Dora could see the memory now as if looking through a long thin tunnel, Serene talking to Darpan at San Quentin.
"She told Darpan," Dora said, the memory growing sharper.
Mara's face turned white. "Who's she?"
"Me."
Mara shook her head. "You're not making any sense."
"I told him."
"Told him what?" Mara's voice rose up shrill, and she took a step toward Dora, despair washing over her features.
"I told him I saw you."
"What? I was never there. Are you crazy?" Color flooded back into Mara's cheeks as anger took over her fear. "How dare you implicate me? I have a family. I have kids." Tears pricked her eyes.
Taylor slept with Mara's dad.
"Your dad," Dora said.
Mara opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a sharp gasp. Mara was estranged from her dad. Had nothing to do with him. Didn't like to talk about him. Her parents were divorced, had divorced after Taylor's death.
"Go. You need to go now," Mara yelled.
"Mara." Dora suddenly realized how poorly she was handling the situation, relaying the news as it came to her, and it occurred to Dora how deranged she must sound. She tried to save the situation that had rapidly spun out of control. "The memory is so murky,” she tried to explain. “I wanted to talk, give you a chance to explain."
"That's giving me a chance? Going to Darpan and telling him you saw me that night?" Mara poked a hard finger into Dora's chest as she spoke.
"I––there's something I need to tell you about me."
"Get the fuck out of here, Dora. I don't care at this point. You can talk to my attorney. That's who you can talk to."
"Mara. Wait." Dora reached out a hand to place on her arm, trying to calm her friend.
56
Serene - Summer 2012
It was getting dark. Serene rocked Jesse in the rocking chair she’d used for all the children. His round cherub face tilted upward, pale lids seemingly glued down in sleep, red lips partially open, his left cheek moist with breast milk. He had finally fallen asleep not long after Sara’s tantrum had tapered off into whimpering exhaustion.
About once a day now, Sara had an ear-splitting, body-contorting, rage-filled temper tantrum that Serene could do little about. At times she was able to head them off, but as Jesse got older and more mobile, it became impossible to even try and reason with her two-year-old daughter, helping her find her words to express her frustration, reassuring Sara that indeed she was going to get her toast, her doll, the shoes she wanted to wear, all the while trying to keep an eye on Jesse crawling away. Look away for ten seconds and her son was sure to find some gross piece of old moldy food, a stray thumbtack or dead roach to put in his mouth.
Having two children a year apart was a recipe for no sleep, resulting in unremitting brain fog. In addition to that, she’d been spoiled by Barbara’s even temperament. From the time her eldest was an infant, she’d been the perfect child, sleeping through the night, taking her naps, playing contentedly on her own, happy to follow the rules that Serene and Steve set out. She’d been so good that it had made Serene feel a little bit smug about herself as a mother. Then came Sara six years later. Fussy, independent Sara. And Jesse, a surprise, happy, but constantly on the go. And although Barbara was only eight years old, Serene leaned on her young daughter quite a bit for help, and Barbara, ever patient, ever helpful, played games with Sara to get her to eat her food, or held Jesse on her hip while Serene quickly dressed a howling Sara so they could get out the door.
Serene tipped her head back, continuing with the rocking. Sara, spent from her tantrum, slept at her feet. Steve would be home soon. They’d have dinner together as a family and then he’d be on his phone or the computer, working until ten, when he’d take a break for just the two of them. Except lately Serene was too tired to wait until ten, and Steve didn’t seem to mind working through the night undisturbed.
The doorbell brought Serene out of her reverie and sent Sara’s limbs jerking at the intrusion of sound. Serene stood, carefully cradling Jesse, and looked through the window. It was Mara. She was holding a box. Recently, Serene and Steve had connected with Enzo after he reached out for legal advice about a customer who seemed to have some vendetta against Enzo’s restaurants and was posting regular bad reviews on Yelp. The two meeting to talk brought Mara and Serene together in a tepid friendship that was borne more out of their past than anything else.
“Hey,” Mara said, holding out the box. “Baby clothes and some of Lucia’s dresses she just grew out of.” Lucia was three. “I thought I’d swing by here first and see if you want a look.”
“Oh, sure. Thank you.”
“I’ll just set it down here, then,” Mara said, placing the box just over the door sill.
“Would you like to come in?”
“Oh. No, no, no, no. I can see you’ve got a pocket of quiet. I was just on this side of town, so…” She stepped back and gave Serene a quick smile.
Serene nudged the box closer toward the dining room, feeling relieved. She was in no mood to chat, especially with Mara. Other than the kids, they had little in common.
“Well, thank you,” Serene said again. “I appreciate it. I’m sure we’ll find some gems in there.”
“And anything you don’t want, just feel free to give it to Goodwill, or whatever.”
“Sure.”
It was nice and cool outside and Serene followed Mara out the door, letting the breeze wash over her.
Mara waved and headed down the cement steps, walking toward her car.
Tall.
Blond hair.
Night.
Julie.
Serene’s hand floated to her mouth, watching Mara’s silhouetted figure climb into her car. Oh god. Julie. That night. Taylor.
Serene’s arm tightened around
