What We Remember. Michael Thomas Ford

sorry I brought up the thing about Dad,” Celeste said from behind her. “I guess I must have heard wrong.”

      “That’s all right,” said Ada, relieved. “It was late. You were tired. Who knows what we were arguing about.”

      There was a long pause. Ada heard the click of a fork against Celeste’s plate and the sound of chewing. She concentrated on making more pancakes. She already had a dozen stacked on the plate. If James doesn’t get down here soon, these are going to be cold, she thought. I should go wake him up.

      “Mom, have you thought about who might have wanted to kill…to see Dad dead?” Celeste asked.

      “Of course I have,” Ada answered. “What do you think I spent most of the night doing?”

      She lifted the last pancake from the griddle and put it on the plate, which she in turn slipped into the oven. She turned the temperature to low so that the pancakes would stay warm. She hoped they wouldn’t dry out. Then she sat down at the table.

      “And what did you come up with?” Celeste asked.

      “Nothing,” said Ada. “Apart from the usual suspects. The people he put away. Any one of them could have done it. I think we have to assume it was one of them.”

      “You don’t think it could be anyone he knew?”

      “Who do we know that could do something like that?” Ada snapped. She knew she sounded angry, and she laid her hand on Celeste’s. “I’m sorry. It’s just that the idea of anyone we know doing such a thing…” Her voice trailed off as she found it impossible to say just how much the thought upset her.

      “I know,” said Celeste. “This sounds horrible, but I preferred thinking that he killed himself. At least having cancer is a reason.”

      “It was selfish of him,” Ada said. She was surprised to hear herself say it. She had thought it often enough, but she’d never said anything like it in the presence of her children. Now that she had, though, she found herself continuing. “He robbed us. I could have taken care of him. He took that away from me.”

      Celeste put her fork down and looked at her mother with an unreadable expression. “I never knew you felt like this,” she said.

      Ada stood up. She didn’t want her daughter looking at her the way she was. She didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her. “Well, I do,” she said. “For a long time I hated him for what he did. I couldn’t understand it, even with the letter. Now, well, I just feel, I don’t know—guilty—I guess. For being mad at him all those years.”

      “Oh, Mom,” Celeste said. “Don’t. Don’t beat yourself up. You didn’t know. None of us knew.”

      “No,” Ada said. “I suppose we didn’t. But I can’t help what I feel.” She took a dishrag from a hook beside the sink and began to wipe the counter. “I just have to live with it,” she said.

      “Good morning.”

      Ada turned to see James standing in the doorway. He was dressed and looked freshly showered. For a moment she thought she was looking at a young version of Daniel, the resemblance was so close. When James stepped forward to give her a hug, she recoiled as if from a ghost. But when he touched her, the spell broke and she was once again looking at her son. She smiled and said, “Sit down. I made you pancakes.”

      James accepted a plate from her. “Any sign of Billy?” he asked as he began to eat.

      “No,” Ada said. “I thought he might be in his room. He stays here sometimes when he thinks I need looking after.”

      “More like when he needs looking after,” Celeste commented. “He’s got his own place,” she informed James. “Over on Larson, above the liquor store.”

      “How convenient,” James remarked.

      “Now you two stop talking about your brother that way,” Ada demanded. “He’s a good boy. He’s just a little troubled is all.”

      She saw Celeste raise one eyebrow, but no retort followed. She was angry again, at James and Celeste for speaking about Billy the way they were, and at Billy for not being there. She liked it when they were all together, even if the children didn’t always get along as well as she would like. They were still a family, after all, and they needed to stick together. Especially now, she thought.

      “I’ll swing by his place later and see if he’s around,” James said. “First I want to talk to Nate.”

      “About what?” Celeste asked.

      “The case,” said James. “That’s why I’m here, remember?”

      “Sure,” Celeste said. “But you might want to let him come to you.”

      “Why?” asked James.

      Celeste stood up and took her plate to the sink. Ada watched as she ran water over it and set it in the plastic dishpan. As soon as Celeste moved away, Ada took up the plate and washed it properly, with soap and a sponge.

      “Look,” Celeste said to James. “Try to remember that Nate’s in charge here, okay?”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?” said James, clearly irritated.

      “It means don’t walk in there acting all Mr. Big Shot,” Celeste explained.

      Ada rinsed the plate and set it in the drainer. As she folded the dishtowel James turned in his chair to look at her. “What is she talking about?” he asked.

      Ada shook her head. “I’m not getting in the middle of this,” she said. “You two work it out. I’ve got things to do.”

      She left her children in the kitchen and went upstairs to her bedroom. Shutting the door, she sat on the edge of the bed. On the dresser was a photograph of Daniel, smiling and young. It had been taken not long after their wedding, while they were vacationing in Maine.

      “What are you looking at?” she demanded of the picture.

      Celeste had upset her more than she’d let on. Much more. She’d lied to her daughter. Of course she remembered that night. She remembered every word of the argument, and could have reenacted it perfectly had she wanted to. Discovering that someone else had overheard her and Daniel horrified her. That it was one of their children made it even worse.

      Why had Celeste chosen that night, of all nights, to come home late? And why had she waited until now to let her mother know that she’d heard? Ada realized that her hands were curled into fists, and she forced herself to relax. It was all right. She’d said the right things. Celeste almost certainly believed her. But what if she doesn’t? she thought. Then what will happen?

      Again she looked at the photograph of her late husband. “You had to come back, didn’t you?” she said. “You couldn’t stay gone.”

      She put her face in her hands, but she didn’t cry. She breathed deeply, calming herself. Why was it all falling down on her? She’d worked so hard to pretend that everything was fine, that she was fine. And for some time she had actually believed that she was fine. Now, thanks to Nicky Turner and his idiotic cabin, her life had been turned upside down.

      “Damn it, Daniel!” she said. “I laid you to rest. Now I have to do it all over again.”

      From out of nowhere she heard her own voice. “Are you telling me nothing ever went on between the two of you?”

      She closed her eyes and saw Daniel. “All that was a very long time ago, Ada.”

      She remembered the expression on his face, how his eyes had looked away from her. It was the only time she’d seen him unable to face her. She had hated him for that, hated him because she knew it meant that he was lying. She remembered, too, lying in the very bed on which she now sat, sobbing and waiting for Daniel to come in and tell her that everything was all right. But he hadn’t. He’d left her there, alone with her misery and her hatred.