The wind blows in through the car window, tossing my hair in a carefree dance. I smile, making myself comfortable in the back seat of Jacob’s car. It’s not a big vehicle, but I like the colour of the interior, a plush grey that almost makes me feel like royalty when I settle myself in. The car is far from being new, and lately there’s this noise that comes from beneath when he hits a rough patch in the road. I keep telling him he should get it looked at, but he’s been putting it off, saying it’s probably nothing. Jacob’s not one to be overly concerned about what he calls the “little things.” I like that about him, the way he can calm the worry that niggles inside of me. This is our first day trip together, the three of us. Day trip—just thinking about it makes me smile. For years I used to watch with envy when some of the residents at Harmony House got to leave for the entire day. They’d come back different, as if being away had altered them, at least until the reality of their lives set back in again, which usually came a few hours later. I used to think that I’d be happy just to experience that feeling of being different, even for a short time. I’ve been trying to stay optimistic, not expecting too much to change, but allowing the contentment I feel to spread however slowly it wants. I now have a reason to smile every day.
The sun beams down on me through the window of the car, settling deep in my core, as we pull away from Harmony House. A sense of euphoria comes over me, and I feel lighter than usual. This day seems perfect; something I once feared would never be possible. Mrs. Weaver gave me her blessing earlier this morning. She came into my room while I was going through my closet. I’d been planning to wear a dark navy outfit but found myself reaching for a breezy cotton dress I’d found at Frenchys last week. Sophie gasped when I went into the changing room that day with it draped over my arm. From inside the tiny stall I overheard her say, “Elizabeth doesn’t wear red.” Looking at myself from all angles, I had to admit that I liked the bright colour and the tiny yellow flowers. When I came back out and announced that I’d take it, Rebecca said she was very proud of me for trying something new. “I’m sure it will look beautiful on you,” she said. I told her I wasn’t sure about that but that the colour was certainly eye-catching. The scrunched-up face Sophie gave made us both laugh. At the time I wasn’t sure I’d ever wear the dress, but as the days went by, knowing it was inside my closet reassured me in a way that an article of clothing had never done before. It’s only a red dress, for goodness’ sake.
Music is playing over the car radio, tunes that only young people listen to these days, certainly no one at Harmony House. Mrs. Zimmer would be sputtering and chewing that young people have no respect, but I sit here tapping my foot and feeling the rhythm of the song bouncing in my soul. Jewel is singing along to the music and every so often Jacob joins in. They look at one another and smile. From the back seat, I see the countryside pass by. As we approach a field filled with dandelions, I make a quick gasp, calling out for Jacob to stop. He pulls off the road and the three of us get out of the car.
“We used to pick dandelion flowers,” says Jacob, smiling. “Our field would be covered in the spring.”
“You’d put them in a glass on the table,” adds Jewel.
Bending down to pick one, I decide against it. It will only stain my hands. As we get back into the car, I ask Jacob to wait for a moment before resuming our drive. Taking in the view, I absorb the scenery like a sponge. “I like dandelions,” I say, gazing out at the field of yellow.
“Do you suppose it’s something you remember from before? You always said they were your favourite.” Jewel’s eyes sparkle. I can see her reflection in the side-view mirror, her beautiful complexion, bits of blonde hair being swept up in the breeze. Jacob favours his father. I can see it even though I can’t produce a clear image of Cliff in my mind. But Jewel, so much of me is in her; the way she turns her head and smiles, the look that crosses her face when she’s contemplating something. Jacob laughs and says how uncanny it is, that we could pass as sisters. While I smile at the thought, I hope for her sake that it isn’t true. I want Jewel to be strong and confident; all the things I can’t be.
Jacob has promised that one day we will look at old photos together—when we’re all ready, that is. One part of me is terrified at the thought, the other part filled with curiosity. I’d like to know what my life once looked like. I really would. I’ve been keeping my questions to a minimum, afraid that I might push them for answers they don’t want to be truthful about for fear of hurting me. My illness got in the way of us living our lives. It robbed me, stopped me from being the person I was meant to be. Then there’s Jewel, still grieving for her father, even though it’s been nearly three years since he was lost at sea. I know what it’s like to carry a heart full of grief. And so, we are not yet ready for photos.
Last night, I took out my notebook and wrote on a brand new page: Tomorrow we are going home. My hand trembled slightly as the words materialized on the page and I scolded myself for being weak. There’s a picnic lunch on the seat beside me: potato salad, coleslaw and pieces of cold chicken, some early strawberries Jewel picked up at the store this morning that smell totally scrumptious. Both Jacob and Jewel insisted upon bringing all this food, even though I told them they shouldn’t fuss and that sandwiches would be just fine.
“Who said ‘just fine’ is good enough for the MacKays?” Jacob wanted to know. It took only a few moments for me to agree. Jacob was right. Just fine wouldn’t do. Everyone deserves more than just fine from life.
