Part 24 (1/2)

Gina Lord was my grandmother. She died in a car accident when I was ten, nearly thirty years ago. I fingered my wedding ring. It had been hers.

”You mean Caroline, don't you? Your daughter?”

He turned to look at me with eyes that were now flat and dull. ”No, I mean Gina.”

”Chappy,” I said in a gentle voice, ”I'm not sure she'll be there. I think she had to leave.”

”Where did she go?”

”I . . . I don't know. Let's get you back to the house, okay?”

Tommy found us when we were halfway up the road to the house, my arm around Chappy's shoulders, guiding him and listening to him talk about my grandmother as though he'd gotten out of a warm bed next to her only an hour ago.

My brother ran toward us, panting and out of breath. ”Where the h.e.l.l have you two-”

I shook my head. ”Not now. He wants to get back to the house to see Nonna.”

”Who-?” He gave me a puzzled look. ”Are you kidding me? Nonna Gina? Oh, jeez. What'd you tell him?”

”That she probably wouldn't be there.”

He said in my ear, ”Mom's on the warpath. She wanted to call the police when she realized he was gone. Pop thought he might have gone to the stables, so he went there.”

”Call or text them so they know he's okay.”

”Is he?”

I met Tommy's eyes. ”I don't think so.”

By the time we got home, the entire house was lit up like Christmas. Through the kitchen window I could see my mother, distraught, as she paced back and forth, a phone clamped to her ear. When she caught sight of us, she whirled around and flew outside across the lawn. I looked down and saw she was barefoot.

”Dad. Thank G.o.d you're all right.” She took my place, slipping her arm around my grandfather's shoulders. Under her breath she said to Tommy and me, ”We need to get him inside before he catches his death out here.”

”He's fine, Mom,” I said. ”Nothing happened. It's okay.”

My mother shot me a reproachful look and I could almost hear her saying, I'll deal with you later, young lady. This is all your fault. She turned back to Chappy.

”What were you thinking? You scared the life out of us running off like that. Everyone's been worried sick about you.” I could hear the dizzy relief in her voice even though she scolded him like a truant child. She looked over at Tommy and me and added, ”What did I tell you? I can't trust him anymore.”

She was dressed in ripped, faded jeans and one of Harry's old flannel s.h.i.+rts over a white T-s.h.i.+rt, her long blond hair loose around her shoulders, no makeup. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her disheveled like this-my mother always looks like she's ready for a fas.h.i.+on shoot even if she's weeding the garden-and in the flat early-morning light, she looked weary and worn out.

”He went to the old stables to take pictures of the Blue Ridge at sunrise,” I said. ”Like he did the last time he was here . . . then he got a little confused.”

”The last time he was here . . . oh, my G.o.d!”

We were back inside the house now, Harry bursting into the kitchen after coming through the front door with Ella on his heels, meeting my mother's eyes before sweeping his gaze over Tommy and me. I'd just poured Chap a gla.s.s of orange juice and Tommy was sitting next to him at the old kitchen table, urging him to drink it. Ella padded over and planted herself in front of Chappy, who stroked her head.

”Caroline-?” Harry said.

”I'm taking him to the doctor this morning over at Landsdowne,” she said, her voice hard and defensive. ”Hopefully they'll admit him to the hospital and run some tests so we'll know for sure. He has a nine o'clock appointment so I need to get him dressed and ready to leave as soon as he has breakfast.”

She was talking about Chappy as if he were invisible, or a child who either couldn't hear her or didn't understand what she was saying.

”I'll take you,” Harry said. ”I don't want you doing this by yourself.”

”I'll come, too,” I said.

My mother walked over to the kitchen counter and picked up an old copy of National Geographic. She pa.s.sed it to me, her manicured index finger tapping the date and sliding down to the cover story.

”Look at that,” she said.

The magazine was from May 1983. More than thirty years ago.

Thomas Jefferson's Beloved Virginia: The Beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. The photograph was a breathtaking view of the morning fog in whipped-cream stripes between the forest and the hazy blue mountains, the same view I'd seen at Monticello when Ryan Velis and I had been standing in Jefferson's garden the other day. I opened the magazine to the story and found what I knew I'd find. Photographs by Charles Lord.

”That's what he remembered,” she said. ”Like it's yesterday or a few months ago. He was looking at that magazine last night.”

I looked up. ”I'm sorry, Mom.”

”He doesn't know anymore,” she said, her voice breaking, and it seemed she was trying not to cry. ”I need to take him myself, Sophie. He doesn't need any additional . . . distractions, anything or anyone to confuse him more than he already is.”

Meaning me.

”Right,” I said. ”Sure.”

”I've got cla.s.s at one,” Tommy said. ”Soph, I can drive you back to D.C. if you want a ride. I'm going home before I head over to campus, so I can drop you off at your place.”

Harry shot me a fleeting, pleading look to do this without making a scene, and I said, ”Thanks, Tommy. That'd be great.”

”I was thinking about leaving after the traffic dies down,” he said. ”Around ten.”

”Dad,” my mother said, ”how about if I take you upstairs and get you ready?”

Chappy stood up. ”Gina, where's Gina?”

There was a poignant silence before my mother said, ”I'm afraid she's not here.”

”Where did she go?”

My mother met Harry's eyes. Hers were anguished.

”She's . . . visiting some people,” Harry said, adding to my mother, ”I'll take him, Caroline . . . come on, Chap.”

After they left the room, my mother turned to me. ”You should have called, Sophie. Or at least woken someone up. Instead you let me worry myself to death.”

”I forgot my phone, Mom. I'm sorry, I didn't do it on purpose.”

”You always have a reason-”