She peers in the door, as her grown daughter sleeps. It was hard to grasp the concept, of having a grown daughter. It was hard to process, that the baby she had given birth to was now a grown woman. An adult, who could take care of herself. She was grown, and Maura had missed most of it. Her foolish pride had clouded her judgment.
Her fear of being judged, kept her from being the person that her daughter had needed her to be. She backs out of the doorway, and makes her way down the hall. She tiptoes into her bedroom. She fights the urge to curl up into a ball, on the bed, and cry herself to sleep. Instead she walks past the bed, to the closet. She pushes past the clothes. She reaches for the box, forgotten, in the back corner. She wipes the dust off of it, and pulls it out.
She opens the lid. She plants herself on the floor of the closet. She lifts the item off the top, and sets it aside. She then tips the container on it's side, knowing that there are no more breakable items inside. She stares at the items on the floor, in front of her, as she pushes the container aside. A whole life, condensed into one box. She's too busy studying the items, to notice the footsteps coming towards her.
"What are you doing?" a voice asks.
Maura turns around, she finds Allison standing in her pajamas. She motions her in.
"I was just going through some things."
"Oh," Allison hesitates. She lingers in the doorway.
Maura pats the spot on the floor, next to her. "Come on. You should see this."
Allison nods, and reluctantly joins Maura on the floor. The first thing that she notices is a set of plaster Paris, handprints. She looks at Maura, as she stares at them.
Maura reaches for them. She carefully places them on Allison's lap.
"Whose are they?" Allison questions.
"They're yours," she answers.
"I didn't know that you had them."
"I have a lot of things that you don't know about."
"Like what?" Allison inquires.
Maura studies the pile, for a moment. She pulls out another item, and hands it to Allison. Allison takes the ballet slippers out of her hand.
"My pointe shoes?" she rubs her finger over the worn soles, "How did you get these?"
"I took them."
"I threw them away."
"I know. I thought that you might want them later."
"Why?"
"You wore them when you were in The Nutcracker."
"I remember."
Maura reaches into the pile again. She pulls out a three first place ribbons. Allison takes them from her.
"First place for your science fair in sixth grade. First place in showmanship, with the horse."
"And the third? A second place ribbon? From what? Why would you save a second place ribbon?"
"It was a poetry contest, from when you were nine."
"I got second place."
"The girl who won first place was seventeen. I was proud of you."
"I don't remember you being there."
"I wasn't. You wrote me a letter about it. You sent me the ribbon."
"You kept it?"
"Of course. I have the poem too," Maura pulls the poem out of the pile.
"Why do you have all of this?"
"I thought that someone should save it. Aww, look at this," Maura pulls another item out of the pile.
"What is it?"
Maura hands Allison a folded, fluffy, lacey, purple dress.
"This is the dress you wore on your fifth birthday."
"My fifth birthday?"
"Yes. I have the shoes somewhere," she reaches into the pile, again. She pulls out a pair of white, patent leather, Mary Jane's.
"There is a huge scuff on them," Allison points out.
"You scuffed them on the tile in the kitchen, when you were putting your finger in the icing on your cake."
"Oh, yeah. I remember how infuriated everyone else was, when they saw the fingerprints. Mom got even angrier, when you started to laugh."
"I couldn't help it. You were five, what did they expect?"
"What else do you have?"
Maura pulls a book out of the pile. She opens it.
"Look, there you are the day you were born."
"I've never seen that picture. Candid pictures are of poor taste, you know. If they aren't posed, awkward, and taken by a professional, they are not worth having."
"I disagree."
"You aren't as staunch as the one and only, Constance Isles."
"You know, she wanted me to name you after her."
"She wanted to name me, Constance?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I guess she wanted the world to have the pleasure of knowing another Constance Isles."
"So why did you name me Allison, instead? Did you name me?"
"Yes, of course I did. You were named before they got to the hospital. She was appalled at the name I chose."
"Allison Paige? What is wrong with that name?"
"It's too plain. She was afraid that you would get called Allie-cat."
"You used to call me Allie-cat. To piss her off?"
"And because you were a cat for Halloween for your second Halloween," she turns the page, "Look there you are. You made such a cute little cat."
"It looks like I was trick-or-treating."
"You were."
"Who took me trick-or-treating?"
"I did."
"I didn't know."
"There you are on your third birthday. And on your fourth. Oh, and there are you are the day you went to boarding school."
"I didn't know that you had all of these pictures."
"We can look at this later."
"What else do you have over there?"
Maura reaches over into the pile. She hands Allison a tiny outfit.
"Is this mine?"
"It's the outfit that you wore home from the hospital. I also have the outfit that you wore for your Christening," Maura pulls out a box.
"What else is over there? What are all of those papers?"
"Drawings, and letters. Your birth certificate."
"My original?"
"Yes."
"Can I see?"
"Of course," Maura pulls the birth certificate out of the pile.
Allison takes it from her. She reads it, and looks at Maura with disappointment.
"Under father it says none."
"I know."
"Why?"
"We all agreed that it would be best, if he never knew."
"Why would you agree to that?"
"Because there you were. You were this perfect, pink, little girl, with red hair, and big blue eyes. You were so tiny. Six pounds fourteen ounces. And, when I looked at all, the only thing I could think, was that I wanted to protect you."
"Oh."
"Would you like to know about him?"
"You'll tell me about him?"
"I don't know much about him. I haven't seen him, since I left boarding school."
"What is his name?"
"Trent Logan."