The news of Mara Moreno's disappearance was Dora's second time hearing about the woman. Apparently, Mara and Dora were close. Dora's Facebook page proved that fact through the many pictures of the two of them. Mara and Dora's friendship, just one of the many details of Dora’s life that Erica shared during her second visit.
By the time Detective Anders, a hawk-eyed, balding older man with a fleeting smile showed up to question Dora at the mental health treatment facility, she had already forgotten about Mara. Mara was one more person among many who were now a part of her life, part of a steady stream of relationships flung across her mental landscape like things strewn across a highway, her life very much like a car crash. And, like a crash victim, she was too disoriented to make much sense of or care about any of it.
Apparently, Mara and Enzo were married, Anders had informed her, and Dora experienced the same shock at that seemingly incongruous connection to her past as she had the first time Erica told her this same bit of news.
The questions came, but she could not answer the pragmatic probing of what she was doing the morning of Mara's disappearance, if they'd bickered, or if Mara had confided in her about feeling unhappy in her marriage.
“I don't remember Mara.” She told the detective several times, panic creeping in, a tight feeling traveling across her chest. It was happening again. The suspicion, the interviews, the scrutiny, but this time she had nothing to give, nothing to tell. Mara Moreno was part of Dora's life, a life Serene had no access to. Choosing to be called Dora didn't mean she was Dora.
The detective had flashed her another smile and pointed at his temple, his expression conspiratorial. “No. I suppose you can't help. Amnesia. I hear you lost quite a few years.”
Dora said nothing.
“Your friend, Cuppa, says the last year you remember was 1996?”
“Yes.”
“That was an interesting year.”
Moisture gathered under her arms and she pulled them tighter to her sides.
“Isn't that the year you and your friends found Taylor Davis murdered?”
The detective had waited for her reply, but Dora knew it was best to keep quiet. She had no attorney to help field Detective Anders questions, and she'd learned how the police could twist things.
“So, a name change, and now amnesia. Unfortunate.”
“I don't remember being Dora,” she said softly.
“No. I suppose that would be inconvenient,” Detective Anders said. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, took out his wallet and handed her a card. “Here's my information, in case those memories resurface. Whether you remain here at The Source or return home, don't worry, I'll find you.” He winked and then let himself out of her room.
8
Dora - February 2020
The traffic in downtown Culver City stunned Dora. Once a somewhat sleepy town, it now bustled with vehicle congestion and pedestrians. At the intersection of Culver and Washington Boulevard, a new building wrapped around the corner, a massive curving structure with a sleek, shiny exterior and big dark windows. Dora closed her eyes, the hammering of her heart beating out a pulse against her eardrums.
"You okay?" Erica asked.
Dora nodded but kept her eyes closed, trying to calm the rising panic of what she was about to do.
"It'll be okay. We'll just take it slow." Erica's soft voice was calming.
Over the past weeks, Dora grew to trust Erica, to like her even. But she never let the woman touch her and she cringed inside when people referred to Erica as her wife. She could not imagine that she had ever chosen to be with this sturdy, quiet woman in an intimate way. The thought disgusted Dora.
Erica kept her distance. She seemed to have a knack for knowing how far to take a conversation, how close she could sit by Dora, when it was time to go. Over time, Dora looked forward to their visits. Twice, Erica mentioned Ramani's requests to see her, and when Dora said no, Erica let it drop. She never pushed anything. At one point, Dora asked Erica whatever became of Darpan.
"Darpan?" Erica echoed. "He's in San Quentin. Ramani remarried. Her husband's name is John."
Dora had sat with that news, Erica waiting for her to speak. When she remained silent, Erica let it drop. She was good like that, not pushing for anything Dora wasn't ready to give.
Jackson Avenue hadn't changed much. The giant willows and jacaranda trees still lined the street. Some new houses had been built or were under construction, but most of the homes were still there as she remembered them. They pulled into the familiar driveway. Instinctively, Dora turned to look at the house across the street, the brown craftsman bungalow where Steve and his sister Carrie had lived. An American flag was erected on the front lawn. At the living room window, a curtain parted, and Dora caught a glimpse of someone peering out at them.
"A friend of mine lived over there," she said to Erica as they got out of the car. Erica frowned at the comment. The door to Dora's house opened and a teenage girl stepped out, green eyes traveling slowly over her while two younger girls hung back.
"Mom," one of the younger girls called out.
"Shh," the eldest one said, shepherding them back inside. Dora gripped her door handle, feeling dizzy for a moment. Stinging hot bile shot up her throat and into her mouth.
"It's okay, you can do this," Erica said. "Do you need a minute?"
Dora took a deep breath. "No. I'll… Are those my kids?" She knew they were, had seen pictures. Still, she needed to ask for it to be real.
"Yes," Erica said quietly.
Dora took another breath, but it came out shaky and a bit like a moan. "I'm okay," she said after a moment.
"You sure?"
Dora nodded.
"Look, I know this is difficult for you, but I need you to put on a brave face. I'll be right next to you, but the main thing to remember,
