The Memory Book(25)

“Sammie? Earth to Sammie?” Dad asked.

I tossed a pair of pants in the closet. Don’t know why I even bothered unpacking, I was just putting the same pile of clothes into yet another pile. “You need more information, is what you’re saying.”

“We need to make sure we’re not going to lose you,” Dad said.

That stopped me.

Mom crossed her arms and cleared her throat. “This is the first time you’d left and we weren’t sure what state you were going to be in when you came back.”

Right then she sounded more like Mom and less like a kid, more like the mmhmms and the exhaustion and the pushing and pushing she did all day, almost never losing patience.

I think I was beginning to know what they meant. But that didn’t mean I agreed with them.

I walked toward Mom and grabbed her hand, and grabbed Dad’s hand with my other one, and we sat on the floor in my room. That felt right, that felt calm and stable. We used to sit this way as they read to me, a stack of library books in the middle. Then later, as I read to them, the littler kids draped over their bodies.

“So, what’s this plan, Sammie?” Dad picked up a paperback copy of A Wrinkle in Time, flipping through it as he spoke. “How are we going to make sure that you’re taken care of if something like this happens again?”

Much better. This, I could handle. That is, I could handle it if they listened and didn’t argue with me and let me do whatever I wanted.

“If the memory loss continues at the same rate, I might have a slight episode every four months. This is assuming that I would have an episode at all. With those odds, I see very little need to panic.”

My mom laughed drily. “Ha.”

Dad said, “Dr. Clarkington told us—”

“Dr. Clarkington doesn’t have enough information about someone my age with this disease.”

Dad shook his head. “The fact that you have the capacity to lose your bearings is enough information for me.”

Mom agreed. “Once is already too many times.”

“Goddamnit.” I thought we had gotten past this part. I let go of their hands. “I love you both so much but you can be so stupid sometimes.”

“Watch it,” Mom said.

“The specialist told everything he knew to Dr. Clarkington. What more do you want? Do you want me to leave and go live in Minnesota so I can rot at the Mayo Clinic? ”

“Don’t get worked up,” Dad cautioned.

“Is that what you want?” I couldn’t look at their close-to-tears faces so I kept my eyes on the ceiling.

I heard Mom mutter, “That is the last thing you say to Sammie when she’s worked up.”

“I know everything is scary but I’m the one going through it, okay? And I get to decide how to feel about it. Which is very, like, practical. And rational. You should be glad that I’m not depressed, like that girl from”—I brought my gaze back to both of them—“Michigan who found out she had leukemia and got suicidal!”

“Christ, Sammie…” Dad said.

Mom looked toward the hallway, making sure Bette and Davy hadn’t overheard.

“Read about it in the Detroit Times! It’s a real thing! I’m happy, I’m focused, and I will do everything to get better. Except for compromise on my goals. Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, once said…” I was flustered. “He once said…”

“Samantha,” my mother said. “Listen to me.”

“Okay!” My fists were clenched. She waited. “Okay.”

“We can’t be around all the time to monitor your health…”

I opened my mouth to protest.

“… and we might not always know what to do anyway,” Mom said, holding her hands up. “So you’ve got to, you’ve got to help us. You’ve got be smart.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Smart doesn’t always mean grades and vocabulary and all that, Sammie. We need you to be realistic.”

Dad started in, too. “Start preparing for the future.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past eighteen years of my life?”

“No, I don’t mean that, I mean a future where…” Suddenly, he stopped, and I didn’t know why. Mom was looking straight ahead, but I noticed one of her arms was behind him where he sat. Pinching him, probably. She did not want him to go on. Now, that. That pushed a button—maybe because they worked so much and were rarely together, I wasn’t used to the magnetism of their powers combined. Jupiter and Mars aligned. Those bastards. The two biological sources of all my strength and weakness in one place. They think they’re protecting me. But I know them as well as they think they know me.

“Well,” I said. I swallowed, and went on. “I am no longer competing in debate, so I will be able to focus my efforts on completing the year without incident.”

“Good. And resting,” my mom said.

“And maintaining my status as valedictorian.”

Dad moved one of my clogs to match it with other, making a pair on the floor. “And visiting the doctor.”

“And finding a new doctor that we trust in New York City.”

Dad nodded. “We’ll take it one day at a time.”