Chapter 5

He lets me take my time, touching things I don’t remember, trying desperately to find something in this house that will help me recall the life I led here. There are more photographs on the wall, these in heavy wooden frames, larger pictures than the ones he showed me yesterday. I recognize the two of us in them, the easy way we stand so close together, the way Tobin’s always touching me or I’m always holding his hand. I look over the photos and wish desperately to remember someof that love, some part of it—even just a tiny sip would be enough to fill me up.

“This is your mom,” he says, pointing at one picture. It’s me and him and two women, smiling. In all these pictures I’m always smiling. I don’t remember ever smiling at the facility. Somewhere between here and there I forgot how. Maybe they took my smile away with the rest of my memories when I was culled, and like everything else I’m just now getting it back.

“Is this your mother?” I ask, pointing to the other woman.