Well Behaved Wives(59)

Firecracker. Lillian had entirely forgotten that her mother had called her that. She choked back a pit in her throat and wiped one runaway tear.

“But they won’t bring her to see me.” Anna was talking in the present tense, as if Lillian were still ten years old.

“Who won’t bring her?” Lillian asked. This was more than Anna had expressed in two decades. And all in response to that one photograph. It seemed like a peek at her family of the past had spurred Anna’s mind into action.

“Percy’s parents love Lilly, but they don’t want her to know. They don’t want anyone to know.” Anna stared off as if in a trance. “My husband died,” she mumbled. “I was glad.”

Lillian froze in place, cold as a snowman inside and out. Clearly her mother was muddled and didn’t know what she was saying. Her parents had fought sometimes, which was scary, but he was a good man, a good provider. He’d prided himself on that.

She’d had enough. With a muttered “I have to go now,” Lillian sprang from the bench and hurried to Peter. She grabbed his hand, grateful for his steadfastness and for the life to which she could return. “Let’s go.”

She took a last look back and saw the nurse put her hand on Anna’s arm in a gesture of consolation or to calm her—Lillian couldn’t tell.

Lillian was the one who needed comfort and peace of mind. Any clarity about the time in her life when she was happy, about her childhood, wouldn’t be found here. Or with her mother. Her mother couldn’t remember either. Or wouldn’t.

Lillian stared at the photo of her family while she and Peter walked back to the car. Her mother had seen something different, something untrue, in that picture. “You should have heard her,” Lillian said. “She sounded sane one minute and crazy the next. She recognized me, but she thought my father was some bad man. But I know she loved my father. She fell apart when he died. And she never recovered.”

“It’s no wonder, then, that she doesn’t remember that time.” His eyes were kind, kinder than she had any right to expect under the circumstances. Most people wouldn’t even mention a relative who was locked up for life—it was as bad as having a parent in jail. She felt a surge of gratitude for him again.

“You’re right.”

Peter steered Lillian around a planter—just in time for her to miss bumping into it. “Watch where you’re going. Maybe the photo wasn’t a good idea.” He held on to her arm protectively.

Lillian stopped walking. “But she knew it was me on the beach.”

“No, she knew it was her daughter on the beach. She didn’t know that photo was over twenty years old. She’s not in her right mind.”

“But what if she is? Sometimes, I mean. She knows she likes sweets and hates raisins, and she never mixes that up. She said Lilly was her ‘firecracker,’ and that’s what she called me. Why would she say my father was a bad man? Why would she think I wasn’t safe? And that she was glad he died? That was the worst part. What if she had said that to my grandparents?”

She could tell Peter was turning her words over in his head. Finally, he said, “That sounds like paranoia, doesn’t it? Reason enough to have someone put away. She obviously wasn’t in her right mind back then.”

“I guess. But how do we know that, when it comes right down to it?”

“Listen, you have no proof other than her accusations from today. She’s never said anything before about this?”

Lillian shook her head, then she pivoted and marched up the brick road to the main building. She’d never questioned what she had been told. Her mother had gone crazy. What if Anna had lost her mind because of her treatments, not despite? She’d heard of such cases.

But—what if Anna’s recollections were correct? She’d recognized Lilly, after all.

“Lillian!” Peter yelled. She stopped and turned around, ready to argue for her right to answers to questions that were decades past due. But he was stretching his hand toward her. “You deserve to know. Let’s get some answers.”

Dr. Paul was not a man accustomed to impromptu appointments. He walked—almost stumbled—into his office, where Lillian and Peter sat waiting, as if crossing the finish line of a race.

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Lillian said.

“My secretary said you wanted to see the admitting records of Anna Feldman.” He looked at Peter, but Lillian cleared her throat and Dr. Paul turned to her.

“I’m her daughter. I was a teenager when she came here.” Lillian should have asked about her mother’s history a decade ago.

“I understand, and I’m sorry. And since Mr. Diamond is her custodian, I need his permission to discuss this with you.”

“His permission? I’m her daughter.” Lillian’s volume had risen more than usual.

“Of course you have my permission,” Peter said, stopping any rising tide.

“Very well,” Dr. Paul said. “I was not working here in ’46, and unfortunately, the records from Byberry State Hospital are incomplete. All I can say is that it’s fortunate for her that you got her out of there.”

Lillian leaned forward. “Why was she admitted?”

The doctor checked the file in front of him. “She was admitted here with a diagnosis of presenility.”