The last time we saw Flora (in Challenge #27), she had asked her mother what she knew about the DiMeolas across the street.

 ***

“Well, they were already here when your dad and I moved in. Angela DiMeola brought over a plate of cookies and introduced herself. She was very energetic, late 20s maybe. Looked really young. I remember being surprised by that. And then, it’s weird.”

“What is?”

“They lived across the street, and we were both pregnant for the first time, but we only hung out together once. A barbecue. That’s when we met Marco, her husband. He was about a few years older than her, I think. I never asked, a little shy but very nice, originally from Argentina. Angela was very excited about all the parallels between us: both expecting, both of mixed-race marriages.”

She stopped, contemplating something.

“What is it?” asked Flora, “Go on.”

“Well, honestly there was something off-putting about her. She never stopped moving, like a bouncing ball. Hyper. And in conversation too. It was a little strange. She was hard to follow, you know what I mean? Anyway, they had the baby, several months before you were born. I saw her pushing a stroller once. And then—she just disappeared. We didn’t know for a while if she was gone or ill or what. We heard the baby crying a few times. We assumed it was colicky. Marco must’ve taken time off to help out. Their car was there a lot.

“Then one day, I saw Mrs. Johnson at the grocery store. By then, I knew to leave you home with dad. We didn’t know what was wrong yet, just that you cried non-stop when we took you out.”

“Sorry,” said Flora, sunken for a moment with that familiar free-falling emptiness. 

“No Honey, I didn’t mean—it was just challenging. That’s all.”

“What did Mrs. Johnson say?”

“Right. By the way, that was brave of you yesterday.”

She squeezed Flora’s hand and smiled. Flora grinned back. She knew her mother was trying.

“Thanks. Go on.”

“Mrs. Johnson was shopping for the DiMeolas. Evidently, Angela had some sort of postpartum break down. Really severe. The weird thing was though, she never seemed to recover. We realized she was in the house but never came out.”

“But Mr. DiMeola. He had to work, right?”

“Yeah. We saw help arrive, what looked like a nurse. They’ve been through a bunch. I think they’re still coming.”

“Yeah, they are,” said Flora, realizing who the people were who went in as Jake left for school and out when he came home. But that left Jake to take care of his mother every afternoon and night. Every weekend when his dad was away.

“Do you know what he does? Marco?”

“Well, back then it was import-export from South America. I assume it’s the same.”

Flora thought about Jake, how, as popular as he seemed to be, he always came home alone. To take care of his sick mother instead of her taking care of him. She wondered what was really wrong with her. She wondered how Jake could still smile.