Forgotten Witness (17 page)

Reynolds patted Emily’s shoulder just before he stepped aside giving Josie permission to approach. Josie cleared her throat, fearful that her voice would catch on the first word she uttered. Emily kept her eyes on Bernard Reynolds the way Max might watch Josie, with utter trust that she was safe in his presence.

Emily had nothing to fear. Josie wasn’t a lawyer, she wasn’t a woman about to be married, and she wasn’t guardian to a girl with too much courage for her own good. Josie Bates was thirteen again, in awe of her beautiful mother, shy in her presence. Emily was the woman Josie had wanted to be. She prayed her mother wouldn’t find her lacking. She refused to believe that Emily would not recognize her at all.

Josie went around the chair and stood in front of Emily. Their first encounter had been so swift, so staggeringly brutal, that Josie had only registered an impression of the woman. Now she saw her as she was: aged but still beautiful, regal, and elegant. How Josie had always wished the sum of her parts were more like her mother’s, but Josie’s height, the cut of her cheek, the broadness of her shoulders, her slim hips made her a handsome woman, not a stunning one. Josie’s movements were purposeful and athletic; Emily’s were strong but fluid and ladylike. And yet there were changes that underscored how much time had been lost. Deep lines fanned at the corner of her mother’s eyes, her skin was almost colorless making her appear luminescent, her bones were small and fragile. That was not what Josie wanted. She wanted Emily to stand up to her and explain herself, but then Josie saw her mother’s feet and wondered if Emily could even walk any longer. Every disappointment Josie had suffered, every flash of anger, every resentful moment she had experienced over the years disintegrated at the sight of her mother’s feet covered by the soft slippers. Josie had the fleeting thought that Emily could no more have stood up for her all those years ago than she could stand up to her now.

Josie bent down and hooked the fingers of her good hand over the arm of the chair to steady herself. Emily’s eyes flickered away from Bernard Reynolds and rested on Josie’s hand. When Emily looked up, Josie saw that the color had faded in her mother’s eyes like a blue pinafore left too long in the sun. Emily smiled. She inclined her head and then raised one hand. She cupped Josie’s face.

“You are so pretty,” Emily said.

“Tell them who I am,” Josie whispered.

Emily titled her head to the other side. Two of her fingers moved as if to test the mold of Josie’s jaw. Josie could not resist that touch. She nestled her face in the palm of her mother’s hand, she let her shoulders give up the great weight she had carried so many years, she let her eyes fill with tears that had never been shed. Josie sank to her knees and closed her eyes.

“Tell them.”

In what seemed an eternal moment, Josie waited to hear her mother speak. Instead, she felt Emily’s hand on hers, Emily’s breath against her cheek. Josie opened her eyes just as Emily leaned forward. They were closer than they had ever been, but Emily was smiling at someone else.

“Here’s my daughter. She can tell you who you are.”

Josie followed Emily’s gaze. There, in the doorway of the bathroom, clutching a broom and a dustpan was a young woman. The last time Josie had seen her she was wearing a hat, a heavy coat, and bending over the body of Ian Francis.

***

“Amelia. I didn’t expect you for another day.” Mr. Reynolds moved forward and motioned her into the room. “This is Ms. Bates and Mr. Kyle.”

The girl nodded to Stephen, but her eyes skated over Josie as if she were a patch of thin ice to be avoided at all costs. Slowly, Josie got to her feet. She moved her hand to the back of Emily’s chair as if to prove possession was nine tenths of the law.

Josie couldn’t believe that she had ever thought this was Hannah. This girl was at least twenty-five. Her skin was gorgeous, pale and clear with a hint of pink on her cheeks. Her long blond hair was fine and pulled back in a ponytail, her bangs caught off to the side with a barrette. Her face was heart-shaped and her grey eyes would be beautiful if you could look past the dark circles underneath them. She wore a pair of jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, and tennis shoes.

“What are you doing here?” Josie demanded.

“I was cleaning up the glass.” Amelia locked eyes with Josie and pulled her lips together in a tight, hard line. Josie imagined she was being defiant, but on second glance she realized the girl was being cautious, pleading with Josie to remain silent.

“This is one of our aides. Amelia Francis.” Mr. Reynolds said.

