Chapter 3
I still struggled to recognize my face.
Selene
I was back home.
After another week in the hospital, I was back where everything reminded me of the person I was before I left for New York.
I was in the place I’d grown up—Indian Village.
It was a historic neighborhood on the east side of Detroit.
It didn’t exude the ostentatious luxury that Matt’s home and neighborhood did, but it was sophisticated and distinctive thanks to a number of noteworthy buildings like the Bliemaster House.
The houses and apartments flanked each other neatly with carefully curated gardens and renovated garages.
Our neighbors were the Burnses and the Kampers, located respectively to the right and left of our more modest home.
The moment I got out of the car and looked around, it felt like I’d never left. All my best memories were linked to that house, to my mother and my friends, and to the university.
I still felt confused and a little out of it.
The doctor told me I might have headaches and sensitivity to light at first and that I would carry the souvenirs of my accident for a long time to come.
They were there, carved into my body and soul, but I was confident that, sooner or later, I would recover.
I walked into the house and smiled at finding it exactly as I remembered it.
Our house wasn’t very large, but it was easy and comfortable. Antique wooden furniture was featured heavily in the decor, and my mother had even maintained Grandma Marie’s old light fixtures. Perhaps, like me, she hadn’t entirely gotten over Grandma Marie’s death.
My grandmother used to live with us, and I felt her presence so often that it was as though I could still smell the aroma of cherry pie in the air.
Cherry pie, like she used to make for me every Sunday.
We would always enjoy it together along with a nice cup of tea, a tradition that my mother and I had kept up in honor of her.
I took a deep breath and, at a snail’s pace, made my way up the stairs to my room.
As soon as I crossed the threshold, I could see that everything was neat and in perfect order. The carved wooden headboard was flush against the wall, and just above it were shelves displaying books of all varieties.
Beside the bed and night table, there was a desk by the window, two little white poufs, a six-drawer dresser with all my clothes inside, a small vanity with a stool, and a few old photos of me on the wall.
I looked around, drinking in every detail. How I had missed this room.
Then, I focused in on the vanity mirror behind a few bottles of perfume and some cosmetics.
I stared at my reflection, taking note of how pale and exhausted I looked.
The dark circles under my eyes were very obvious, as was the healing wound that marred the left side of my forehead.
They’d taken the stitches out, but the scar was still puffy and slightly red.
I probably could have covered it with some makeup, but it still would have been there underneath.
It would be there forever to remind me of what had happened.
“So, shall we unpack these bags?”
I jolted when my mother came into the room, looking lovely and smiling as she always did. She gave me a questioning look as she hoisted my bag up on the bed.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Think I’ll have to get a new haircut to cover this?” I pointed to my scar, and she frowned skeptically.
Sure, the mark wasn’t a huge problem, but I still struggled to recognize my face even as I realized that I was just going to have to make peace with this indelible blemish on my skin. My mother smiled and drew closer, resting her hands on my shoulders with all her fond indulgence.
“It’s barely noticeable. And, as far as I’m concerned, you’re always beautiful.” She kissed my forehead, and I grimaced sarcastically at her.
It was very noticeable, in fact, but she was just trying to comfort me.
“You’re just saying that because I’m your daughter,” I groused with an ironic smile.
Then, I brushed past her to start unpacking.
My mother stayed close to me, ready to help.
I got dizzy and experienced vertigo fairly often, but Dr. Rowland had assured me that it was completely normal.
She said predicting the impacts of a trauma like the one I had suffered wasn’t remotely easy.
There might be mood swings, anxiety, stress, and insomnia.
Any or all of those could change the way I carried out my daily life.
That’s why she suggested I write everything down in a personal journal to track whether I experienced any strange feelings or symptoms in these early days.
“Don’t forget to write down anything suspicious you notice.” Like she could read my mind, my mother gestured to the journal I’d just put on the bedside table. I nodded, wiping my hands on my jeans before sitting down on the bed with a sigh.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in a worried tone, and I shrugged, not answering. Honestly, I didn’t know what to tell her. I felt this inexplicable emptiness inside me. I was happy to finally be out of the hospital, but I also knew that I’d never be able to forget what had happened.
