"Ramani," Erica said under their breath and rolled their eyes, too. "We have one of the top healthcare systems here in this country, even if most people can't afford it. Still. I think we're in a much better position to get ahead of this thing than Italy."
"What's happening?" Dora asked, coming out of her thoughts.
Erica left the sofa and joined them at the table. "There's a virus that's come out of China. It's been making a lot of people really sick, and some have died. A respiratory virus."
"It's spreading?" Dora asked, her mug cradled in her hands, uncertainty sparking in her gaze.
"It's mostly in China, and a few other countries," Cuppa explained. "But I think now that China is taking severe measures to contain it, it'll probably blow over, nothing too much to worry about. I mean, of course, it's terrible for the poor people in Wuhan and Italy."
Erica got up to get the remote and turned off the music, putting on CNN.
"Oh, come on," Cuppa moaned. "Not news with our breakfast." Cuppa stood with her hands on her hips, glowering at the TV. "And of course it's Trump." She threw her hands up and took a seat.
"Trump," Dora repeated hollowly, as if she were trying to recall him, and then took a sip of her drink.
"Yes, Trump," Cuppa said. "And we're all well aware that you hate him with a rabid passion, Dora," she added irritably, forgetting Dora's condition.
"I do? Who is he?" Dora blinked and set her mug down, eyes flicking over to the bacon. Her favorite. Barbara picked up the platter and handed it to her mother, intrigued at Dora's question. Erica muted the volume and turned to stare at Dora as if they weren’t sure what to think or say, Cuppa mirroring their expression.
"Did I know him?" Dora asked and grabbed three slices of bacon with the tongs.
"He's the president, Mom." Barbara knew her mother's memory was compromised. She understood and could conceptualize everything that her mother had lost, how her amnesia changed their family dynamic at its core. But Barbara somehow found this new level of not knowing unfathomable. She watched her mother bite into her bacon, her indifference over Trump plain as she served herself eggs and a slice of toast, skipping the tomatoes, mozzarella and basil, yet another indication that Dora was not Dora anymore.
"He's an awful man," Cuppa said, forgetting that she didn't want to talk about Trump. Her eyes bored into Dora as if trying to summon all that passionate anger back.
Dora bit into her toast and her eyes skipped over to the TV. She didn't say anything. She didn't even ask why.
The ring of the doorbell broke the grip of disconcertion that had descended over them. Cuppa leaned over in her seat to get a look out the window. "UPS," she said. "I'll get it."
"No, no. Don't get up. I'll get it." Erica went to the door and then just stood there.
"I have a few more boxes," Barbara heard the delivery man say. Curious, she joined Erica in the doorway. There were three medium-sized boxes and the driver was walking back from his van with two more. "That's it." He deposited them with the others, and Erica thanked him. Barbara squatted down, followed by Erica, to read the shipping labels. JK Manufacturing in Los Angeles. It was the factory that made the clothes Dora designed for Dora's Closet. They were samples. Dora was the only one who ever ordered samples. Erica picked up two of the boxes and Barbara followed suit.
"What's all this?" Cuppa asked, getting up as well, sipping from her coffee mug as she walked.
"I don't know," Erica muttered.
Barbara went into the kitchen and got a sharp knife to cut through the tape. Her mother watched the other two women dully, shoveling a forkful of egg into her mouth.
"Dora, did you order these samples?" Erica asked, looking up from her squatted position. Dora shook her head no. Barbara sliced through the tape of each box. In one of the boxes was a note. Barbara picked it up and read it out loud.
Hi Dora,
This is the full summer line of women and children's wear. We are still wrapping up the swimsuits, as I told you last night. I'll rush those over as well, per your request. I think you'll be pleased with the crosshatch side tie dresses. Good luck with the organic botanical line you're putting together. It sounds amazing!
Best,
Lydia
"Mom, you talked to Lydia?"
Dora's eyes widened slightly. She looked spooked.
"Who's Lydia?" She got up from the table, a frown forming on her face and growing deeper as she looked from box to box.
"When was this? Two days ago? You were yourself. You ordered these things. You spoke with Lydia." Barbara could feel a pressure building in her chest as her mother stared at her dumbly. How could she have returned to herself and now be back to this, back to knowing nothing?
Cuppa pulled at her bottom lip thoughtfully. "That's a good sign, right? It means your memory is starting to come back, even if only in spurts and sputters."
Cuppa's words did not have the comforting effect she was going for. Dora picked up a child's blouse from one of the boxes and held it up, her face a mask of terror.
41
Serene - June 1996
Serene's right foot rested on her board. The sharp relief of her surroundings cut into her haziness, that odd murky dreamlike feeling hanging over her as she skated into town. But why was she here in front of the wedged-shaped brick building that was the Culver Hotel?
"You're blocking the sidewalk," a man said irritably as he passed her. Serene stepped out of the way and wheeled in the direction of her street. Where was Steve? Did they skate here together? Maybe she should stay and
