Dr. Reyes returned the next morning.
I heard the knock while I was sitting beside the window.
I turned toward the door.
"Come in."
She entered with the same clipboard she had carried before, but her manner was different.
She did not begin with an apology.
She did not immediately explain the admission rules.
Instead, she pulled the chair beside my bed into place and sat down.
"Mrs. Dunmore, thank you for waiting."
I looked at her.
"Have you found something?"
"I've been reviewing the information available to me."
She paused.
"There are some matters I still need to verify."
I felt my shoulders tighten.
"Does that mean I can go home?"
"I can't give you a definite answer yet."
I looked away.
It was not what I wanted to hear, but at least she wasn't making promises she might not be able to keep.
She continued.
"I do want you to know that I haven't dismissed your concerns."
"Thank you."
I meant it.
Then I asked the question that had been troubling me since her first visit.
"Why did you look at my husband's photograph that way?"
Dr. Reyes glanced toward the nightstand.
For a moment, she seemed uncertain about how to answer.
"I believe I recognized the name."
"Frank's name?"
"Yes. And yours."
I waited.
She placed the clipboard on her lap.
"There is something about the history of this building that I need to understand better before I explain what I think I remember."
I felt a small flicker of frustration.
"You came here to discuss my placement. Now you're telling me that you recognize my name, but you can't tell me why."
She accepted the criticism without becoming defensive.
"You're right. I can see how that sounds."
"Then please understand why I'm asking."
"I do."
She looked down at the clipboard.
"I don't want to give you an explanation based on an incomplete memory. I want to be certain."
I nodded slowly.
That answer was more reasonable than I wanted it to be.
I had spent the week surrounded by uncertainty.
I didn't need another person guessing at the truth.
Still, I wanted to know what she remembered.
"Did you know Frank?"
"I don't believe I ever met him."
"Then how could you recognize him?"
She looked toward the photograph again.
"I may have seen his name associated with this place."
I studied her face.
She was choosing every word carefully.
I wondered whether she was protecting some information or simply trying not to say something incorrect.
I couldn't tell.
I pointed to the photograph.
"Frank wasn't a man who liked attention. If he helped someone, he usually didn't tell me about it."
Dr. Reyes listened.
"He believed that doing the right thing was enough."
She nodded.
"That sounds like the kind of person people remember."
I smiled faintly.
"Sometimes. Other times, people forget the person and remember only what he did."
For the first time, she looked directly at me with something like understanding.
She asked me whether Frank had been involved in community work.
I told her that he helped people when he could, but I didn't know every detail of what he did.
He had always kept some of his work separate from our family life.
I had never considered that unusual.
People were allowed to have parts of their lives that belonged to them alone.
Dr. Reyes wrote something on her clipboard.
Then she asked me another question.
"Did Frank ever speak to you about leaving instructions for the future?"
I considered it.
"We discussed our wills and the house. We wanted to make sure things were clear."
"Did he mention Willow Creek?"
"I can't remember him doing so."
She nodded and made another note.
I was beginning to feel that the conversation was circling around something neither of us could quite reach.
I leaned forward.
"Doctor, I need to be clear about something. Whatever Frank may have done in the past, I need help with what is happening now."
"You're right."
"My son told me I was coming here for a few nights. He has not returned my calls. I have been told my house is sold, and I have no idea what I signed at his dining table."
My voice cracked on the last sentence.
I stopped and took a breath.
"I need someone to help me understand my rights and my situation."
Dr. Reyes set the clipboard aside.
"I hear you, Mrs. Dunmore."
She spoke more firmly this time.
"I will continue reviewing your admission records, and I will make sure your concerns are documented."
I watched her.
"And Frank?"
She glanced toward the photograph.
"I haven't forgotten about that. I just need to confirm what I remember."
I sat back.
I was not satisfied, but I believed she was taking me seriously.
Before she left, she asked whether I needed anything.
"No. I have everything I brought."
I looked at the suitcase in the closet.
It was a sad answer.
She followed my gaze.
"I know this is not what you expected."
"No," I said. "It isn't."
She stood and picked up her clipboard.
At the door, she paused.
"Mrs. Dunmore, please don't assume that no one is listening simply because you haven't received all the answers yet."
I looked at her.
"I'll try."
She left the room.
I remained beside the window for a long time.
Outside, the fountain continued to spill water into its basin.
A few rose petals had fallen onto the walkway.
I thought about the director's words.
She had recognized my name.
She had recognized something about Frank.
And she believed the building's history might explain why.
I still didn't know what that meant.
But I knew one thing.
I had come to Willow Creek believing I was only a mother whose son had abandoned her.
Now I was beginning to suspect that my husband's connection to the place was something I had never fully understood.
I turned toward his photograph.
The scratch on the frame caught the light.
I touched it gently, then returned my hand to my lap.
Whatever Dr. Reyes remembered, I would wait for her to verify it.
I had spent enough days accepting other people's explanations without seeing the truth for myself.
This time, I intended to hear the whole answer.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: I Stopped Waiting for Scott to Explain Himself and Began Asking What My Husband Had Left Behind at Willow Creek
My Son Promised Me Three Quiet Nights Away From Home, and I Was Foolish Enough to Believe Every Word He Said
Part 8 of 24