“You’re a nurse?” Josie asked.

“Amelia is one of our
lawehana,”
Mr. Reynolds said. “In Hawaiian that means a woman who helps.”

“It means a servant,” Stephen grumbled.

“Not here,” Reynolds corrected him. “Here it means a woman who helps. Without her, Emily would not be as healthy as she is now. Emily didn’t like the woman from the agency, Amelia. She missed you.”

Emily swiveled in her chair and both hands clutched at the arm. She looked at the people around her, her expression concerned, her movement agitated.

“I would like to see Ian. I think I haven’t seen him. Have I seen him? Have I? Because I’m afraid…” Her head went left; it went right. “I’m afraid…”

Josie started to move toward her mother but Amelia put herself between the two women.

“Don’t. She doesn’t like to be touched, especially by strangers.”

Again there was a flash of something in those exhausted eyes, but Amelia looked away before Josie could figure out what it might be. It was the girl’s touch and whispers that settled Emily.

Emily whispered back but loud enough for everyone to hear. “I don’t want people looking at me.”

Amelia whispered again as she smoothed Emily’s hair. When she righted herself, she pivoted, retrieved her dustpan and walked away, speaking to no one in particular.

“I need to get the trays ready.”

Before Amelia could make her escape, Reynolds raised his arm and blocked her. “Where is your father, Amelia? I’ll bring him up for her.”

“I left him with our relatives. I couldn’t do it on my own anymore,” Amelia mumbled.

“I wish you had come to me. We should have talked about it,” Reynolds answered, obviously annoyed.

“I didn’t think I needed your permission,” Amelia said.

“No, of course you don’t.” Reynolds took a quick look around. All eyes were on him. “I’m concerned about his medication. That’s all.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but you know how he is. It’s hard to stop him sometimes.”

“Yes. I know. We’ll talk about it later,” the man said.

Only Josie seemed to realize how distressed Bernard Reynolds was; only Josie seemed to hear the catch in the girl’s throat. A lie of that magnitude was not easy to tell, and yet she had done it. Josie had the feeling that she had done it because her father – her dead father who had risked so much to bring Josie here – would have wanted her to. So Josie did what she had to do, too.

She left Ha Kuna House, taking her questions with her, already making plans to get her mother home to Hermosa. Bernard Reynolds moved to the doorway to stand beside Amelia Francis and watch them go. When Josie and Stephen were on the stairs he said:

“I wish you had consulted me about your father. I’d like to get some information on his living arrangements.”

“But he’s not a resident. I was allowed,” Amelia answered.

“Technically, no, he isn’t, but we cared for him long before you came to us. I can’t help but worry.” Bernard Reynolds turned toward her. He was so close it made Amelia nervous. “Tell me where he’s staying and with whom, and I’ll coordinate his care.”

“You can just give me a prescription for his medicine.” Amelia moved around him.

“Let me ask about that,” Reynolds said. “It’s an intricate compound.”

“Okay.” Amelia started down the hall but he called her back.

“Give Emily two doses tonight. She’s had a very hard day.”

“She’s fine. She’s not upset,” Amelia objected.

“Give her two, Amelia,” he insisted. “Please. It will make me feel better.”

“Yes, sir.”

Amelia hurried down stairs but before she went to the kitchen to make the lunch trays, she slipped into the sitting room and took her cell phone out of her pocket. She hoped she wasn’t too late.

Neurocentrism” or the view that human experience and behavior can be best explained from the predominant or even exclusive perspective of the human brain is a delusion according to authors of the book
Brainwashed: the Seductive Appeal of Mindless Neuroscience …
the authors
chide the premature application of brain science to commerce, psychiatry and ethics
.
Most neural real estate is zoned for mixed-use development… –
LA Times Book Review

CHAPTER 12

“You can’t blame her, Josie. You can’t blame her one little bit. I mean that, of course, in the most practical sense. The woman is daft.”

“Don’t say that, Stephen. Just don’t,” Josie warned.

They were back on the main road headed to Kaunakakai boat harbor where the
No Problem
was docked. Josie’s head was back and her lashes lowered but her eyes weren’t closed. She watched the road, taking no pleasure in the scenery. She was exhausted and her hand was beginning to hurt like the devil. Her thoughts were at once immovable objects refusing to be prodded into some sort of order and stream of consciousness washing away before she could grab hold.

