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“No,” I whispered. “It’s me. Vivi.”
She blinked. “Vivi. That’s a pretty name.”
Beside me, Emmaline let out a quiet breath.
“We’ve come to take you home,” Emmaline said, stepping forward.
Maureen’s mouth turned down. “This is my home.”
“No, Mama,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “We’ve found a new place. It’s beautiful. You’ll love it.”
Her eyes darted. Confused. Frightened.
“I don’t want to go,” she said suddenly, her voice rising. “I don’t know you. I don’t know where I’m going!”
An orderly appeared in the doorway, tense. “Sometimes transitions can be hard,” she said to us gently. “It’s not unusual for patients to become agitated when there’s disruption to their routine?—”
“I said no!” my mother cried, her voice cracking. “You leave me alone!”
I froze.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to reach her. I felt sixteen again, standing outside her locked bathroom door, listening to her cry without ever knowing why.
Then Elias stepped forward.
“Vivi,” he said softly. “Sing to her.”
I blinked. “What?”
“She doesn’t know where she is. Doesn’t recognize your face. But she might recognize your voice.”
Emmaline looked at me, her eyes already filling. “You remember what she used to sing to us when we couldn’t sleep?”
I nodded. “‘You Are My Sunshine.’”
Elias didn’t say another word. Just stepped back and let us take the lead.
I knelt beside her. Emmaline did the same.
And then, in a trembling voice that cracked on the first word, I began.
“You are my sunshine ... my only sunshine ...”
Emmaline joined me, her alto grounding my whisper.
“You make me happy, when skies are gray ...”
My mother’s eyes fluttered. Her lips moved.
“You’ll never know, dear ... how much I love you ...”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“Please don’t take ... my sunshine away.”
Silence fell like a hush in church.
Then, softly, my mother reached for my hand. “Vivienne?”