Mark sat down next to me.
Ezoic
Jean looked at him.
Ezoic
“You look sad,” she said.
“I am,” Mark said. “A little.”
“Why?”
He hesitated.
“My mother’s sick,” he said. “Like you. She forgets things. I’m going to see her today. I’m scared she won’t know me.”
Jean looked at him for a long time. Her cloudy blue eyes searched his face.
Then she reached across the table and took his hand.
“Oh, honey,” she said. “She’ll know you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re her baby,” Jean said simply. “Mothers always know their babies. Even when we forget their names. Even when we forget their faces.” She pressed his hand against her chest. Over her heart. “We know them here. That’s where the baby goes. Right here. And nothing can get in there. Not even the forgetting.”
Mark looked at her.
