LITMIR.BIZ

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happened, Mom?”

      Her hands fell to her sides, and she closed her eyes and craned her neck to the sky. “I still feel her, after all these years I still feel her here.” She tapped her heart.

      “Who?”

      “Tabitha. Little Tabby cat, we called her.”

      “Was she your daughter?” I held my breath, thinking of the black and white grainy pictures, the baby who grew into a toddler. The rocking horse on the front porch.

      “No, no, of course not! Is that what you thought?” She looked at me incredulously.

      I bit my lip, and shrugged.

      “No, Tabby was their daughter. But she was my shadow, just like I’d been Morty’s all those years ago. She followed me everywhere like a little pup. I should have known when she went missing where she’d be, but I just didn’t think.”

      I grappled with the details but didn’t dare interrupt. Mom needed to tell this story at her own pace, so instead I let her talk, let her words wash over me and hoped that through the telling she’d find a way to move forward.

      “The lodge was jumping that summer. They needed it too.” Her voice sounded almost dreamlike as she recounted her memories. “It had been hard going and they nearly lost Cedarwood so many times before that. But finally, families were swimming and sunbathing by the lake, some were playing croquet on the green lawns, the scent of roses heavy in the air, laughter punctuating the day. Guests were arriving by the carload, and Morty and his wife were checking them in and showing them to suites or chalets.”

      I could envisage Cedarwood as it would have been back then, a bright summer’s day, people dotting the landscape. The heady feeling of a long hot summer spent with family and friends, and no schedule.

      “I remember feeling this sudden sense of dread, even though the sun was shining, the guests were singing, dancing, parading in swimsuits… I couldn’t say why, but something just felt off. When Morty realized Tabby wasn’t in the kitchen where he’d left her he asked me to find her because it was time for her dance lesson.” Mom took a deep breath before pressing on. “So I searched in the usual places, that same feeling of unease creeping over me. When I couldn’t find her, I told Morty, and he got the strangest look on his face – fear. His wife, too, was almost frantic. Tabitha was too young to be wandering off alone; she couldn’t swim, for one thing. We must have checked the lake a dozen times. Before long the guests were searching alongside us. They recognized the distress on our faces.”

      I gulped, my heart hammering in my chest at Mom’s recall. In my heart I knew something terrible had happened to Tabitha, but I hoped I was wrong. I waited for Mom to continue.

      “Then it hit me,” she said, her eyes a little wild. “The maze. We’d been at the maze that morning. She’d toddled after me as I hid the scavenger-hunt prizes in its hedgerows. She’d been desperate to know what the little gift boxes contained…” Shaking herself, Mom carried on. “…So I broke into a run, trying all the while to calm myself down. She’d only been missing a few hours, so even if she was lost in the maze she would be safe.” Mom took a shuddery breath, tears running in rivulets down her face. “I dashed in, screaming her name, getting lost myself because I was so frantic to find her. I hoisted myself up, and tried to balance on top of the hedges so I could look over the top, and I saw a flash of blue. Her blue dress. I scaled over the side and made my way through the laneways. She was OK, I could see her – she was wearing her little cornflower-blue pinafore, the same one from that morning. I expected to feel relief, but still I had that overwhelming sense of dread.”

      Mom paused and I wished I could offer her some comfort.

      “I got to her.” Her voice sounded strangled, “At first it was like she’d fallen asleep, but when I got closer… her tiny neck was at an unnatural angle, and her eyes were open, unblinking. She was dead and it was all my fault. She must have tried to climb up to get out when she reached a dead end, only to fall and break her neck. If I had thought of searching the maze hours earlier we would have found her alive. If I hadn’t designed the thing to be so goddamn difficult she might have found her way out. But she was gone. When I picked up her lifeless body and made the arduous journey to her parents, part of me died right there. That walk was the longest of my life and with every step I wished I was dead instead of her, but I was left to deal with what I’d done.”

      My pulse skidded with shock. I couldn’t imagine how Mom had found the strength to walk with the lifeless little girl in her arms. I laid my hand across her arm as tears slid down my cheeks. “But Mom, don’t you see, it wasn’t your fault? You built a maze that would have drawn tourists to the lodge. You couldn’t have foreseen an accident like that would happen.”

      She wiped at her face, pulling her arm away almost angrily. “It was my fault, Clio. I should have known to search for her here. I just wasn’t thinking at all. I’d been so worried she was in the lake that I completely forgot about the scavenger-hunt prizes, and how curious she’d been. I should have known she’d come here.”

      I shook my head, but she was so adamant, though I just couldn’t see how this could ever be her fault. It was a tragedy, yes, but it had been an accident. “Her parents didn’t blame you, though, did they?” I said in a small voice.

      Mom hugged herself tight, looking torn. “I don’t know. They were in shock, completely and utterly grief-stricken. Morty kept trying to revive her, pressed his mouth against her blue lips and tried to breathe life back into her. His wife was on her knees keening, a primal sound I still hear every night when I try to sleep. Police came, the guests left, and the lodge closed. I couldn’t face anyone. I locked myself away, and Bessie says I had a breakdown, not that I remember it really. I spent some time in a psychiatric hospital, but that felt like cheating because the drugs numbed all thought and that wasn’t fair to Tabitha.

      I had to suffer like she suffered, so eventually I came home. By then, Morty had left. Just walked out the door one night. Clio, their grief shattered their lives and wrenched them apart. Eventually his wife left too. Just abandoned the place. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I wouldn’t have, probably. I never wanted to see them again, knowing the blame I’d see in their eyes when they looked at me.”

      I cried with Mom, for all the hurt, all the guilt she felt. The way she’d suffered her whole life for an accident that truly wasn’t her fault. Choking back her sobs she turned to me, and said, “Then I met your dad. I didn’t want to fall in love, but I did. I definitely didn’t want to have children, but then you came along… I was happy, which felt like the worst kind betrayal. How could I have a child when they’d lost theirs? But I loved you, how I loved you the very moment I met you. And then I thought, but what if I lose you too? What if you were snatched away as punishment? It was easier to hold myself back from you, not to tempt fate by showing how I felt. Not giving into those overwhelming feelings of love.”

      “Oh, Mom…” I’d never in a million years have guessed it was all as complicated as that. What a waste her life had been, punishing herself, and pushing me away so I wouldn’t get taken from her, because she felt she didn’t deserve to have a child she loved. I moved to hug her. Her shoulders were wracked with sobs and I stroked her back, hoping to comfort her.

      “You have to let the past go, Mom. You can’t keep blaming yourself.”

      She sniffed and nodded. “I know. But it just feels so wrong, like I’m disgracing her memory.”

      “You’ve suffered long enough, Mom. No one would begrudge you happiness. No one.”

      She remained silent and I thought about the Evergreen townsfolk and how well they’d kept her secret. “You realize no one spoke out of turn about you? All the people I asked kept their lips clamped closed because they didn’t want you to have to relive it. That says a lot about you, and the way Evergreen locals regard you, Mom. They don’t blame you, so maybe it’s time you forgave yourself.”

      She nodded stiffly but didn’t speak, and together we turned to stare at

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