Dr. Reyes remained beside the bed.
She had stopped looking at her clipboard.
Instead, she studied Frank's photograph as though she were trying to match it to a memory.
I let her take her time.
There was no point asking the same question again.
She had already seen that I was not going to pretend everything was fine.
"How long were you and your husband married?" she asked.
"Many years."
I paused.
"Frank and I built most of our life together in the same house."
She nodded slowly.
"Was he involved with Willow Creek?"
The question surprised me.
I looked at her more carefully.
"Why do you ask?"
She seemed to realize that she had spoken too quickly.
"I'm sorry. I don't want to confuse you."
"You haven't confused me. You've made me curious."
She glanced toward the door.
Then she pulled the chair closer and sat down again.
"I've only been the director here for a short time," she said. "I'm still learning the history of the center."
I waited.
"Some things about this place were established long before I arrived."
She stopped there.
I looked at Frank's photograph.
He had never been a man who enjoyed talking about himself.
If someone thanked him for doing something, he usually changed the subject.
When we were younger, he helped people without announcing it.
He repaired things for neighbors.
He gave his time when someone needed a hand.
He never thought those things deserved attention.
I had learned not to ask him to explain every good deed.
Still, the director's question had stirred something in me.
"Frank knew a lot of people," I said. "He worked hard, and he cared about doing things properly."
Dr. Reyes listened closely.
"Did he ever tell you about this center?"
I considered the question.
I had heard the name Willow Creek before, of course.
The building had stood on the hill for years.
But I couldn't remember Frank discussing it in any detail.
"If he did, I don't remember the conversation."
She lowered her eyes.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make this more difficult."
"You haven't."
I was tired of people apologizing without telling me anything useful.
I leaned forward.
"Doctor, my son brought me here for a few nights. I was told my house was being painted."
She listened without moving.
"He hasn't come back. He won't answer his phone. I've been told the house has been sold, and the staff say I can't leave without approval from the person who arranged my stay."
My voice began to shake.
I pressed my fingers together until it steadied.
"I need to understand what is happening to me."
Dr. Reyes looked at me directly.
"You deserve an explanation."
It was the first thing anyone had said that felt like an answer rather than a rule.
She picked up the clipboard.
"I'm going to review your admission records carefully. I also want to understand the authority your son says he has."
"Can you tell me whether I have to stay here?"
"I don't want to promise you something before I've examined the documents."
I appreciated that.
At least she wasn't pretending to know what she hadn't checked.
She asked whether I had brought any paperwork with me.
I told her I had only packed a small suitcase.
The papers I remembered had been at Scott's house.
I didn't have copies with me.
She made a note.
Then she asked me to describe the circumstances of my arrival.
I told her about the painters.
I told her what Scott had promised.
I explained that Heather had carried my suitcase inside and that Scott had said he would return on Sunday.
I described the calls I had made after he failed to show up.
I told her about the disconnected telephone line at my house.
As I spoke, Dr. Reyes wrote several notes.
She did not interrupt.
When I finished, she set down her pen.
"Mrs. Dunmore, I am going to take this seriously."
I nodded.
I wanted to believe her.
But I had spent most of my life trusting family members because I thought trust was something a mother owed her children.
I was beginning to understand that trust did not remove the need for questions.
Dr. Reyes stood.
"I need to check a few things."
I looked at her.
"Will you come back?"
"Yes. I'll return when I have something useful to tell you."
She paused near the door.
Then she glanced once more at Frank's photograph.
There was recognition in her expression.
Not complete understanding.
Not yet.
But something had connected the name on my chart to a memory she carried.
After she left, I remained seated on the bed.
The room looked exactly as it had before she arrived.
The pale yellow walls.
The narrow bed.
The little plastic cup.
The photograph on the nightstand.
Nothing had changed, yet I felt less alone than I had the day before.
I didn't know whether Dr. Reyes could help me leave.
I didn't know what Scott had signed.
I didn't know whether my house still belonged to me in any meaningful sense.
But someone had finally listened.
That afternoon, Gloria came by to check on me.
"How did it go with the director?"
I told her Dr. Reyes had asked questions about Frank.
Gloria looked surprised.
"Your husband?"
"Yes."
"Did she explain why?"
"No."
Gloria glanced at the photograph.
"Perhaps she'll tell you when she's ready."
I nodded.
I didn't want to build hopes around a few seconds of recognition.
Hope had become an expensive thing.
Still, before Gloria left, I asked her to keep my photograph where it was.
"I won't let anyone move it," she said.
When the door closed, I turned toward the window.
The rose bushes were bright against the gray afternoon.
I thought about Scott and Heather.
I thought about the papers I might have signed.
Then I thought about Dr. Reyes's face when she read my name.
For the first time, I wondered whether my arrival at Willow Creek meant something to the people who worked there beyond the fact that my son had brought me.
I had no answer.
Only a name, a photograph, and a director who had looked as though she had seen a ghost.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: While I Waited for Answers, I Began Remembering the Papers Scott Had Put Before Me and the Promises I Had Believed
My Son Promised Me Three Quiet Nights Away From Home, and I Was Foolish Enough to Believe Every Word He Said
Part 6 of 24
