by Kristy Tate
“Sit!” John said, waving at the table. He picked up a pair of oven mitts that looked like salmon and went to the oven to check on the garlic bread. A heavenly smell wafted across the room.
Declan waited for Lizbet to sit before he pulled out a chair next to her.
“I know you have questions,” John said as he carried the garlic bread to the table. “But so do I. And I figured we all need to eat, so...”
“This is great,” Lizbet said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, just be prepared to be peppered with questions,” John said over his shoulder as he headed back to the stove for the pasta pot.
When everyone was settled at the table and each had heaping piles of spaghetti, John began. “The first time...I won’t call it a fantasy.” He took a long swallow of red wine before carefully choosing his next words. “Honestly, I don’t know what to call it.” He shook his head. “Okay, here’s what happened. One day shortly after my divorce, I went fishing out on the Sound. The weather was brooding, and I knew a storm could start at any moment, but I didn’t care. It suited my mood. Back then, I was...miserable.” He rubbed a tired hand over his face. “Anyway, I got caught in a storm and I battled the waves and wind for what seemed like hours. I must have passed out because I woke the next day in the middle of Haradan Strait. The Sound was calm, the air clear, and my boat was none the worse for the storm. My head was buzzed, but other than that I was fine.” He cocked an eyebrow at Lizbet. “Is there anything you want to add to that story?”
Lizbet pushed her spaghetti around her plate with her fork, suddenly ashamed of her mom. “I could, but I want to hear about your relationship with my mom.”
John sighed. “All right. I’ll go first, but after that, I want answers.”
Lizbet smiled. “I’ll answer what I can, but you might be disappointed.”
“If you’re telling me that my...episodes...with Daugherty were real, I promise you, I won’t be disappointed.”
Lizbet swallowed hard. “Then you’ll be happy to know that you visited the island and my mom. I only know about one time, but there may have been many more.”
John put down his fork. “How is that possible?”
“Ginger root tea. It makes people forget.”
“All those dreams...are you telling me they were all real?”
Lizbet shrugged. “I have no way of knowing. You’ll have to ask my mom.”
“How is it I never met you? If what you’re telling me is true, I must have been to the island a hundred times.”
Lizbet smiled. “Not quite a hundred.”
“Often, though...”
“Did you ever think about telling anyone?”
John groaned, put down his fork and gazed at Lizbet. “That’s the worst question. The one I’ve struggled with for years. But how could I?” He picked up his glass and took a quick swallow of water. “As you know, your family has been friends with the Forsyths for years. Gloria, my ex-wife, and Daugherty went to North Coast Academy together, and while they weren’t close, they were friends. I met Daugherty at weddings, parties, and social occasions only a few times before her disappearance.”
Lizbet leaned forward and braced her elbows on the table, her food completely forgotten. “Do you know what happened? Why she disappeared?”
“I don’t. And I’m pretty sure no one else does either, including your mom.”
“What do you mean?”
“In my dreams, she had amnesia. I found her on a wild night. I’d been out fishing and the storm caught me completely by surprise. I was looking for shelter and I spotted the light of the cottage. My boat nearly capsized, and I almost drowned. My clothes were soaked, and I’d hit my head.” He chuckled. “I think if I hadn’t been so pathetic she would never have let me in.”
“But she did.”
“But first she made me swear that I’d never tell or reveal her whereabouts. At that point, I would have promised anything to anyone for a warm fire and dry clothes. She let me in and bandaged up my head, but refused to answer my questions. After a while, I realized that she wasn’t answering the questions not only because she didn’t want to, but also because she didn’t know the answers. She gave me her bed that night and the next morning, as I said, I was lying on the floor of my boat in the middle of the Sound. I had no proof that she even existed. At that time, I wasn’t even sure if she was Daugherty. I went back a few days later, but once again, I couldn’t find her. I thought it was all a dream. A dream I repeatedly enjoyed.”
Lizbet slowly picked up her fork and scooted spaghetti around her plate. “Why do you think she was the way she was?”
John shook his head. “Who’s to say? It was almost like she was brainwashed. She was like a frightened child.” He twirled noodles around his fork. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me what you know about your mom.”
Lizbet told him about her life on the island—the simplicity and the harsh reality of the biting cold, the temperamental wood stove, and the monotony of eating home-canned vegetables for every meal. And the secret hope she’d nurtured that John was her father.
“I’m happy to pay for a paternity test if you’d like, but I can assure you, your mother and I didn’t have that sort of relationship. In time, we became friends. But that’s it.”
Lizbet cocked her eyebrow at him.
“Okay, that’s not completely it,” he admitted, “but remember, I thought your mom was a figment of my imagination and the island was my personal, delusional refuge.”
Lizbet tightened her hold on her glass of water, feeling the condensation pooling around her fingers. It couldn’t dampen her resolve to help her mom. “Can you drive me to visit my mom?” she asked Declan.
“I would be happy to do that,” John said. “If you don’t mind, I would love to see her.”
