The Memory of All That - Nancy Smith Gibson Page 0,13
me he was my son, the blackness closed in, just like it did when I was sick. When I came to, the sadness overwhelmed me.”
“What about his being your son makes you sad? Are you unhappy about it?”
“Oh no! No! I’m not unhappy about him at all. I just didn’t know . . . I didn’t know he was my son. How could I have forgotten something like that—something so important? Maybe the news that I had ignored Jonathan for four years caused me to black out. How could I do that? My own son . . .” The tears started rolling down her cheeks again.
David had turned away and was pacing back and forth as she spoke.
“Now, now. Don’t get worked up again.” Doctor Means turned. “Alice, get her a glass of water.”
“But that’s so horrid! I’m a horrid person! How could I do that to my own son?”
David stopped at the foot of the bed and stared at her.
“Marnie, I find it hard to believe you’re acting this time. If you are, then you’re a better actress than you were before you left. Your lies usually drip with sweetness.”
Alice returned from the bathroom with a glass of water, and Doctor Means encouraged Marnie to sip it slowly and regain her composure. “David, there is no way she was faking that much emotion.”
She finally spoke again. “The sadness was suddenly overwhelming. It was as if I was mourning the loss of the last four years instead of my shortcomings as a mother.”
“Have any of your memories returned this week?”
“Not really. But Jonathan had me read his dinosaur book several times, and it seemed familiar. I knew more facts about dinosaurs than were in the book, and I don’t know where I learned them. I don’t remember dinosaurs being especially interesting to me.”
“I don’t remember you ever reading that book—or any book—to him,” David said. “I read it to him, as did Mrs. Tucker, but not you. You didn’t play with him much.”
Marnie bit her lip in an attempt to hold back the tears.
Uncharacteristically kind, David said, “I’m not saying that to blame you for anything, just to set the record straight. If you know about dinosaurs, it’s not from reading that book to Jonathan, as far as I know. Maybe it’s from your own childhood.”
Doctor Means spoke again. “Anything else, Marnie? Anything you remember?”
“The little plastic toy dinosaurs he plays with. When I hold one, it seems very familiar.”
David spoke again. “He is never without one, either in his hand or in his pocket. You’re used to seeing him with one.”
“So you are getting a bit of your memory back. Slowly but surely it’s returning. I’ll tell you what. I’ve told everyone to keep quiet about your past—make you remember on your own. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe people should tell you what your past was like. If you had been told up front about who Jonathan is, and about your life, maybe it wouldn’t have caused such a strong reaction. From now on”—he looked at David and Alice—“you can answer her questions. Don’t give her more than she can handle. And give her facts only, not opinions, please.”
“I’ll give her facts,” said a new voice from the hall. “She is a manipulative, conniving woman who trapped David into marriage because this family has money, and she’s trash looking for an easy way out.”
“Mother!” David turned to the woman in the doorway. “That is not helpful at all.”
“But it’s the truth, and Doctor Means said to tell her the truth.” The woman who spoke to Marnie the night she arrived approached the bed where she sat, cross-legged. “He was engaged to a lovely young woman, a woman of his own class, until you seduced him and got yourself pregnant so he would marry you to give his son a name. If Jonathan didn’t look so much like David at that age I would swear he was another man’s child. You have certainly had your share of the men in this town, both before and after you married my son.”
Chapter 8
“That isn’t helpful, Mother.”
“Why not? You want her to remember, don’t you? She should remember how much she hurt this family. She should remember how much she hurt her husband and child. She should remember how she stole from the company. She should remember all of it.”
“No, no,” Marnie moaned. “I’m not that kind of person. I’m not. I know I’m not.”