Chapter 72
AN HOUR LATER, I see on the baby monitor that Lily is awake. When I get to the crib, she smiles at me. As I lift her onto the changing table, Amber walks into the nursery. She’s wearing tennis whites.
“I hope I remember how to hit the ball,” Amber jokes. “It’s been so long, I’m out of practice.”
“I get it,” I tell her. “I hope I remember how to diaper a baby.”
Amber laughs. She thinks I’m kidding. “Oh, and by the way,” she says, “now that the weather’s cooler, I brought some winter clothes up from the basement. I put sweaters for Lily in the bottom drawer on the left.”
I hold Lily with one arm, bend down, and open the drawer.
Lo and behold, I discover a fabulous assortment of baby sweaters.
Cornflower blue with white stripes, hot pink with strawberry ruffles around the neck and sleeves, a kelly-green sweater with cable stitches twisted to look like leaves, and more.
They’re all hand-knit. And every sweater has the same label sewn in: SPECIALLY MADE BY GRANDMA.
“Amber, these are wonderful,” I say, pulling out a candy-apple-red hoodie. “Did your mother make these?”
Amber shakes her head. “My mother died years ago. They’re from Ben’s mother.”
Ben has a mother?
“Most of them were made for Hailey,” she says. “But his mother did send some for Lily when she was born.”
Ben has a mother who knits?
“So his mother is… still around?” I ask, trying to be as delicate as I can.
“Oh, yes. Sort of.”
“What’s she like?”
“Never met her,” Amber says. “Poor thing has been suffering from dementia for years. She wasn’t even well enough to come to our wedding.”
Can someone suffering from dementia knit? This is news.
“She’s been in a home for years,” Amber adds. “The dementia is really advanced. She doesn’t recognize anybody at this point. Not even Ben.”
“Is she nearby?” I ask.
“I think so,” Amber says. “It’s one of those special places for the elderly—what do you call them?”
“Nursing homes? Assisted living?”
“Something like that. I know it’s on water. It has a name like Placid Lake. No, wait,” she says, readjusting her ponytail in its cream-colored scrunchie. “I’m thinking of Lake Placid. Ben took me ice-skating up there once. It was one of our first dates.”
“How nice,” I say. “Does Ben go to visit her?” I put Lily’s arms through the sleeves of the bright red hoodie, then zip it up.
Amber shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess it’s hard on him, seeing what she’s become. He never talks about it. And I don’t ask.”
Good lines of communication here. No wonder they’re so happy together.
Amber heads out to her tennis lesson. Her friend Bonnie is picking her up, since her car is in the shop. I had it towed while she was away. Amber barely blinked when I told her about the damage. She just kept asking if I was okay.
I’m sure Ben will do more than blink when he sees the bill.
Lily lifts her arms, and I could swear I hear her say, “Up.” So I pick her up and carry her down to her carriage. She’s six months old now and sitting up—probably big enough to go on the Taggart Park kiddie swings.
Later on, as I’m pushing her with one hand, I’ll be holding my phone with the other, just like all the moms and caregivers there do.
The difference is, they’re all on social media. Me, I’ll be checking out every place within a fifty-mile radius where Ben Harrison might have stashed his mother.