After walking and walking, trying to remember where I am, my body begins to protest. My hands have turned a bone white and my fingers refuse to move. I step inside a diner to ask for directions. The warmth hits me, solid as knuckles on cheekbone. How long have I been walking? I carefully ease onto a stool at the counter. A waitress walks over, her eyes lighting on my face.
“Hey, sweetie, you’re here pretty late. Want a cup of coffee?”
“Sure,” I say. I look around, unnerved by a sense of familiarity. It feels like I should know this, but I can’t remember. The waitress walks over with a coffeepot in her hand. She slides over a mug and proceeds to pour.
“It’s been a while, Grace. The lab keeping you busy?”
I stare at her name card, Stephanie. Stephanie. Why can’t I remember her? She knows me. Knows my name. Where I work. My heart races in panic. I live in Jericho, Illinois. My father is Joseph King. I am Grace King.
“Stephanie, where is Genentium?”
Stephanie stares at me for a moment and then smiles. “Funny, Grace.”
She turns around and heads back to the kitchen, pushing open the swinging door and stepping past as it sways like a pendulum, moving back and forth, back and forth. And with each pass, I see less and less of Stephanie.
She walks around the kitchen filled with pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. Talks to the cook holding a frying pan. Picks up a few plates. Pivots around. Sees. Me.
The door returns to its resting position and the world beyond my world is closed. And in that moment of yearning for just another glimpse, I remember what I had forgotten. I remember. Being here with Dad. Stephanie laughing and pouring us coffee before going back to the kitchen and bringing out our food. The way Dad always remembered to bring her M&M’s from the corner store when he got his cigarettes. The realization doubles and folds, origamis inside me until I have to lean my cheek against the cool counter, refusing to see what I already know.
Genentium is across the street.
Autumn
The swinging door between the kitchen and the dining room swayed back and forth. She pushed it again, trying not to bother Mama about when the muffins would be cool enough to eat. They were still in the tin, sitting on top of the stove. She stared at Mama just sitting there at the oval table, the oven mitts still on her hands. Mama kept glancing around the room, every now and then quietly whispering as though she were speaking with someone. How much longer would Mama be there? she wondered. But if she asked again, she knew Mama would get angry. Maybe even yell at her. She pushed open the door again, before letting it go and watching Mama’s face appear and disappear with each pass.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway took her away from studying Mama. The back kitchen door opened.
“DADDY!” she yelled in surprise and delight.
He walked in and set down his bag before picking her up under the arms and swinging her high into the air. Weightless joy swept back her hair, and she grinned as she reached for his face. Only he was strong enough to carry her like a baby again. He kissed the top of her head and released her back to the earth as Mama walked into the kitchen.
“What are you doing home?” Mama asked as he walked over to her. Dad leaned forward and gathered her in his arms. For a moment, watching her parents like that, it seemed nothing in the world mattered to her mother and father except standing there, in each other’s arms.
Mama pulled back and whispered, “It’s hard today.”
“Daddy”—she pulled on the sleeve of his shirt—“Mama made muffins.”
Dad smiled down at her. “Enough for me, too?”
She nodded. “We made twelve. Twelve muffins are more than enough for three people.”
“I don’t know,” Dad joked. “I’m pretty hungry.”
Mama moved quickly then, setting out a plate, placing a muffin in the center, and bringing it over to the table. “Bug, come sit down and eat your muffin while your dad and I talk.” Mama turned and walked back through the swinging door to the living room. Her father picked up his bag and followed her mother.
Her parents disappeared so fast it left her breathless for a moment. She stood in her place and for that space in time, it felt as though she’d never had parents. That she had always been alone in an empty room her entire life. Waiting to be found.
She knew it couldn’t be true, but the feeling of it stayed with her as she walked slowly over to the table and sat down. All her earlier excitement and anguish about the muffin had cooled. Yet still, she had said she wanted the muffin and she was not a girl to go back on her words. Carefully she peeled back the wrapper, noticing the way the grooves in the paper were almost etched into the side. The buttery crumbs coated her fingers and she raised them to her lips to lick them off. They tasted strange, not as sugary as the ones from the bakery in