Hours

That word flashed in her brain. The hours in her life that she had been alone. The hours she had spent searching for her mother. For Hannah. For herself.

Minutes

Minutes she spent with Ian Francis. The minutes looking at her mother who had no idea that they belonged to one another.

Seconds

Seconds locked in silent conversation with Amelia Francis.

Josie turned her head to look out the window, half listening to Stephen. She appreciated his good intentions but she wished he would just give it a rest. He didn’t.

“I didn’t mean daft daft. Not like a loony bird daft. I mean she’s not right in the head because it’s physiological. You think she was perfectly normal before she took off, but there may have been signs.” He shook his head, one hand left the steering wheel and he poked his temple. “Alzheimer’s. Insidious, if you ask me. She lives in an alternate reality because of her body, not because she’s crazy. Certainly it’s not because she disliked you or likes that girl any better. Believe me. I know. I’ve seen it. There’s no rhyme or reason and that’s what you’re looking for. Rhyme and reason, my lady. Pshaw!”

His hands were back on the steering wheel. That was that. Stephen Kyle had spoken. He laid out the whole situation and then wrapped it back up quite nicely, ready to put it out for the trash man and be done with it. Josie swiveled her head and looked at him. He was a funny man. Generous, kind, and brash and she was lucky to have met him. She knew she would believe that eventually.

“I hate to point this out, but you couldn’t know anything about me or what I’m looking for.”

Josie’s didn’t want to fight with him. She was weary. Her hand hurt. Her head hurt. She wanted to be with Archer or Faye or Burt or Hannah. She wanted to be with someone who understood her. That’s what she was trying to tell Stephen Kyle. Instead she challenged him and he rose to it.

“Hah, you don’t know who you’re dealing with! I am Keoloko, and I know a great deal about everything, including you.” He chanced a glance her way, which was not much of a gamble without the rain. “You’re a looker and you don’t even know it. You’re a bit of an adventuress, considering how far you’ve come, but the way you talk about your man and that girl you’re looking for you’ve got the making of a fine wife and mum yourself. You’re a brave girl. If you weren’t, you would be hysterical having seen a man kill himself. You would have gone back to Hermosa Beach and taken to your bed. You’re kinder than you let on; a bleeding heart, actually. You would have handed Hannah off to the dole and been done with her if you weren’t. You’re a virtuous woman otherwise you would have seduced me by now and enjoyed the pleasures of my intimate company. Don’t know you! Cripes!”

Josie chuckled despite herself and sat up straighter, feeling better for his nonsense. “You are hard to resist.”

“And your resistance makes you a unique woman.”

Stephen made a turn and the harbor came into view. The sun was low and the light rippled over the water. The white boats were startling against the blue. Some had tall sails and others fly away bridges and satellite dishes. There was a lot of money in the world, and a lot of beauty, and none of it mattered when a heart was broken. Stephen pulled into a parking space marked Keoloko, ratcheted the emergency brake, and contemplated the silhouette of Maui on the horizon.

“It’s a rough shake, Josie. I know that,” Stephen admitted. “My dad had Alzheimer’s before they really knew much about it. He forgot everything but me. Funny that.”

“At least he remembered you,” she answered.

“It’s not as fine as it may seem. He was so angry. That’s what Alzheimer’s does. Makes a man angry and scared and he expected me to fix it. He was angrier still when I couldn’t.”

“What did you do?”

Stephen’s body answered the question before he voiced it. He was lost and disheartened for a moment. Keoloko was gone, replaced by a good son remembering a dying father.

“I endured the slings and arrows. Not a word of love or gratitude he had for me. When he passed, his death left quite a void. Him going that way wasn’t exactly how I imagined he would end his days.”

“Finding my mother wasn’t how I imagined it would be, either.” She laughed sadly at the understatement.

“I know what you imagined.” He nudged her a little, held out a hand as if he were showing her the future. “You saw her across a room, tears come to her eyes, you take her in your arms, she tells you she’s been looking for you all these years. She tells you it’s a miracle.”