“Oh yeah, everyone has different styles of parenting. Some of these families all sleep in the same bed until the child is ten! I never understood that.” She crunches an ice cube with her molars without even flinching. “On the other hand, after your crib was converted to a bed, your parents would put a baby gate up at night so you wouldn’t run into their room, but you’d cry and cry, so I’d come get you and we’d lie together for a little in my bed, until you fell back asleep, and then I’d carry you back to your room. I never told your parents that. It was just hard at that age to hear a child cry like that. Now I’m stone-cold.”

I reach across her, setting my glass back on its coaster. “You know, I always thought my mom did that. I hated that gate so much. But I guess I was giving the wrong woman credit.”

“It’s strange how memory works, isn’t it?” Anneliese says, those laugh lines showing up again as she grins at something, some private memory I’m not privy to. Lola starts whispering to herself, little kid words, spreading her palm out on the open page, as if to grab the picture inside.

And then, like last time, I find myself talking, unspoken admissions rolling off my tongue. “I’ve had trouble sleeping, which isn’t doing my memory any favors.” I bite my inner cheek, tasting a tiny spurt of fresh blood. “When Dad had his accident, it was like my brain, my subconscious, decided to completely betray me. And I just couldn’t sleep, for nights on end. I’d see things in the dark. After a while, it all became too much. I was just so tired all the time. I couldn’t function properly. Going outside became a burden, all the stimulation, the etiquette of being a human out in the world. It was so tiring. So I just stopped leaving. I stopped seeing friends, having a life. It was a complete one-eighty from my usual self.” I look up at the smooth plaster ceiling, crack-and grime-free.

“I got on prescription sleeping pills. But when I finally did fall asleep, I kept having these dreams that I’m untethered, that I’m floating in this vast darkness with no anchor, no one to pull me up. They’re always the same. I try to claw out of the blackness, but I can’t. It’s like I’m stuck to myself. But I can’t reach anyone for help.” I have to take a breath, to swallow in air, because not even Beth has heard me describe these dreams in such detail.