Chapter 9 - Celia’s Sister
Celia had a younger sister named Erin.
Thirty-two.
Lives in Portland, Maine.
After Celia died, Erin stopped visiting as much.
I thought grief.
Partly.
When I called, she said:
“Your mother made it very clear.”
“What?”
“That Lowri needed stability and maternal relatives were confusing her.”
I closed my eyes.
“When?”
“About four months after Celia died.”
“What exactly?”
“She said Miriam wanted Lowri to focus on her primary household.”
Again.
Professional language.
“What did you do?”
“I asked you.”
I did not remember.
Erin sent the text.
Erin:
Your mom thinks maybe I should skip next weekend because Lowri gets upset after I leave. Is that what Miriam wants?
Me:
Mom has been handling the therapy logistics. If that’s what they recommend, maybe give it a couple weeks.
There.
My message.
Not forged.
No memory.
I had reduced a relationship because my mother said therapist.
Erin replied:
Okay. I hate it but okay.
Then visits gradually became rarer.
Lowri lost access to one of the people who knew Celia best.
Again:
Not because Beatrice hated Erin.
Because Erin triggered memory.
My mother believed memory destabilized.
Thomasin benefited from the vacuum.
I had created it with one exhausted text.
I called Erin.
“I’m sorry.”
She cried.
“I should’ve pushed harder.”
“No.”
“I let your mother intimidate me.”
“We both let her act like the therapist.”
There.
Erin came to see Lowri two weeks later.
No dramatic reunion.
Lowri stared for thirty seconds.
Then asked:
“Do you remember Mommy’s blue car?”
Erin laughed.
“The horrible Subaru?”
Lowri smiled.
“Mommy called it Whale.”
Erin sat on floor.
“That car smelled like wet dog even when there was no dog.”
Lowri laughed.
Memory without shrine.
May you like
Exactly what she needed.
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