The House of Hidden Things

II: Visiting Family

Elwood Care Home

There was a moth.

Pinned through its wings against the cushions and encased in glass. The rest of the display, pushed against the barred waiting room window, was empty–small pinholes left in the fabric from whichever insect used to be there.

Through the thick bars, the Elwood Care Home stood like a tomb. Following the orderly, up to the waiting room, every corridor changed direction. Built that way to confuse the people within and only locked from without.

"When was the last time you saw your grandmother?"

"I was seven," I tell him, not moving from the window, the moulded butterfly. "Sixteen years ago, maybe. It isn't a nice memory. It wouldn't be so bad if she doesn't remember that."

The doctor cleared his throat.

I let my hand fall from the broken clip holding my visitors pass and breathed out enough to fog the window. "Sorry, still trying to process all of this."

"I understand," he said evenly. I believed him. He'd been caring for her for the last year – maybe he was losing her more than I was. Six months ago, when I'd been coming home from the University, I'd come home to the first letter.

The care-home hadn't notified me as the next of kin until after the six month period was over and when it had been, it was my grandmother's letter that I opened first. Then the lawyers.

There'd been a fire, the lawyer had said, your grandmother isn't well enough to be alone.

He'd taken some papers out of his briefcase and handed them to me. Almost the same way the orderly had handed me the sign-in papers for the visitor's pass. As if they'd expected me to know what to do with them.

I told them both I wasn't staying long enough for an estate deed or a long term visitor pass.

"I'm only asking to better understand her long term memory. I know this can be very upsetting and your situation isn't as common. But with no other family it's hard to keep a record of her health and mental state before she arrived," he said. "With that, I'd like to caution you about her reaction to seeing you after such a long absence."

"You don't think she'll recognize me?"

"I think she might insist that you're not who you say you are." The physician tucks a hand under his coat, motioning to the door with his left. "Shall we?"

I step through the door, following after him. His lab coat stark white in the labyrinth of halls and wheelchairs and nurses. From outside the gates, outside the halls, the front of the building could almost double as a largemouth, poised and open. Ready to swallow anything and anything whole.

What am I doing here?

Nothing would change. Nothing will be affected by my arrival and nothing will change when I leave. There were people in place to sort through boxes, riffle through files and rooms and memories.

I want to sell it, I had told the lawyer.  I don't want the stain on my hands.

"Here we are," Dr. Burke stops outside a numbered room. A hand on the doorknob. The edges of his hair piece had curled to become a grey combover, exposing some glue. "There is a button just inside the door, under the light switch press it if you need anything. I'll be by to collect you after your visit."

Nothing would be affected by my arrival; except for her.

"Thank you." I tell him, watching the crease smooth out across his forehead.