Page 2 of Can't Get Enough

Her eyes drop to the grass and then lift, surprising me with their wetness.

“Well, Catherine passed. We buried her two weeks ago. You didn’t know?”

My head spins and my fingers shake as I grip the fence for support.

“What do you mean…” I grapple for words, but can’t form acoherent thought. It’s not possible my mother’s best friend died two weeks ago and I didn’t know. “She… died? How?”

“Heart attack.” Mrs. Mayer shakes her head, letting her gaze drift over to Ms. Catherine’s front porch. “Your mama didn’t take it well, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

I’ve been out of the country for work, but Mama and I spoke several times over the last few weeks, and most of those times she seemed lucid and pretty close to her usual self. In none of those conversations did Ms. Catherine’s death come up. We talked yesterday to confirm my flight time. I make sure to come home at least once a month, twice if I can, but work has slammed me hard recently. I called Ms. Catherine a couple of times last week and got voice mail, but that has happened before. She always calls back.

Not this time.

“I can’t believe Betty didn’t tell you,” Mrs. Mayer says, her look shifting from mournful to speculative. “I wondered why you weren’t at the funeral.”

“I… yeah, I…” There’s no answer for it. I refuse to give this woman more information that’s none of her business.

“So is Betty missing?” Her gaze sharpens, snaps to our back door, which, in my haste, I left open. A few tendrils of smoke straggle from the kitchen into the early evening air.

“No, not missing. Not home. I just got in from Atlanta and wondered if you’d seen her. I’m sure she’s out running some last-minute errands or something.”

“But her car’s in the garage,” Mrs. Mayer states. “She wouldn’t walk to the grocery store.”

“I need to go, Mrs. Mayer.” I turn abruptly and don’t wait for her to acknowledge the dismissal. “Merry Christmas.”

“Let me know when you find her,” she calls.

My steps stutter at the word “find,” but I speed-walk back into our house.

Mama’s missing.

When we first got the Alzheimer’s diagnosis, of course the doctors told us wandering was a possibility, but it’s not something we’ve had to deal with much before. Not like this. I need to call the police. I have no idea how long she’s been gone, where she might be. I knew the situation here wasn’t sustainable. It was patched and Band-Aided until we could figure out a long-term solution, and Ms. Catherine was the glue barely holding it all together. But she’s gone now, and Mama’s missing. An icy rivulet of fear runs down my spine, and I’m paralyzed. I—who always know what to do, where to go, what the next step should be—stand frozen in place with a sinking sense of dread and awful knowing. My throat closes around a sob, choking it into a whimper. I blink at the tears gathering in my eyes and swipe them.

“Get your shit together.” I pull the phone from my pocket, poised to dial the police department, but it rings before I can initiate the call.

“Hello?” I say it like a question because everything is right now. I know nothing except the terror rolling through my body like a giant snowball hurtling toward a cliff’s edge.

“Ms. Barry?” It’s an even voice—starched, calm. “Hendrix Barry?”

“Yeah… um, yes. I’m Hendrix Barry.”

“I’m Officer Billings. We have your mother here.”

His words loosen the fist in my chest. My heart is a raging rhythm in my rib cage. The blood rushes to my head and I draw a shaky breath. I shuffle through the heap of flour to slump against the counter in relief, heedless of the white powder dusting the black boots I thought I couldn’t live without last week.

“Is she hurt?” My voice cracks under the strain.

“She’s fine,” Officer Billings replies, his tone professional, but not unkind. “A little… confused, but doesn’t seem to be worse for wear. Your information was in her purse and written on her hand.”

“Where is she?” I grab Mama’s car keys from the hook on the wall by the fridge, already on my way to the garage. “At the police station?”

“No. We’re at an old plaza off Plymouth Ave.”

“The one where the Dollar General used to be?” I frown, starting the car and peeling out of the driveway like I’m being chased by goblins.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Security guard saw her wandering around the parking lot. The address—”

“I know where it is.” I change lanes, barely checking for oncoming traffic. “I’m only about five minutes away. Can you—”

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