, da?”

  Olivia’s mouth forms a perfect circle. Max’s grin slips right off his face. “That’s messed up,” Max mutters.

  They walk with me as Yakov leads us to the front yard. Yakov’s heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “Little Tatyana, please come visit me, da? You and I will be friends, and I will tell you all my stories about your babushka. We will keep her memories safe.”

  “I will,” I say. I duck my head and mumble a goodbye, and we trudge to the bus stop in silence. Max and Olivia are both quiet until we’re in front of my house.

  “The man in the woods who called your gram a traitor,” Max says. “Was it Yakov?”

  My head snaps up.

  “Dude, how could you forget about that?” he asks with a wry grin.

  “She’s had other things on her mind obviously,” Olivia says, turning to me with a sympathetic grimace. “Are you going to ask your gram about what Yakov told you?”

  “I don’t know.” I feel lost. I found the traumatic memory. I solved the mystery of Gram’s past. But none of it matters. It didn’t fix anything, and I don’t know what to do about Gram. How can I make sure my parents don’t send her away if I can’t help her?

  “I think you should,” Olivia says. “My mom says all stories are like pancakes. There are always two sides, and you won’t know her side if you don’t ask.”

  I stare at my house. I’m not sure I’m ready to be on my own with all this new information. Almost as if they can sense what I’m thinking, Max and Olivia both follow me inside the yard.

  “Lulu’s gram is the best cook,” Olivia says, her shoulder bumping mine.

  “I’m pretty hungry,” Max says, rubbing his hands together and raising his eyebrows.

  I laugh. “You guys want to come in? My mom might be weird, just warning you.”

  Max shakes his head. “No one is weirder than my mom.”

  “Um, guys,” Olivia says, raising her hand. “I win that contest.”

  I try to look at my house through Max’s eyes. The neat brick walkway, the blue hydrangeas lining the house like a blue ribbon. The black door that Dad painted last month. Clay’s toys cluttered around the entry along with neatly lined-up shoes.

  “They take their shoes off here,” Olivia tells Max.

  “Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Max says, slipping his work boots off and doing his best to line them up with the rest of the shoes.

  I turn to hide my smile.

  “Lulu,” Gram calls out when the front door shuts. “We’re in the kitchen.”

  Mom is at the stove. “How was your ride?” She smiles wide when she catches sight of Olivia and Max. “Oh, hello there.”

  “I invited Max and Olivia for dinner. Is that okay?”

  “Of course,” Mom says. “Please introduce me to your friend.”
>
  “Okay,” I say. “Mom, this is Olivia—”

  “Ha ha,” Mom says with a knowing smile. “Since Olivia is here more than your dad, I think it’s safe she’s not who I’m talking about.”

  Max holds out a hand. “Hello. I’m Max Rodriguez.”

  “Nice to meet you, Max. Please have a seat. We’re eating in a few minutes, as soon as my husband gets home.”

  We wash our hands. Olivia flicks water on Max and then me. He starts to retaliate but thinks better of it when he looks over my shoulder. “Your gram keeps staring at me,” Max whispers. “Do you think she knows what we’ve been doing?”

  “No,” I assure him. I can’t tell him that Gram thinks I have a crush on him. There’s only so much humiliation I can handle in one day.

  The front door slams and Clay drops his toys. “Dada, Dada,” he chants when Dad walks in. Mom introduces him to Max, and I want to die when he narrows his eyes at Max and then frowns at me. Is it too much to hope that one person in my family won’t embarrass me?

  Dinner goes better than I expect. Gram is herself, and she keeps Max in the conversational loop. I stay quiet, trying to make sense of all the new things I know about my family. Things I’ve always taken for granted look different now.

  Mom’s swirling finger in the air doesn’t mean she wishes she were somewhere else. It means she’s chosen to be here. Dad’s absentminded smile is still a smile, and it’s full of his love for us. Clay is just… Clay. Funny, loud, and sometimes a brat, but most of the time sweet. Gram’s not a spy or someone I never knew. There’s a whole part of her life she’s kept to herself, but it’s what made her the kind of grandmother who loves every last bit of me, even the parts no one else sees.

  I think Mom is trying. Our talk appears to have changed something for the better. She seems almost as happy as she does when she’s painting. Dad notices and can’t stop smiling his goofy smile. They keep touching hands and calling each other “babe,” which is weird, but also sort of sweet.

  After Max and Olivia leave, Dad heads to his office to finish some work, Mom takes Clay to bed, and I help Gram do the dishes. Lately the dishwasher’s buttons have been confusing her, and it’s easier for her to do the dishes by hand. I make sure they are put away in the right cabinet so Dad won’t have to hunt for his favorite mug like he did last week. I had found it in the freezer when I grabbed Clay a Popsicle, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my parents from noticing things like mugs in the freezer.