I still hadn’t told anyone that the crash hadn’t been an accident and had been engineered by some crazy person, and it was making me anxious.
“I’m just feeling tired,” I answered, staring at some vague spot on my legs. I felt like crying, but I tried to hold back. After all, I didn’t want to scare my mother, who had already gone through so much.
She sat down next to me and stroked my long hair the way she always used to when I was a child.
To be perfectly honest, I still felt like a child.
“The doctor said that feeling of malaise was temporary.” She cupped my face gently and looked deep into my eyes, our souls connecting.
“You’ll see—you’re going to be fine, and we’ll deal with all of it together.
” She smiled at me, and I examined her closely, thinking about her words.
My mother would always be by my side, giving me the strength I needed to face anything.
I smiled at her, and suddenly, she seemed to remember something.
“Oh, I wanted to give this to you.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small object. “I think this belongs to you.” She opened her hand, showing me…the clear glass cube with the pearl inside.
I opened my lips, and Neil’s careless words echoed inside my head. To him, that cube was “just a trinket.” A dumb, useless good-luck charm that only a naive little girl could have thought meaningful.
To me, though, it had saved my life.
“You were holding it after the accident. You didn’t let it go until you got to the hospital,” she explained, making me gape at her.
I couldn’t help but see the profound symbolism in that.
It was incredible how an inanimate object could imprint itself upon everything that had happened.
It was as though it had taken on a life of its own, watching as Neil gave it to me before I got in the taxi and then everything that had happened after.
I grabbed it with my thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light from the lamp, admiring how the glass became iridescent while the pearl inside gleamed.
I got up off the bed and set the cube down on my desk, next to a photo of me and Mom with Grandma Marie.
I didn’t even know why I put it there. I could have thrown the little thing away or stashed it in a drawer, but my eyes wanted to admire it again.
Maybe it was because it was more unique than rare or maybe just because it was particularly beautiful and deserved its place among the souvenirs that decorated my room.
I stared at it again until my vision started to blur and my head began to spin. I rubbed my forehead as a small stab of pain made me unsteady on my feet. My mother rushed to me.
“Selene!” She grabbed me by the shoulders to keep me from falling and touched my cheek, looking into my eyes. “You need to rest and have something to eat,” she said in a sternly concerned tone. I agreed with her; not only had I been missing her delicious meals, I also really needed to relax.
Still, it was only noon, and I didn’t feel like going back to bed, so I opted for the sofa in the living room. I turned on the TV, and my mom draped a blanket over my legs before retreating to the kitchen to cook.
“What would you like me to make for you?” she asked enthusiastically, fastening a yellow apron around her waist.
She shot me a sly look because she knew perfectly well what I was going to ask for, so I smiled back at her in the same knowing way. The two of us could read each other with just a look.
“Crab cakes!” we said in unison, bursting into laughter. It was my favorite dish, and she knew that perfectly well, which was why she threw herself wholeheartedly into whipping up some delicious crab cakes. The smell of them floated into the living room, whetting my appetite.
My stomach began to growl, so I joined her in the kitchen and hurried to set the table.
This part of the house was also functional and casual, just like the two of us.
The elm cabinets, stained a deeper brown, popped against the natural stone of the countertop.
The smooth tile floor contrasted with the white walls, while a small window next to the stove illuminated the whole scene.
“No, Selene, don’t tire yourself out,” she scolded, waving a dishrag at me as I opened a drawer. I grinned because it really was cute.
“Mom, I can’t spend the whole day doing nothing,” I complained as I finished laying out the cutlery.
Then I positioned our turn-of-the-century chairs around the table and smiled.
I glanced out the window at our little garden; Mom loved to putter in it, growing all sorts of plants.
She always said that gardens were tangible evidence of the millennia-old relationship between man and nature.