“You do? Who was he, Auggie? Who was Carlos?”
She was sobbing now and I fought the impulse to hold her. This was a major breakthrough and I didn’t want to do anything at all that would interfere with the stream of recovered memory that was once again filling her head.
“We rode Steeplechase,” she whispered between the sobs.
I nodded, “Yes, that’s right. Do you know where he is now?”
“You shot him,” she rasped and the dam broke open. I knew we had reached a breakthrough. “Oh, Worth, you had to shoot him and it was all my fault!” she cried.
I went to her then and held her, kneeling beside her chair as she quivered and cried into my shoulder. I looked up at Walter and saw that he was crying as well, his hand patting his thigh. He had tears of joy as well as sorrow. Our girl was coming back.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Worth
I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it before. It was my profession and I would have seen it had it been someone other than Auggie. It all made sense, then. I’d taken Auggie on that outing, hoping to cheer her up. She had been bearing the burden of guilt for Carlos’ death. I’d questioned her wisdom in letting the horses out to pasture and her rebellion had led her to disregard my words. Carlos paid the price.
When she’d suffered the injury, that conscience was blocking her memories. It had been a sort of combined effort between her swollen tissues and her conscience; something of which she had not been aware. I should have seen it and although this did little to help, it did illustrate that Auggie and I were two of a kind and always had been.
We were both rebellious to the extent of hurting ourselves, and often, others. This was what we were seeing rise in Ford, as well. The question was whether we could keep him from becoming like us. How could parents with the same weakness reach out and help their child who had inherited that pre-disposition? It would be like reverse engineering of his DNA. Was it possible in therapy? Did brain plasticity extend to innate personality traits?
***
Once the initial breakthrough had taken place, Auggie began to remember in spurts. I never pressured her but welcomed her back gently. She needed to remain in control of the process. It couldn’t be forced. We cut back the nurses to just one who came three times a week and only because she and Auggie had become friends. Betsy smiled more often and I caught myself whistling a time or two.
I telephoned Ford ahead of his normal call. He was concerned when he came on the phone. I should have anticipated this, but didn’t, so I quickly said, “She’s coming back.” It was enough. He understood. We talked a bit more about the process and that she needed more time, but he was at ease knowing that there was a future ahead.
As I watched Auggie return, there were many times when I wanted to give her some kind of a memory block to avoid thinking about the things that were unpleasant. I wanted her not to remember Linc, the cruelty of her mother and the loss of friends like Mrs. Jessup. I realized then that life has no texture, no contrast unless the good and the bad are allowed to co-exist. I could not manipulate her brain any more than I could life and there was a lesson in this for me. In time, when Auggie was herself again, perhaps we could talk about that and give some thought to how we might help our son.
Auggie
I felt suspended between two worlds. I was told that there were things I had yet to remember and yet I wondered whether I wanted to. I knew that before I remembered Carlos, my life seemed soft and lined with warm, pastel quilts that kept me from being harmed. Every day, more of the grays and even blacks began to enter from the periphery. There was a certain comfort in not knowing what you do not know.
I’d begun to remember the events of the day when I was injured at the lake. I hadn’t confessed this to Worth yet, for I don’t know what role he might have played. I wanted to remember it all before I judged. Remembering had taught me that there were perspectives we may never see. It’s unfair to anyone to judge without that full view. I would never judge again.
I knew Worth was my husband, and Ford, my son. I felt a resistance in opening myself to either one, as though there was a latent hurt that I was still trying to block. But having resolved not to judge, I had to give them both a clean slate, as they had given me. I felt a mother’s love toward Ford; it grew within me every morning when I woke. I was beginning to recall him lying in the nursery and the sweet smell of his baby breath as I took him to nurse at my breast. I remembered my pride in the fact that he resembled me and hoped we would share a spirit that would keep us lifelong companions.
I remembered Dad and more and more of the closeness we had. Mother, I wasn’t so clear about, and since she wasn’t there and didn’t seem to be held in particularly high esteem, perhaps that’s for the best, at least for the time being. There were faces that crept in and I looked about the house and my room for clues as to who they were.
Gradually, the pieces came and the puzzle was more and more complete. There was, however, still the question of the man to whom I was married. There was something I was resisting and it frustrated and blocked me. I tried to talk to him about it one day.
“Worth?” I tapped on his study door and he immediately opened it. His was a room of modern lines and cool colors. So unlike what appealed to me. Was this why I felt a distance? Were we so unalike?
“You don’t have to knock, sweetheart,” he said and I felt a chill down my spine by his term of endearment. I tried not to let on. He motioned for me to take a chair and I slid into the one closest to me. “What’s up?” He gave me his full attention.
“I’m not sure how to express this, and I know I might hurt your feelings in what I’m about to say, but I’m begging you to please not take this personally and to respect that I can’t help it.” I thought I’d had this rehearsed, and that’s exactly how it was sounding, but yet I didn’t want it to.
His eyes grew darker and a slight frown lined his face. I knew I’d already hurt him with those words alone. “What is it?” he asked kindly.
“I’m beginning to remember more and more now,” I began and this brought a smile to his face. I hated that it would soon fade, but there was no way around it.
“The thing is,” I continued, “there seems to be certain parts that I’m not able to remember. I don’t know why, but they just won’t come to me.”