The Sweetness of Forgetting (21)

2. Cut the peels into thin strips


3. Boil 6 cups of water, and add the peels to the boiling water. Boil 3 minutes, drain, and rinse the peels, then repeat the same process again. (This gets rid of some of the bitterness of the orange peels.)

4. Mix remaining 2 cups water with 2 cups sugar and bring to a boil. Add the peels, reduce heat, and cover pot. Simmer for 45 minutes.

5. Remove from sugar water with a slotted spoon, and lay peels on a rack to dry. Wait at least two hours before using them in the recipe above. Dip the remainder in dark chocolate and enjoy as a snack.





Rose

When Rose had awoken that morning, she knew. It was just like the old days, when she’d known things deep in her bones before they happened. Those days were far in the past, but lately, as the Alzheimer’s had stolen more of the in-between, it was like the timeline of her life had become an accordion, folding in on itself, bringing the past ever closer to the present by bending and contracting the years that had gone by.

But on this day, Rose remembered everything: her family, her friends, the life she’d once had. For a moment, she had closed her eyes and wished to drift back into the oblivion from which she’d come. The Alzheimer’s terrified her some days, but other days, it was a comfort. She was not ready for this clear window into the past. But then she opened her eyes and looked at the calendar that sat on her bedside table. Each night before closing her eyes, she crossed off the day she’d just completed. She was losing everything else, but knowing the day of the week was something she could still control. And according to the red X’s on the calendar, today, the twenty-ninth of September, was a special day. Rose knew in an instant that the fact she’d been granted a reprieve of clarity on this day, of all days, was a sign from above.

And so she’d spent the morning writing it all down, as best she could, in a letter addressed to her granddaughter. Someday, Hope would read it and understand. But not yet. There were still pieces missing. When Rose closed the envelope, just before lunch, she felt empty and sad, as if she had just sealed off a piece of herself. In a way, she supposed, she had.

She carefully wrote out the address of Thom Evans, the attorney who’d drawn up her will, and she asked one of the nurses to please stamp and post the letter. Then she sat down and wrote out a list, forming each name carefully and clearly in big block writing, despite her shaking hands.

Later that day, as she drove to the beach with Hope and Annie, she checked the pocket of her skirt three times, just to make sure the list was still there. It was everything to her, and soon, Hope would know the truth too. It was impossible to hold back the tide any longer. In fact, Rose was no longer sure she wanted to. Being a one-woman dam against a surging flood was exhausting.

Now, as she stood on the piled rocks, her granddaughter on one side and her great-granddaughter on the other, in the fading heure bleue, she looked up at the sky and breathed in and out, in tune with the ocean, as she held the Star Pie in her hands. She threw the first piece into the water and recited the words so softly that she couldn’t hear them herself over the rhythmic rushing of the waves.

“I am sorry for leaving,” she whispered into the wind.

“I am sorry for the decisions I have made.” A piece of the crust landed on an incoming wave.

“I am sorry for the people I have hurt.” The wind carried her words away.

As she threw piece after piece of the pie into the ocean, she glanced at Hope and Annie, both of whom were staring at her in confusion. She felt a pang of guilt for scaring them, but they would understand soon enough. It was time.

She looked back to the sky and spoke to God softly, using words she hadn’t said aloud in sixty years. She did not expect forgiveness. She knew she didn’t deserve it. But she wanted God to know that she was sorry.

No one knew the truth. No one but God, and of course Ted, who had died twenty-five years earlier. He’d been a good man, a kind man, Papa to her Josephine and Grandpa to her Hope. He’d shown them love, and she would be forever grateful for that, because she had not known how. Still, she wondered whether he would have loved her the way he did if he’d known the whole truth. He’d guessed at it, she knew, but to tell him, to say it aloud, would have been to crush his soul.

Rose took a deep breath and looked into the eyes of Hope, the granddaughter she knew she’d failed. Hope’s mother, Josephine, had suffered from Rose’s mistakes, and so too had Hope. Even now, Rose could see it in her granddaughter’s eyes and in the way she lived her life. Then, she looked to Annie, the one who brought all the memories rushing back in. She hoped for a better future for her. “I need you to do something for me,” Rose said at long last, turning to her granddaughter.

“What do you need?” Hope asked softly. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Hope didn’t know what she was agreeing to, but Rose had no choice.

“I need you to go to Paris,” Rose said calmly.

Hope’s eyes widened. “Paris?”

“Paris,” Rose repeated firmly. Before Hope could ask any questions, she went on. “I must know what happened to my family.” Rose reached into her pocket and withdrew the list, the one that felt like it was on fire, along with a check she’d carefully made out for a thousand dollars. Enough for a plane ticket to France. Her palm burned as Hope took them from her. “I must know,” Rose repeated softly. The waves crashed against the dam of her memories, and she braced herself for the flood.