The Forgotten Ones

ever seen them, and they burned holes into mine.
    “You look...so much like him.” She didn’t have to say who she meant. I knew she was thinking about my father.
    “I’m sorry if that hurts you,” I said, trying to hang onto the moment of lucidity.
    “No,” she whispered, staring back into my eyes. “Your father was beautiful, just like you.”
    “Did he hurt you?” I immediately regretted my words—I knew how easy it was to push her over the edge.
    My mother shuddered, and just like that, she was gone. Her eyes glazed over, completely void of recognition. She turned her head slowly and stared back out at the woods.

Sunday morning, I sat at the kitchen table after my run, picking through the newspaper that Pop had already dissected. My mother sat across from me, threading and unthreading her fingers. I picked up my coffee cup and grimaced when I took a sip to find it unexpectedly cold. I walked over to get a warm-up and the doorbell rang.
    I glanced around, Gram was out in the garden, and Pop had taken a ride down to the hardware store to do paperwork. I set the coffee pot aside to answer the door. A young man stood on the other side, looking off into the woods. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him before, but there was something familiar about him.
    “Hello. I’m looking for Beth O’Malley, please,” he said with a heavy Irish accent.
    “Beth?” Nobody ever came over asking for Beth O’Malley. Then his eyes met mine.
    Just like in a movie, when the camera zooms into someone’s face and everything else ceases to exist for that moment, my world stopped.
    Because I had seen those eyes before.
    They had gazed affectionately at my mother in my dreams.
    His light golden-brown hair was short, but I could tell that if he grew it out a few inches, it would be wavy just like mine. He looked exactly like the photos I had in my room.
    “She can’t come to the door.” The words tumbled out, my heart thrumming in my chest like a thousand butterfly wings. “I’m her daughter, Allison. Can I help you with something?”
    “Oh, I see.” His brow furrowed, like he didn’t actually understand at all. “No. Thank you, Allison. Good day.” He turned toward the stairs.
    “Wait!” I shouted. “Liam?”
    He cleared his throat, froze, and spoke over his shoulder. “Yes. Has she told you about me then?”
    “Not really, no.”
    It was true. I only ever heard his name during her episodes. When I was little, she would sit in her room sometimes holding a piece of paper in her hands and cry. One day I snuck into her bedroom while she was playing her violin and stole the paper—what turned out to be pictures of her and Liam. I thought that if I took away the thing that made her cry, she would be happy with just me.
    I shook my head. “She mentioned the name to my grandmother, after she came back from Ireland.”
    “Right.” He turned back to face me again. “Do you suppose I might be able to speak with your mother later?”
    I crossed my arms over my chest. “You haven’t spoken to her in the past twenty-two years, obviously.”
    “I beg your pardon?” Liam cleared his throat again.
    “I said it’s obvious you haven’t talked to my mother since she came back from Ireland twenty-two years ago.”
    “Please, you must understand—”
    “Oh, I think I understand perfectly. You knocked my mother up and sent her back to the US, and now…what? You’re in the neighborhood so you thought you’d drop by to say hello?”
    “I don’t know what you’ve been told. But”—he paused, swallowing hard—“I assure you, I knew nothing of a child.”
    I stepped out onto the porch, quietly shutting the door behind me. I tried to keep my expression calm and indifferent.
    I noticed his jaw muscles clenching. Something else we had in common, I guess.
    “I don’t know what to say,” he whispered as he passed a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know you existed, yet... here you are.”
    “Here I am,” I laughed, without humor. “I guess you’re wondering why I won’t let you see my mother?”
    “I suppose I am. But I might have a bit of an idea,” he said. His blue eyes looked sad and far older than I’d originally thought.
    “You think so?” I snapped. “And why might that be?”
    “Oh, Allison. I daresay I know far more than I wish to.” He sighed and ran his hands through his hair again.
    “So, you know that my mother is crazy? That she can’t even leave the house without being sedated? Do