“Is it too breezy back there, Mumma?”
“It’s good, Jewel,” I say. “Everything is wonderful.”
There’s this woman in the Forties who wants to meet me. I just found out a few weeks ago. Her name is Sandra. She sounded quite friendly when we spoke. She asked how I was doing and mentioned a bit about the weather. We chatted about insignificant things for a few moments, the conversation stilted and a bit forced. I’m not one for chatting on the phone, and using the one out in the hallway made me feel exposed. Mrs. Zimmer has a phone on her side of the room, and she sometimes talks to her niece on Saturday afternoons but I’ve never had reason to use a phone, let alone to ask for one.
All the while we were talking, I kept wondering who this Sandra was and what she really wanted. When she asked me if I remembered her, I had to admit that I didn’t. I’m afraid I went on to tell her about the treatments they gave me that swept my memory out from under me, and then I wondered what made me blurt all that out to someone I didn’t even know. Suddenly frightened that my past was catching up with me, I asked her right out how she knew me.
“We are sisters,” she said. “Half-sisters, actually.” There came a long pause. Her words took a while to register. But then she ambushed me, and before I had time to think it through, I agreed to meet with her. Jewel said there had never been any mention of Sandra being my half-sister and that she could be making it up for all we know. Yet I wonder why she would have called in the first place if it wasn’t true. I can’t imagine anyone making such a claim for no good reason. She likely saw my story on the television last fall like a lot of other people, but what if Jewel’s right? What if she is making it all up? I have no way of knowing. A few days after she phoned, I had a dream. I was in a cemetery filled with tombstones. There were other people there, and a coffin was being lowered into the ground. Flowers; there were so many flowers. And then I was screaming at someone. Even though I couldn’t see her face, I knew it was this Sandra who wanted to meet me—this woman claiming to be my half-sister. The dream left me shaken.
“I remember Sandra Peterson from when we lived in the Forties,” Jewel said. “Her son was an ass.” I know there was more she wanted to add, but she stopped. In time I’m sure she’ll tell, but I’ve learned it’s best not to push for answers. I wrote to this Sandra and told her I thought perhaps meeting at this time was not a good idea. Both Jacob and Jewel agreed.
Those small flickers of memory I’ve experienced in the past continue to catch up to me, and some days I wonder if they’re not becoming more frequent. Still other days, I’m content enough that I don’t bother looking for anything more. And I think maybe that’s the best way to live. I’ve explained to Jewel and Jacob how all the electroshock treatments left me unable to recall so much of the past; a by-product of the treatment that was deemed acceptable by those who were supposed to know what they were doing. There are the letters—the ones Dylan’s wife wrote. I’ve read and reread them, imagining the parts of the children’s growing up that I missed. I would like to thank her for writing them but sense that wouldn’t be a good idea. She was one of the ones who left me suspended in the past. She must have had her reasons, people usually do, and while the letters have been helpful, there’s this bitterness inside me.
I’m watching the road ahead, and a slight stirring begins in the pit of my stomach as I see the churches appear.
“This is the Cross, where the three churches are,” I say, perplexed as to how these words have found their way to my lips. “New Ross. We’re in New Ross. Make a left turn right here,” I add, confidence now growing inside me.
“We used to get groceries at that little store sometimes,” says Jewel, pointing to her right. “I remember!”
“It’s not far now,” I say, moving toward the edge of my seat, at this new realization now tapping me on the shoulder.
“Does anything else look familiar?” Jacob asks, as we pass the sign for the Forties Settlement. I search my mind for some landmark, anything recognizable. We drive up one hill and down the next and still nothing catches my attention. A burst of sunlight shines through the windshield as we round the top of a hill. Jewel quickly pulls the sun visor down. Looking over her shoulder at me, her eyes and her voice are filled with expectation as she asks, “Anything?”
“I’m afraid not.” For years I tried to get back some small part of the past, searching for something that was no longer there. Now, that need to get back what was lost seems senseless. Memories got scattered along the way. Things I thought I remembered with clarity have become dull and cloudy. I can no longer distinguish what is real and what are mere whispers from a mind that wants desperately to hang fast to something, anything. But I don’t need that now. I have Jewel and Jacob and a future filled with hope. Just the other week we talked about the possibility of my getting an apartment, somewhere handy to where Jewel lives. At first, I thought they were joking; how could I possibly live on my own? But then I saw the sincerity in their eyes, the possibilities that suddenly said, “Maybe, just maybe.”
“No,” I say firmly from the back seat. “There’s no need to do this. We can go back.”
“What do you mean? Don’t you want to go home?” asks Jacob looking at me in the rear-view mirror.
I smile then, knowing that home is not an actual place as I once thought. Home is knowing that you belong in someone’s heart and they belong in yours.