Instead, Ella Kaczanowski sat quiet, in full possession of all four of her limbs, sipping what was possibly hot tea from a small blue china cup. She turned and smiled at Clare without a trace of recognition. “Hello,” she said, sounding a little surprised but not necessarily unhappy to have her private afternoon suddenly interrupted by a strange visit. As if remembering her manners, she asked, “Have you come for a cup of tea?”

Clare licked her lips. She was tempted to ask her mother, in the shittiest tone she could conjure, if she had bothered to offer the poor elderly man she had assaulted a fucking cup of tea before she attacked him. It’s not her fault, she reminded herself. It’s the disease advancing throughout her brain more and more every day, cleaning house and shutting off the lights. She took a breath; what would Eileen do? She had watched her sister barely break a sweat while dealing with her own three children fighting like cats. Jesus, she wished her sister was here right now.

“Mom?” she finally asked and took a step forward. “It’s me, Clare.”

Ella’s smile faltered, but only for a second before Clare saw the awareness move into her eyes. “Of course you are, silly girl. Who else would you be? Come, sit down. Someone made us tea.”

Clare could tell this thought tripped Ella up again, because who had made them tea? As she sat down, she watched her mother gaze around her bedroom—and for that matter, where were they…exactly? Her mother may have realized that she was Clare, her daughter, but other than that, she was still not in the here and now.

“Mom, do you remember what happened?”

“Course I do. I was there.”

This could mean anything, really, but Clare decided to press on anyway, just in case her mother was more lucid than she appeared to be. “Can you tell me what happened? Why did you do it? I’m going to have to go and sign some paperwork, legal stuff, and I want to make sure—”

Ella dropped her teacup into her lap. “No!” She reached forward, grabbing Clare’s leg.

“It’s okay,” Clare said, taking her mother’s hand and looking around the room for something she could use to mop the mess up. She stood up. “I’ll just go get a towel from the bathroom. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

Her mother tightened her grip on her hand, keeping Clare from leaving. “Listen to me,” her mother hissed, looking around the room as if there were some danger of being found out. “Sit down.” She pulled hard at Clare’s arm, her bony finger digging painfully into her flesh. “Sit down right now.”