“Are things better now for him?” I ask because while I think they are, I also can’t recall.

Kate’s smile is warm and generous. “Yes, much better. And we both credit Vance for helping him find a way.” Her face turns serious. “As far as therapy for you goes, I think that deep down, Vance hoped that it would eventually lead to you forgiving Alice.”

I scratch my head and let my eyes slide back to the notebook, but I don’t have to read anything there to know how I feel.

“I’m afraid to trust her. Old habits are hard to break, and drinking is the oldest of habits for her.” I fiddle with the pen in my hand. “Do you know where she was the night that bear got into our lobby?”

Kate looks at me, and it’s not hard to guess I’ve already told her this, but I do anyway. “At the bar, so wasted that Dad had to go pick her up later and carry her home. It’s why he was looking out the window in the first place and saw the bear. He was looking for Mom.” I read the fact at the top of the page. Dad is dead. He died of a heart attack on September 21. My heart shrivels. “He protected everyone and now he’s gone, and Mom wants back into my life. Why does she think she deserves that?”

I can’t summon up enough vitriol to match my words. Instead, I think of the time a harbor seal washed up near one of our fishing coves, injured, hardly breathing. Mom knelt beside the animal, running her fingers gently over its head, murmuring, It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay. I blink back tears, busy myself with the notebook. “My mom is coming over in the mornings to talk and have coffee.” I point to a line, can already taste her baked goods. “This morning she brought doughnuts.”

Kate’s face brightens. “How did it go?”

“I don’t know but I don’t feel angry when I think about her. I always remember how angry I’d get whenever I saw her or just thought about her.”

“It’s good, don’t you think?” Kate says. “Not to feel angry?”

When I don’t answer, she continues, “You know, there was a patient many years ago with anterograde amnesia like yours. She could never remember her doctor and would greet him every time she saw him as though it were for the first time.”

I wince, thinking how close to reality this must be for me, not liking to picture myself in that way.

“Until this one day, her doctor hid a stickpin in his fingers, and when he shook her hand to say hello, it pricked her skin and caused her brief pain. Afterward, the woman refused to shake his hand.”

I straighten in my chair, interested. “She remembered?”