“Who are you?” she asked.

 

“I’m David.” He kept his tone carefully even. “Your son.”

 

She tilted her head and surveyed him. “I don’t have a son.”

 

“You don’t remember having a son.” He stressed “remember” only a little. “But you do. And I’m him.”

 

David turned to the neurosurgeon and smiled an apology.

 

Dr. Slavek waved off David’s concern. “Our bodies outlive our brains these days,” he said. “We keep getting better at living longer, but not remembering longer. That’s what this is about.” Slavek indicated the operating table on which David’s mother lay.

 

“I hope you’re right,” David said.

 

Slavek picked up a scalpel. “When you’re ready, we can begin the procedure.”

 

“Now’s fine,” David said. He kissed his mother on the forehead and walked out of the operating room. In the hall, he found a chair and a magazine and settled in to wait.

 

When they wheeled her out hours later, she was still sedated. Slavek peeled off his gloves as he spoke. “She’ll wake up soon, but improvement may take a few days. Hippocampal stem cell injection is experimental. It is hard to predict exactly how it might affect your mom’s memory. We’ll give her weekly injections and monitor results.”

 

David nodded. “Any improvement would be great. Sometimes I think she might be better off…” He let his voice trail away.

 

The surgeon knew what he was leaving unspoken. “Memory’s not everything. And where there’s life, there’s hope. Let’s see what happens.”

* * *

 

It took a week before David noticed anything. They were settling in front of the television to watch football. His mother said she looked forward to watching it with him. “It’s like when you were little,” she said.

 

He stared at her. “You know me?”

 

“Like I wouldn’t know my own son.”

 

“Actually, you don’t always. It’s nice when you do.”

 

He wondered if this was the injections. By the start of the second quarter, he knew. She remembered the players, the team’s history. She remembered him.

 

David found himself tearing up. For the first time in years, she recounted episodes from his youth and their family game-watching experiences. He called the surgeon’s office the next day to report.

 

“Excellent,” Slavek said. “Let me know if anything changes. It may come and go.”

 

“If it never happens again, this was worth it,” David said.

 

The change lasted almost exactly a week. As they were preparing to watch football again, a familiar blank look came over his mother’s face. David was disappointed but not surprised when she asked who was playing, why they were watching this game — although she’d been a lifelong fan of one of the teams — and, inevitably, who he was.

 

“I’m David,” he said. Then, to change the subject, “Who do you think will win?”

 

She watched the pregame coverage showing both quarterbacks warming up. “Red jerseys are sure to lose,” she said. “That man’s mind is elsewhere today.”

 

“Are you sure?” David said. “He was last year’s MVP.”

 

“I can see it in his eyes,” she said.

 

The former MVP had his career-worst game, throwing four interceptions and losing a fumble. His heavily favored team was never in it.

 

David was about to ask his mother how she’d predicted the quarterback’s performance when she suddenly began calling him by name again. That distracted him, and he forgot about it.

 

He remembered mid-week after his mother’s new financial advisor came by. The advisor was jovial and charming and ignored his mother’s memory lapses. He convinced her to liquidate most of her portfolio and purchase an expensive annuity. He was pulling out papers for her signature when David intervened, saying it was time for her nap.

 

After the advisor left, his mother said, “I don’t trust that man.”

 

Relieved, David asked why.

 

“He’s a crook,” she said. “I could see it in his eyes.”

 

David couldn’t help but notice this was what she’d said about the quarterback. He was half-expecting it when he heard news of the advisor’s arrest on fraud charges. The next time he talked to Slavek, he hesitantly asked about side effects.

 

“Could it affect other senses? Could she, well, tell the future somehow? But only when her memory lapses return? Like some sort of trade-off?” David laughed nervously, anticipating ridicule.

Slavek didn’t laugh. “Some patients seemingly became hyper-sensitive to subconscious environmental cues. A few made unlikely predictions that came to pass. If that’s telling the future, it’s happened.”

 

That evening, David asked his mother to look into his eyes.

 

“I’d rather not, since we haven’t met,” she said.

 

“Just for a second,” he said. “Tell me what you see.”

 

She gazed into his face briefly, then looked away.

 

“I have a question,” he said. “How long will I live?”

 

“Two hundred more years,” she said without hesitation.

 

David sat back, stunned. Sure, they were coming up with life-extending technologies every day. But could that be right? She’d known about the football player and the advisor.

 

He resolved to ask her again the following night, but forgot after the doctor’s office called. “Your mother’s appointment for the next injection has been canceled.”

 

“What about the week after?”

 

“That’s been canceled as well.”

 

It took two days for Slavek to respond to David’s repeated messages. When he did, the voice over the phone was clinical, detached.

 

“Some side effects emerged,” Slavek said. “We’re stopping the trial.”

 

“Permanently?”

 

“Most likely, yes.”

 

David hung up and turned to his mother, who was again gazing at him blankly. He wondered if she’d ever recognize him again. He wondered if her prediction about his lifespan was accurate. He wondered what would happen if it were.

 

* * *

 

“Who are you?” David said.

 

“I’m Danielle. Your great-granddaughter. Technically, great-great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter. That’s six greats.”

 

“I don’t have a great-granddaughter.”

 

Danielle patted his knee. “You don’t remember, Grandpa Dave. But you do. And I’m her.”