I flip back to the picture of them under the tree and pull it out gently from under the plastic sheet, checking the date onthe back. The date tickles something in my memory; it’s the day before they left for the States.
This picture was taken the day they found out they were pregnant with me.
Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I whisper, “What does this mean, Mom?”
This feels important, but I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it could be. We didn’t keep any secrets from each other. Only one topic ever felt off-limits: my dad’s family. Everything else could always be discussed freely.
A sinking feeling begins to creep over me when I realize maybe they weren’t always honest with me. I drop the picture onto the desk and exchange the photo album for another one, beginning the process again.
But my search is fruitless; frustration rises when Maggie walks in.
“I’m about to head out; Lizzie is with Adi,” she trills, slinging her long chestnut braid over her thin shoulder.
“Oh great, I’ll walk you out,” I mumble, looking up from the album. “Let me put this back right quick.”
“What is that?” she asks, her hazel eyes lighting with curiosity.
“Photo albums; I’m trying to find anything about this necklace,” I flash her my medallion, “without asking Gran. She’s had some strange reactions to it.”
I walk over to the shelf and slip the album between the others.
“Have you seen her sketch?” Maggie asks.
“What sketch?”
I brush the dust off my cardigan.
“The one from this morning looks just like that. But the strangeness is normal; it’s probably the disease twisting her thoughts,” she mutters.
Gran is mumbling about feathers everywhere when we getwithin earshot of the chair she’s relaxed in. I glance around, half expecting to see a busted pillow somewhere, before I realize her eyes are closed. Lizzie sits quietly across from her, laying the puzzle pieces on the low-lying table. She was exactly what we needed when Gran’s illness became unmanageable. I was so relieved when she and Gran instantly clicked, and she promptly settled into life here at the Hall.
“Gran, Lizzie, do either of you need anything?” I offer.
Lizzie shakes her head, and her curly auburn tresses bob up and down with the movement. Gran’s eyes flash open, and she smiles.
I move to kneel in front of her, but get distracted by her sketchbook lying face-up on the floor beside her chair. With painstaking detail, she managed to recreate the medallion. Every slash and curve of the ancient-looking runes sprawled in a spiraling circle has been sketched onto the parchment by memory alone.How on earth did she draw this after only seeing it twice?And briefly at that.
Maggie clears her throat from the doorway, and I look up, still grappling with the sketch before me.
She waves and mouths, “See you later.”
But I can barely manage to nod back.
“Bryn, dearie, did you have a nice time in Olundy?”
I flinch when Gran’s voice echoes through the quiet room.
The name slices at my heart.
“Gran, I’m Lena, Bryn’s daughter …”
Her face twists with agitation.
“NO, no. Bryn. You’re my Bryn. Stop it. No, Lena!” Her voice rises with each word.
“Oh dear,” Lizzie mutters, coming to stand behind me. She places a tiny hand on my shoulder, offering support.
“You’re right, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Mum,” I reply, trying to calm her down.
