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January.”

      Although her smile remained, Sarah looked puzzled as she let Laura into the living room.

      “My father had asked me to see you,” Laura said. “Do you remember?”

      “Your father? He was deceased, is that right?”

      “Yes!” Laura was excited that Sarah remembered that much. “And you couldn’t recall who he was. But I brought a picture with me today to help you remember. And I was also wondering if you might like to go for a walk.”

      “A walk? Outside?” Sarah looked as though she didn’t quite trust the invitation.

      “Yes.”

      “Oh, I’d certainly love that.” Sarah clapped her hands together in a small show of joy. “They don’t let me outside anymore. Keep me locked up in jail here.” She chuckled.

      “It’s quite warm out today,” Laura said. “Will that be okay for you?”

      “Warm, cold or in between, just get me outside.” Sarah was already walking toward the door.

      “Do you have some shoes that would be better for walking?” Laura asked.

      Sarah looked down at her beige pumps. “Good idea,” she said. “Don’t go away.”

      She disappeared into the bedroom. Laura’s eyes fell on the picture of Sarah’s husband. Joe. Was that his name? A nice-looking young man. She pulled the picture of her father from her purse.

      After a few minutes, Sarah reappeared in sturdy-looking walking shoes, and Laura wondered if her father might have been responsible for Sarah’s wardrobe.

      “You have such nice clothes,” she said. “How do you get out to buy them? Does someone take you shopping for them?”

      “I love nice clothes,” Sarah said as she headed for the door again.

      “And how do you go shopping for them?” Laura asked.

      Sarah stopped walking, apparently confused, but only for a moment. “Oh, they take us,” she said. “Once a month, we can go on the bus to…the place with all the stores.”

      “The mall.”

      “Right.”

      “Here’s a picture of my father.” Laura handed the photograph to Sarah before she could start for the door again. “Do you remember him?”

      Sarah carried the picture over to the end table lamp and studied it carefully.

      “His name was Carl Brandon,” Laura said.

      “I don’t think I know him,” Sarah said with a shrug as she handed the picture back to Laura. “Can we go for a walk now?”

      As she and Laura walked down the long hallway to the lobby, Sarah said hello to everyone, staff and residents alike. She had an “I’m gettin’ out, so there” attitude about her, and she walked fast, an expectant smile on her face. It hurt Laura to see that simply getting out of the building for a half hour could give Sarah such joy. She should have come sooner, she thought, grateful that Heather had encouraged her to make this visit.

      Outside, Sarah took in an exaggerated deep breath of air. “Which way do we go?” she asked.

      “Whichever way you’d like.”

      That seemed to be the wrong answer, because Sarah’s smile faded and that look of confusion came into her face again. “I don’t know where anything is,” she said.

      “Well, let’s just walk,” Laura said, turning left onto the sidewalk. “It doesn’t matter where we’re going, really.”

      “That’s right,” Sarah said, the smile back, and she set out next to Laura at a strong, quick pace. Laura hustled to keep up with her. Whatever was wrong with Sarah Tolley was clearly confined to her mind and not her body.

      A silence fell between them as they walked. It was not uncomfortable, and although Laura longed to break it with more sleuthing about Sarah’s relationship to her father, she hesitated to confuse the woman any more. Laura remembered what Carolyn, Sarah’s attendant, had said: Sarah loved to talk, but had no one to listen to her.

      “What was it like working on cruise ships?” Laura asked. “Nice,” Sarah said.

      “How long did you do it?”

      “I don’t know. A year. Maybe three or four.”

      “Carolyn said you like movies,” Laura said.

      “Oh, yes!” Sarah clapped her hands together again, a gleam in her eyes.

      “What have you seen lately?”

      “I like the movies from the old days.”

      “Do you have a favorite?”

      “Oh, yes. It’s…” Lines creased Sarah’s brow, and she pouted like an annoyed child. “I can’t remember what it’s called,” she said.

      This conversation wasn’t exactly taking off. “Well, I told you all about where my father grew up and where he lived,” Laura said. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself? You said you grew up in Bayonne?” Maybe getting Sarah to talk about herself would give Laura the clues she needed to link the elderly woman to her father.

      So, Sarah began to talk, and it was as though Laura had tapped into a deep well, a well that was far richer than she could have imagined.

       Sarah, 1931-1945

      The third-grade class was planning a production of the play Cinderella for the entire school to watch. Sarah loved plays. She longed to act the part of Cinderella herself, but even though she gave it her all when she tried out, that coveted role went to the prettiest and most popular girl in the class.

      So Sarah tried out for the part of one of the stepsisters, a malevolent expression on her face as she attempted to make her voice sound sinister and mean, but she didn’t get that role, either.

      “Who’d like to try out for the part of the evil stepmother?” the teacher asked, once the other roles had been assigned.

      “Sarah Wilding should get it,” one of the boys said.

      Sarah smiled. Her perseverance had paid off. She hoped the teacher would simply hand her the role, since she’d already tried out more than anyone else in the class.

      “And why should Sarah get it?” the teacher asked.

      “Because she’s the only one ugly enough to play the stepmother,” the boy said.

      The other children laughed. Even the teacher bowed her head in an attempt to hide her smile, but Sarah saw it, and her cheeks and neck grew blotchy with color.

      The teacher raised her head again. “That’s a cruel thing to say,” she scolded the boy, her face very serious now. “How would you feel if someone said something like that about you? I think you need to apologize to Sarah.”

      The boy sheepishly turned around in his seat to look at Sarah. “Sorry,” he said.

      Sarah looked away from him, swallowing hard to keep her tears in check.

      “Sarah, would you like the part of the stepmother?” the teacher asked. “That part requires a very good actress. I think you’d be good in it.”

      She didn’t know what to say. Of course she wanted the part, but not that way. Not because she was ugly.

      “No, thank you, ma’am,” she said, her cheeks still burning.

      When the play had been fully cast, the class was released for recess. Escape, finally. Instead of joining the other children on the playground, Sarah ran home.

      She knew the house would be empty except for her aunt, and that was fine. Both her parents were at work in the family’s clothing store, but Aunt

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