Page 59 of The Lost Hours
Her hands found the stack of read pages and she began to absently thumb through them, pausing when she reached the blank pages in between which I’d placed the newspaper clipping. I watched as her hands touched it, the long, manicured fingers lighting briefly on the clipping before moving to the edge of the page, and then hesitating. She returned to it, then looked up at me expectantly. “What’s this?”
I paused only briefly before answering. “Pandora’s box,” I said. “It’s the newspaper clipping about the baby found in the river.”
She was silent for a moment, and we both turned as Emily reentered the cottage, her arms filled with more bags. “Does Tucker know?” Helen asked.
“Yes, I told him yesterday when I came clean about everything.”
“And you’re still thinking your grandmother might have had something to do with this story.”
“Yes. There had to be a reason why it was in her scrapbook.”
Helen frowned. “Or maybe Josie was involved; she and the infant are of the same race, after all. Have you had any luck researching this?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t had a chance to. I was planning on going to the historical archives this week. You can come along, if you like. I can read to you whatever I find, and maybe you can help me put something together. Or we could just ask your grandmother. I think that’s the real reason why I haven’t gotten further with my research. She knows the answer to every question raised in these pages.”
She picked up the newspaper clipping, holding it as gingerly as a newborn. “I’m going to show her this, and ask if she knows why it was with your grandmother’s pages. I’ll let you know what she says—if she agrees to tell me anything.” Helen stood. “I can’t help but wonder if Susan found out about this, and maybe the truth behind it affected her deeply—deeply enough to start using again.” She shook her head. “I’m not going to tell Tucker that. Not yet. He feels guilty about enough things that I don’t want to burden him with anything more.”
“But what could he feel guilty about? Susan’s unhappy childhood and drug-abuse started long before he even met her.”
She looked startled. “I wasn’t referring to Susan. I was actually referring to myself.”
She started to move away, but I touched her gently on the arm, holding her back. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes darkened. “I caught measles from Tucker, and that’s what made me blind.”
“Measles?”
Helen shrugged. “My parents didn’t believe in vaccinating us. They brought measles back with them from Africa and Tucker got it first. He was in isolation—our dad’s a doctor, too, which is why Tucker was cared for at home—and everything was fine until we had a bad thunderstorm. He came to my room, scared, and I let him crawl into bed with me as we always did. And when I got sick, I tried to hide my symptoms because I didn’t want to get Tucker in trouble. That’s why I got so much sicker, because it was so far along before I got treated.”
“But it wasn’t his fault.” I shook my head, remembering the look on Tucker’s face when I told him that I knew he’d been afraid of thunderstorms as a child.
“Yes, well, you know that and I know that, but guilt is a funny thing. So let’s just wait a bit, see what else we can find out. But first, I’m going to go lie down on the sofa and watch my soaps while you and Emily work. And then I’m going to go find Malily and see if she can save us some research time.”
I helped her to the couch and placed the TV remote in her hands, admiring her silk knit dress and also the way this blind woman seemed to be the least handicapped person I knew.
Lillian fingered a rose bloom as she sat on her favorite bench in Helen’s garden. She’d retrieved the full-bloomed head from the ground, as if it had been so full of its own passion and beauty that it had burst from the stem. The edges had started to brown and furl, and as she stared at it, she wondered if she should give it another day or two of life by bringing it in and sticking it in a glass of water. In the old days, she would have scattered the petals on the ground to enrich the earth; but life seemed so much more fragile to her now. She contemplated the rose in its final, glorious bloom before dying, and wondered what form her own death would take, and if she’d have a chance for one final burst of understanding.
“Malily?”
Lillian turned to see Helen hovering at the gate.
“I’m in here. On the bench.”
Using her cane, Helen tapped her way on the slate path, knowing to turn right when the path turned to brick. Lillian had designed the walkway for just that reason for the granddaughter she loved as a daughter.
Without offering assistance, knowing it would offend Helen, Lillian waited for the cane to strike the line of rocks in the path to indicate she’d reached the bench. She slowly lowered herself onto the bench next to Lillian, then rested her cane on her knees.
“I smell dirt,” Helen said, tilting her nose into the air, her creamy skin glowing in the late afternoon sun.
Lillian eyed the bags of topsoil propped against the garden wall and the pile of it spilled onto the path. “Piper’s been busy. The pansies were getting too leggy, so we decided they needed to go. She’s coming up with a redesign of that section with new flowers.”
She felt Helen looking at her. “I can’t believe you’re trusting somebody else to redesign part of your garden.”
“She was taught by a master—the same woman who taught me everything I know about gardening. Her grandmother, Annabelle O’Hare.”
Helen nodded, not saying anything because she didn’t have to. It had always seemed to Lillian that to make up for Helen’s lack of sight, she was given an extra sound track inside her head, to hear everything that wasn’t said out loud.
Eventually, Helen said, “Piper spoke with Tucker last night. He hasn’t decided yet if she should leave or not.”
