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you to go.”
    “Mom, she’s not Selena. Selena’s not here anymore.”
    Beth shoots me a quizzical look as if to say, “Who’s Selena?”
    I shake my head almost imperceptibly.
    We stay with my mother until the sun goes down and twilight settles onto the green tops of the trees. It’s time for Mom to go back to her room.
    “She’s had a lot of excitement for today and it’s best she gets her rest now,” the nurse says. “Thank you, Mr. Morton, for coming.”
    “Promise you’ll call me sooner next time,” I say.
    “It’s not always that easy, Mr. Morton.”
    “Call me Chris.”
    “We don’t want to have to be calling you every day, so we leave only the most unmanageable of episodes to you.”
    I envelop my mother in a bear hug. “I’ll come to see you next week, OK?”
    Mom’s eyes are filled with tears. “You’re the only one who comes, Christopher. No one else ever does.”
    “That’s not true. Dad came two weeks ago, remember?”
    The nurse shakes her head behind my mother.
    “No, he didn’t,” my mother says.
    “Yes, he did.”
    It’s always important to maintain the illusion that her entire family is behind her. Dad has remarried five years ago and I never had the heart to tell Mom.
    It’s Beth’s turn to hug her. “Goodbye, Mrs. Morton. I hope you’ll allow me to visit again.”
    “You’re a nice, nice girl, Selena, despite what they say about you.”
    I can see that Beth is in equal parts perplexed and curious. It’s not an episode in my life that I’m proud of. I wonder how long I can keep silent about it.
    We drive away from the Waverly Hills sanatorium and head back to the city. Beth is pensive, no doubt contemplating the events of the afternoon.
    “I’m sorry today didn’t work out as planned,” I say.
    “No, not at all. It was lovely to meet your mother.” She raises her eyes shyly towards mine. I have to catch my breath at the fragile honesty in them. “I must say she wasn’t what I was expecting.”
    You’re the only one of the women I’ve been with, I don’t say, that I have taken to meet my Mom. And under such circumstances.
    “We’ve kept a pretty tight lid over her illness. That’s why you don’t see us cozying up to any press.”
    “But why? It isn’t something to be ashamed.”
    “I know. But my father is ashamed of her. He’s afraid the genes will run in our family, and the board of directors – which comprises of some old fogeys who have no clue about mental illness – may declare either me or my brother unfit to head the company.”
    “But it’s your company.”
    “It’s still public listed and we have bosses to answer to, namely the board of directors.”
    She’s silent for a while, taking all this in. I can imagine that she probably thinks my father is an ogre. But I don’t blame Dad. I once did when Mom first got ill. But I realize now that he couldn’t cope with the stress of it.
    “Do the rest of your family go to see her often?”
    “No. My father goes once in a while, but it hurts them too much to see her that way, you know. My brothers used to go a lot more often before, many years back. Then as time goes by and they marry and have families of their own, they see her less and less.”
    “But not you. You still go.”
    “I used to go a lot more often too, I’ll admit. But I don’t blame my brothers or my Dad. I’m the only one who’s single, and I’m the only one with lots of time to spare.”
    “That’s not fair to you . . . to take the burden.”
    “It’s not a burden. She’s my Mom. She loved me best when we were growing up. She’s my responsibility now.”
    She nods, commiserating. She gazes out of the window so that her lovely profile is to me. Then she turns to me again, her eyes brimming with light.
    “You’re a good man, Chris Morton. You don’t know it, but you’re a good man.”
    “Why do you say I don’t know it?”
    “Just a hunch.”
    I don’t respond to this, but a prickly warmth spreads through