Free Enchanted Ivy by Sarah Beth Durst

wall.
    Lily jumped off the bed. "It's okay, Mom. You don't need to remember. I didn't expect you to. Please, stop." Dammit, she thought. She shouldn't have said anything.
    A doglike face emerged between the vines and grapes. "You should know more about your father," Mom said. She drew faster. "I should be able to tell you what his smile looked like, what his voice sounded like, what he liked for breakfast, what made him laugh...." In slashing strokes, she drew a curved, snakelike neck. "But. I. Don't. Remember."
    Lily wrapped her arm around Mom's shoulder. "It's all right. Really, it doesn't matter. Forget I said anything. Let me tell you about some of the Reunions jackets I saw. Much worse than psychedelic zebra."
    Shrugging her off, Mom continued to draw. She added bat wings to the snakelike body. "All I remember from the day he died is the ambulance. I don't remember our car or the accident. I don't even remember where we were." She added clawed talons. "I don't remember the day we met. I don't remember the day he proposed. I don't remember the day we married." She drew scales shaped like tears. "I
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    know we once walked through a garden of red and yellow tulips with a fountain in the center." She switched pens and sketched linked ovals around the animal's neck--a chain that was held in one talon. "And I remember how he made me feel. Safe. Like he'd be my knight in shining armor. Like he'd fight dragons for me."
    Mom finished the final link of the chain, and then she sank down on the floor and hugged her knees. Lily dropped down beside her, wrapped her arms around her mother, and stared at the drawing of the Chained Dragon gargoyle that she'd seen on the arch of the University Chapel.
    "Wow," Lily breathed, and then fell silent.
    For a long while, they simply sat like that, without looking at each other, eyes fixed on the dragon. Questions swirled in Lily's head, but she didn't dare ask a single one.
    A half laugh, half chirp burst out of Mom's lips. "It's very ..." She waved her hand as if the gesture would finish the sentence. Lily watched Mom attempt to dredge up a smile, but the fake smile faded after only a few seconds. "Oh, Lily, sometimes I think the only reason I hold on at all is you and your future. You're going to pass this test. I know it. And then you'll have everything I can't give you." Turning to her, Mom gripped Lily's wrists. "You can't know how much that means to me. I need to look forward. I can't look back." Mom was crying now. Silent tears. "I'm getting worse, Lily. I can feel it. Every day, I slip further away. But when I think about you ... your future ..."
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    "I'll pass! I promise!" Lily hugged her. "I have the next clue already: the Literate Ape. I can win this. It's only a weird treasure hunt. Piece of cake." The Feeder hadn't really hurt her much, and the bookshelves had only scared her. She could do this. "Please, don't cry!"
    Mom turned her head aside, as if she thought that if Lily couldn't see her cry, then it didn't count as crying. Stroking Mom's leaf green hair, Lily looked up at the drawing of the Chained Dragon and wondered what the Old Boys had in store for her next.
    Shutting the door, Lily leaned against it. She wanted to bang her head repeatedly, but she bet that would alarm Jake. She smiled wanly at him. "She'll be fine," Lily said. Mom had sworn up and down that Grandpa would be checking on her soon.
    "Of course," Jake said. As Mom began to sing again, Lily saw pity in his very blue eyes and felt as if he'd seen her underwear drawer, complete with the pairs reserved only for laundry emergencies. She guessed he must come from one of those oh-so-perfect families without any hint of ... without anyone like Mom.
    "I need to find the Literate Ape," she said. And the shreds of my dignity and self-respect, she added silently. At least she hadn't told him that she'd considered quitting. She ducked her head, unable to meet his eyes anymore. Her face felt hot. Passing him, she headed