They made arrangements to visit the hospital the next day
#
When Lizbet came downstairs the next morning, she found both Elizabeth and Josie in the kitchen. A brittle, icy silence hung between them. She felt as if she’d interrupted a conversation that bordered on an argument neither intended to lose. Scooping up her poultice, Lizbet explained her plan to go to the hospital with John Lamb. Elizabeth greeted the news with an appreciative smile, while Josie slanted her a suspicious glance. Lizbet bundled the poultice into the basket she generally used to carry Tennyson, tucked it under her arm, and left. She’d rather wait for John in the early spring sunshine than in the hostile kitchen.
She wondered how long Josie and Elizabeth had been warring. If she had to guess, she would say that their conflict had started about the time Josie first expressed her opinion. So, as soon as she had learned to wave a fat baby fist and squeal. She’d probably been squealing ever since.
Not that Josie was completely in the wrong. Even if it wasn’t here yet, there would soon come a time when Elizabeth shouldn’t be living on the ranch alone—for her own safety as well as her animals. She was increasingly forgetful and accident prone. But Lizbet also suspected Josie’s motives had a heaping helping of greed mixed in with concern for her mother.
The sun sparkled on the tops of the trees to the east. Somewhere, church bells rang. Lizbet loved how the forest circling the ranch made it feel isolated and otherworldly while in reality, it was just a stone’s throw from the highway that led to East End. That was probably one of the things that made it an ideal location for a resort.
A crunch of gravel in the driveway announced John’s arrival. Lizbet watched his Honda roll her way and clutched the basket. She had mixed feelings about not being his daughter. He’d played the role of father in her head and it was hard to let that go. He was such a kind man, she understood exactly why her mother and Declan loved him so much. She wanted to love him, too, and she felt sure, if given the chance, she would.
But if not being his daughter meant she could kiss Declan... Heat rose in her cheeks, and she told herself she shouldn’t be thinking about kissing Declan while sharing space with his f
ather. She spotted Declan in the passenger seat and her heart beat faster. Would he always have this effect on her? Even if she learned that John was mistaken, or lying, and that Declan was her brother?
Maybe Declan was right, a sibling couldn’t feel the way she did for him. Should she insist on the paternity test? Her Internet research had told her that such a test wasn’t cheap, and John didn’t live like a man with oodles of money.
The Honda pulled up beside her, and she climbed into the back seat. The warmth in the car matched John and Declan’s smiles and greetings. She slowly began to thaw, realizing how chilly the ranch had been with Josie and Elizabeth.
#
When his dad peeled away from them in the hospital lobby, Declan couldn’t hide his surprise.
“Gotta get something,” John mumbled with flushed cheeks.
“What?” Declan asked.
“Room 345, right?” John asked, twisting his hands.
Lizbet nodded.
“I’ll be right up, okay?” John said, looking embarrassed and sheepish.
This was a side of his dad Declan hadn’t seen before. He didn’t like it.
Lizbet nudged him. “Do you want to check in on your grandfather?”
Declan shrugged.
Lizbet tucked her hand around his arm and gently steered him to the bank of elevators.
“Where’s he going?” Declan asked.
“He hasn’t seen her in a while. Maybe he wants to check his hair—you know, look his best.” Lizbet pressed the elevator button and the doors slid open.
“Look his best? She’s in a coma!”
“Maybe she’ll wake up when she sees him.”
“Like Sleeping Beauty? This isn’t a fairy tale.”
Lizbet squeezed his arm. “Life can be as magical as you make it.”
Declan didn’t respond because he didn’t want to argue with her. He knew Lizbet saw the world differently than him. He blamed her wacky upbringing and her nearly total immersion in books. Real life didn’t come with a fairy godmother or guarantee a happy ending. She’d learn that soon enough.
Declan pressed the elevator button and it carried them to the fifth floor where his grandfather lay. But when they got there, the room was empty. The thumping in his chest surprised him. He had never met his grandfather. The man was a stranger to him, so why did his sudden disappearance rattle him?
Lizbet reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Together, they stopped a short nurse with spiky dark hair.
“My grandfather. Frank Forsythe, in 511. What happened?” Declan’s question came out in short staccato breaths.
“Frank? He was discharged yesterday. The doctors were hesitant to let him go but, of course, we can’t keep him against his will.”
Declan’s throat clenched. “Do you think he’s okay on his own?”
The nurse smiled and leaned forward to say in a low, conspiratorial tone, “Want my honest opinion? He’ll be fine. He’s got enough energy to light up a warehouse. It’s the morose, docile ones we need to worry about.”
A weight shifted off Declan’s chest. He still had time. He could still meet this man his parents both despised, for different reasons, who had the energy to light up warehouses. He wondered why he wanted to know him. Was it just curiosity? Or was there something more?
Declan turned to Lizbet. She stood beside him, but angled away, her attention fastened on a small bird on the other side of a large window. She cocked her head, as if listening to the small bird’s chirping, before dropping his hand.
“I need to see my mom,” she said, her voice tight.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Be praised, my Lord, through Brother Fire, through whom you brighten the night. He is beautiful and cheerful, and powerful and strong.”
