Chapter 6 - TWENTY QUESTIONS
Claire stopped all quizzes immediately.
At first Emily felt relieved.
Then anxious.
Three days later she asked:
“Are you going to ask me today?”
“No.”
“What if I forget more because we stop?”
Claire froze.
Margaret’s logic had become Emily’s fear.
So Claire called Dr. Leah Romero, pediatric neuropsychologist.
Leah explained:
Memory does not behave like a muscle in the simplistic:
use it or lose it
way Margaret implied.
Retrieval practice can help learning.
But autobiographical memory is:
reconstructive,
contextual,
emotionally influenced.
Repeated testing can also:
increase anxiety,
create rehearsal effects,
and blur whether a child remembers naturally or remembers the test.
Then Leah asked Emily:
“What do you think happens if you forget Grandpa’s nickname?”
Emily whispered:
“He goes away more.”
Claire had to look down.
Leah said:
“No.”
Emily looked up.
“You forgetting one thing does not make Grandpa less real.”
Then:
“Could I remember later?”
“Maybe.”
“Could I never remember?”
“Yes.”
Emily’s eyes filled.
Then Leah added:
“And you would still be you.”
That sentence became a treatment target of its own.
Not medical treatment.
Family repair.
Then Emily asked to look through the Before Box.
Claire said:
only if she wanted.
They sat together.
Purple scarf.
Emily remembered:
Christmas market.
Vanilla lotion.
She remembered:
dance studio bathroom.
Friendship bracelet.
She did not remember:
who made it.
Claire almost said:
Lily.
Stopped.
Then Emily looked at her.
“You know?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“Lily made it.”
Emily smiled.
“Oh.”
No struggle.
No:
try harder.
Information could simply be given.
Then Emily said:
“Grandma says if you tell me, I didn’t remember.”
Claire answered:
“Sometimes remembering is not the goal.”
That felt radical in their house.
Then they reached the cardigan photograph.
Emily wearing it first day of fourth grade.
She remembered:
being nervous.
Not what she ate.
Not teacher’s first words.
Not exact date.
Enough.
Then Emily changed the subject.
“I don’t like mint chip anymore.”
Claire smiled.
“What do you like?”
“Cookie dough.”
“Scandal.”
Emily laughed.
Then immediately looked worried.
“Is that because of the treatment?”
Claire wanted to say:
no.
But she could not know why preferences change.
So she said:
“Maybe your taste changed because you’re ten.”
“Can treatment change taste?”
“Sometimes.”
“So which?”
“I don’t know.”
Emily stared.
Then smiled faintly.
“You can say I don’t know?”
“Yes.”
This was new too.
Adults did not need certainty.
Then Margaret, barred from unsupervised visits, began sending messages.
Not to Emily.
To Claire.
One said:
Please keep the boxes. Even if you hate me, do not throw away her history.
Claire replied:
I’m not throwing away her history. I’m giving it back to her.
That distinction became central.
Then Emily found out another way Margaret had controlled memory.
Her cousin Sarah had stopped correcting her when she forgot family stories.
Not by accident.
Margaret told the family:
May you like
Do not feed her answers. Let her retrieve.
Emily had thought everyone was getting impatient with her.
