Page 25 of Find Me in California

I accepted Liza’s offer.

CHAPTER 12

JULIA

Julia spent almost the entirety of her lunch break on the phone with Matt. Shocking given how rude he was on their previous calls. But the empath in her couldn’t turn her back on him any more than she could disregard a client’s inflamed tendon. If she were to hazard a guess, Matt doesn’t like talking about his relationship with Liza, given he always turned the conversation back on her. But once they got to talking about their grandmothers’ relationship and guessing at what could have happened between them, conversation flowed. She was reluctant to end their chat, caught up as she was telling the story of how their grandmothers had met. Mama Rose never told her she’d once gone by the name of Magnolia Blu. Julia always believed that was just the name of her business, not that she’d named the business after herself.

Of course, Julia didn’t leave herself time to call the facilities in Lenore’s folder. Not that she wants to. She doesn’t intend to move Mama Rose. She shouldn’t have offered to pass along the information to Matt. Now she feels obligated to do the research.

Julia glances at her phone. She has just enough time to swing by Mama Rose’s room before her next appointment.

She lugs the unwieldy massage table and clunky shoulder bag through Rosemont’s halls. She leaves both outside her grandmother’sdoor, tucking the Magnolia Blu diary into her scrub top, the journal just slim enough to fit in the front pocket.

Dressed in a powder-blue velour tracksuit and slippers, Mama Rose shuffles toward Julia as soon as she enters the room.

“Thank goodness you came. Have you seen my hand trowel? I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Your trowel?” Julia frowns, taking in the room. It’s a scattered mess. The blankets are back on the floor and the sheets torn off her bed. She’s even emptied the drawers. Julia will have to buzz the staff. She doesn’t have time to help straighten.

“Yes, my trowel and gardening gloves. Hurry, please find them. They’re doing it wrong.” Mama Rose wrings her weathered hands, glancing toward the window.

“Who’s doing what wrong?” Julia can’t tell if something in the present is bothering her or if her grandmother is stuck in an old memory, which has been happening more frequently. Mama Rose often relives moments from her past, getting lost in time.

The first time Julia recalls this happening was right before she and Lenore had a serious discussion about moving her grandmother from the assisted living side of the facility to the memory care unit. Mama Rose had woken thinking it was 1978 and wandered through Rosemont’s parking lot searching for the truck she used for her landscaping jobs. When she couldn’t find it, she trekked through a nearby neighborhood. A kind soul noticed her confusion, luckily guessed where Mama Rose had ventured from, and walked Julia’s grandmother back to Rosemont.

“Out there, look.” Mama Rose grasps Julia’s hand and leads her to the window. She points outside. Two men in khaki pants and olive polo shirts tend to Rosemont’s gardens, planting shrubs, doing their jobs.

“Everything looks fine to me,” Julia says.

“They aren’t loosening the root balls,” Mama Rose argues. “They aren’t adding enough fertilized soil in the holes. The holes are too small. Those plants won’t survive one season.” Agitated, her voice pitches higher. “Take me outside. I’ll show them the right way.”

“I don’t have time, Mama Rose. I have an appointment in a few minutes. Can we visit the garden later?”

“It’ll be too late,” she cries. She erratically rubs her sweatshirt collar, her gaze bouncing around the room, landing on the wall with the door to the hallway.

She zips across the room toward the door that blends into the wall, but Julia beats her to it. Even though a code is needed to exit the room, Julia blocks the door. “I’ll tell one of the staff to talk with the gardeners; is that all right?”

“I guess.” Mama Rose’s faded eyes swing back to the window.

“Mama Rose,” Julia begins. She feels pressed for time but doesn’t want to leave her grandmother while she’s flustered, or with her room in disarray. Her grandmother could trip and injure herself. She buzzes for an attendant. Meanwhile, Julia shows her the diary. “Look what I found.”

Mama Rose barely glances at the journal, too fixated on the men working outside. “That’s not mine.”

Julia doesn’t bother trying to convince her grandmother otherwise. It’s pointless with her memory lapses. To keep her distracted until assistance arrives, she talks about the journal instead. “I hope you don’t mind, but I read some of it. I wanted to be sure this is what you were looking for.”

“I wasn’t looking for anything. Except my trowel.” She harrumphs and limps back to the window. “And my gloves. Why aren’t you looking for them?”

“I don’t think you’ll find them here. But this ...” Julia opens the journal to the first entry. “Is the Liza Holloway you mention here the same one who lives here?” Of all the assisted living facilities in the Los Angeles area, it can’t be a coincidence Liza ended up at Rosemont. Wouldn’t she have found a place near her Beverly Hills neighborhood?

After spending the morning thinking about what she’d read, and again after sharing that with Matt, Julia had an epiphany of sorts. Has Mama Rose finally realized who the woman badgering her in thecommon room is? Is Liza the reason her grandmother asked for the diary?

“Liza Holloway,” Mama Rose repeats in a distracted mumble. Her mouth continues moving without sound, chewing on the name. She shakes her head. “I don’t know a Liza.”

“But you do. You see her every day when we visit the garden.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t. Now ... now ... m-m-miss.” She struggles to remember Julia’s name, which only aggravates the ache in Julia’s chest and Mama Rose’s impatience.

“Please go talk to someone who can help me.” Mama Rose shoos her away. “They just planted another shrub, and they did it wrong. They have to fix it or the plants will die. Go on, get. Bring back someone who’ll do something other than just stand there like you are. They should fire you.”

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