―Francis of Assisi
From Declan’s Research
John stood by the hospital bed, holding a large bouquet of yellow roses. He wore a dazed look on his face. “She spoke to me.”
Lizbet rushed to her mom’s bedside and picked up her hand. “Mom?”
Her mom didn’t answer with words, but she squeezed Lizbet’s hand.
“Mom!” Lizbet shook her.
Declan placed his hands on Lizbet’s shoulders, calming her. “Don’t. She’ll come around.”
Lizbet whirled on John, suddenly hating him, jealous that he would be the first one her mom would choose to speak to. “What did she say?”
“Her speech was garbled, but I think she said, ‘My name is Daugherty,’ which is interesting because when I imagined her on the island, she always insisted her name was Rose.”
Lizbet gazed into her mom’s pale face. Her light brown lashes fanned her cheeks. Light gray smudges lined her eyes but her cheeks were a faded pink and her lips had lost their bloodless tone. Hope welled in Lizbet’s chest. “Do you think... Is it possible her memory has returned?” That would answer so many questions.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure if she recognized me or not.”
Lizbet sank into a chair, determined not to leave again until her mom woke. “You guys can go. I’m going to stay here.”
John awkwardly patted her shoulder. “I’ve heard that often when people wake from a coma they go through a dreamlike stage where they suffer from nightmares and delusions. This might be difficult to watch.”
Lizbet shook her head, refusing to be dissuaded. “I’m not leaving. I never should have left. I should have stayed here in the first place.”
“She wouldn’t have wanted that,” Declan said.
“You don’t even know her,” Lizbet spat out. “How can you say what she would or would not have wanted?”
“Daugherty is loving and compassionate.” John kept, his voice low and calm as if he were trying to soothe a wounded animal. “She would want what’s best for her daughter. She’d want you to be focusing on your studies, preparing for you future.”
“With my mom, my future was on the island with her. She didn’t—“
John cut her off. “That wasn’t the Daugherty I knew—”
Lizbet bounced to her feet. “Are you saying that you knew her better than me?”
“No, not at all,” John said, still using his pacifying and yet irritating voice. “But I have known her longer.”
Lizbet’s mom made a horrifying gurgling scream, effectively curtailing the argument. Doctors and nurses rushed into the room and monitors began beeping and flashing as Lizbet’s mom thrashed and tried to pull the IVs out of her skin. A nurse shooed Lizbet, Declan, and John out of the room.
“You could stay,” the nurse said once she had them in the hall, away from the commotion. “But I think it would be best if you didn’t witness this. Sometimes coma patients are completely out of their minds during this stage.”
Lizbet tried to shut out her mom’s screams, but she couldn’t. She moved for the door, but Declan took her hand. “Maybe I can help,” Lizbet said, searching his eyes and seeing only compassion.
“No, sweetie,” the nurse said. “These vivid nightmares and disturbing hallucinations are the brain’s way of trying to make sense of what’s happening. They say that for some, it can take longer to heal from the delusions than from any physical injuries. This isn’t something you should witness.”
As her mother’s screams continued, Lizbet felt more and more desperate.
“We should call Elizabeth,” John said, pulling out his phone.
“She won’t be able to do anything, either,” Declan said.
“She’ll still want to know,” Lizbet put in.
John handed her his phone. “Do you want to tell her?”
Lizbet took the phone and wandered over to a chair in the waiting room. She glanced around at the others sharing the sterile space. The orange upholstered chairs tried to look cheerful, but failed when mixed with the glaring white walls, drab artwork, and the blank, tired expressions of the people waiting for news of their loved ones.
When Elizabeth answered the phone, Lizbet filled her in
on the situation.
Declan sat beside her, his hands between his knees. “I know you don’t want to leave, but if listening to your mom is painful for me, it has to be murder for you. Do you want to go for a walk?”
“But what if—”
“My dad will call us.” He laced his fingers through hers. “Please?”
She knew she should tell him no, just like she knew she shouldn’t be holding his hand. But at that moment, she needed a hand to hold. She needed him. She let him lead her out of the building.
They walked a few blocks before turning onto a quiet street. Century-old mansions stood beneath giant maple, pine, and cedar trees. It seemed eons away from the bustling Queen Anne Center.
“Where are we?” Lizbet asked.
“The University District,” Declan told her. “Mostly, this is where the professors live.” He walked as if he had a destination, as if he wasn’t just killing time.
“Are we going somewhere in particular?” Lizbet asked.
Declan didn’t answer. But after a moment, he stopped in front of a large Tudor home surrounded by lilacs, dogwood, and sprawling rhododendrons. Light glinted through mullion windows. It seemed sad to her, because it looked like a home that should have had a family, but was eerily quiet. “My grandfather’s house.”
She would have continued to stare, but Declan pulled her away.
“Do you want to meet him?” Lizbet asked.
“I do, but only if he wants to meet me.” He dropped her hand and shoved his own into his pockets.
“But he did want to meet you, remember?”
“Why didn’t he call then? If he was healthy enough to get himself discharged from the hospital, he’s well enough to pick up a phone.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know what to say.”