see her spine clearly through the thin gown, each vertebra jutted, and her shoulders were knobs. Her arms had wasted to sticks.
I made you a sandwich, I said.
Thank you, dear, she whispered.
Do you want me to read to you?
No, that’s all right.
Mom, I need to talk to you.
Nothing.
I need to talk to you, I said again.
I’m tired.
You’re always tired, but you sleep all the time.
She didn’t answer.
It was just a comment, I said.
Her silence got to me.
Can’t you eat? You’d feel better. Can’t you get up? Can’t you . . . come back to life?
No, she said immediately, as if she’d thought about this too. I can’t do it. I don’t know why. I just cannot do it.
Her back was still turned and a slight tremor began in her shoulders.
Are you cold? I stood and drew the blanket up over her shoulders. Then I sat back down in the chair.
I planted those stripey petunias you like. Here! I emptied my pockets of the little plastic identifying sticks, scattered them on the bed. Mom, I planted all different kinds of flowers. I planted sweet peas.
Sweet peas?
I hadn’t really planted sweet peas. I don’t know why I said it. Sweet peas, I said again. Sunflowers! I hadn’t planted sunflowers either.
Sunflowers will get huge!
She turned over in bed and stared at me. Her eyes were sunk in gray circles of skin.
Mom, I’ve got to talk to you.
About the sunflowers? Joe, they’ll shade out the other flowers.
Maybe I should plant them in another place, I said. I’ve got to talk to you.
Her face dulled. I’m tired.
Mom, did they ask you about that file?
What?
She stared at me in sudden dread, her eyes riveted to my face.
There was no file, Joe.
Yes, there was. The file you went to get on the day you were attacked. You told me you went to get a file. Where is it?
The dread in her face became an active fear.
I didn’t tell you. You imagined that, Joe.
Her lips trembled. She coiled in a ball, put her shrunken fists to her mouth, and squeezed her eyes shut.
Mom, listen. Don’t you want us to catch him?
She opened her eyes. Her eyes were black pits. She did not answer.
Mom, listen. I’m going to find him and I’m going to burn him. I’m going to kill him for you.
She sat up suddenly, activated, like rising from the dead. No! Not you. Don’t you. Listen, Joe, you’ve got to promise me. Don’t go after him. Don’t do anything.
Yes, I’m going to, Mom.
This jolt of strong reaction from her triggered something in me. I kept goading her.
I’ll do it. There is nothing to stop me. I know who he is and I’m going after him. You can’t stop me because you’re here in bed. You can’t get out. You’re trapped in here. And it stinks. Do you know it stinks in here?
I went over to the window and was about to pull the shade up when my mother spoke to me. What I mean is, my before-mother, the one who could tell me what to do, she spoke to me.
Stop that, Joe.
I turned away from the window. She was sitting up. There was no blood in her face at all. Her skin had a pasty, sunless quality. But she stared at me and spoke in an even and commanding tone.
Now you listen to me, Joe. You will not badger me or harass me. You will leave me to think the way I want to think, here. I have to heal any way I can. You will stop asking questions and you will not give me any worry. You will not go after him. You will not terrify me, Joe. I’ve had enough fear for my whole life. You will not add to my fear. You will not add to my sorrows. You will not be part of this.
I stood before her, small again.
This what?
All of this. She swept her arm toward the door. It is all a violation. Find him, don’t find him. Who is he? You have no idea. None. You don’t know. And you never will. Just let me sleep.
All right, I said, and left the room.
As I descended the stairs my heart grew cold. I had a sense that she knew who had done the thing. For sure, she was hiding something. That she knew who did it was a kick in the stomach. My ribs hurt. I couldn’t get my breath. I kept walking straight into the kitchen and then out the back