I don’t have the heart to remind her that puppets are make-believe. She’s not a duck and our mother was not a cat. A dumb game can’t undo all the harm my mother caused by leaving us.

A Gentle Reminder

“You need to carry baby formula,” Ana tells me at the store. “For emergencies.”

“Don’t they have it at the pier store?”

“Nope, just a bunch of stuff the tourists would want—T-shirts, junk food, and lots of film. Japanese people sure take a lot of pictures. They even snap pictures of Carmella and me.”

“They used to shop here. Maybe we should have carried more film.”

“Have you seen the painting Mom did of your mother?”

I shake my head, a bit embarrassed to admit that I haven’t. I wipe a rag over the counter. “My dad let me order more comics. Do you want to see them?”

“Nah, I don’t have time for that since I had Carmella.” Ana pays for the six-pack of Diet Cokes and heads to the door. She turns toward me and says, “You know, I used to think my mother did the stupidest things, like painting those boring fish and how she lets my brother say he’s John Wayne. But now I figured it out. I think she does those silly things because she loves us.”

Monday, Q & A with Ed

“Tell me about your mother.”

“I don’t remember her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t remember what she looks like, smells like, sounds like.”

“When did this happen?”

“A couple of months ago. I awoke one morning and didn’t remember.”

“When you see pictures of her, do you remember?”

“Nope. I mean, I know it’s her, but I don’t remember her.”

“You can’t remember anything, not one tiny little thing?”

I shake my head.

“Have you gone through your mother’s things yet?”

“My mother’s things?”

“Her clothes, jewelry, possessions. Did somebody already box them up?”

“No.” I don’t tell him that Tata practically turned his bedroom into a shrine to my mother.

“Maybe you should try that. See if it helps. We’ll talk next week. Oh, Isabel, I almost forgot.”

“What?”

“Frank sends you a message. He says when you visit him next week, bring the ukulele.”

Thief

It’s Sunday night and I still haven’t gotten up enough nerve to ask Tata for the ukulele. He keeps it on the dresser next to their wedding picture and the tiara.

I decide to take it without permission. Tata might say no and I won’t visit Frank without it.

When Auntie Bernadette honks the horn twice for Olivia and me, I grab the ukulele case and dash out the door.

No Punishment

“Did you search through your mother’s things?” Ed asks.

I think about lying because I don’t want anything to keep me away from my visit with Frank. Instead I stare at the ukulele case and shake my head.

Ed laces his fingers together and taps his knuckles, looking at me for a long moment. He stretches out on the couch, flat on his back, and stares at the ceiling.