Page 4 of Can't Get Enough

I swallow a gasp at my first clear sight of her under the parking lot lights. Her hair is matted in places. Dark circles smudge under her eyes. She shivers, pulling a housecoat over the lounge pants I’ve never seen her wear beyond the privacy of our home. Her tennis shoes are mismatched.

And she smells.

That is maybe the most heartbreaking detail of this scenario. My mother, who has always showered morning and night, smells like she hasn’t showered in days.

“Come on, Mama,” I say, taking her elbow and guiding her to the passenger seat. I go to fasten her seat belt, but she knocks my hand away.

“Hendrix Rae,” she snaps, her voice low and indignant, defiant. “I’m not a child.”

I much prefer her irritation, even her anger over the lost look in her eyes moments ago.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.” I climb behind the wheel and start the car, but don’t leave even once the officer does. I need to know. “Why’d you come here, Mama?”

She stares at the hands in her lap, blinking rapidly. “I… I got confused. I thought…”

Her lips clamp on whatever she was about to admit, and strain tightens the skin around her eyes.

“Your store, the bakery, used to be here.” I cast the statement like a hook, fishing for the answers that will make sense of this. “Can you please tell me why you came here, Mama?”

She squeezes her eyes shut and dips her head, shame in her trembling mouth and the tears like crystals on her bottom lashes. The silky belt of the robe is twisted into her clenched fist.

She can’t bring herself to admit it, but I know my mother came here tonight to open up her bakery, the one that’s been closed for more than a decade. It’s getting worse, and even being as involved as I have been and talking to her as regularly as I do, I didn’t know.

How could I not know?

After pulling Shortcake into the garage, I get out and head for the door to the house, but Mama stays in the front seat, her eyes trained ahead.

“Mama,” I say, stopping beside the passenger door and opening it. “You coming in?”

“No.” She wraps her arms around herself and shakes her head vigorously. “No, no, no. They’ll come back.”

“Mama, no one is there. No one is coming back.”

“They come at night sometimes.” Eyes wide and wild, she lowersher voice, casting a furtive glance at the front door. “They took my underwear, Rae. They go through my cabinets and refrigerator. They steal from me. I get scared.”

“No one’s gonna hurt you, Mama.” I swallow past the hot lump swelling in my throat. “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever. Okay?”

“You’re not here.” Her bottom lip quivers and she squeezes her eyes shut. “No one is here anymore. They’re all gone.”

Her mother. Her best friend. Her husband. All gone. One of the hardest parts of aging is being the one “still standing” when everyone else has found their peace lying down. And Mama has seen so many go.

Guilt washes through me, cresting in frustration and shame. Iwasn’there. I live hundreds of miles away.

“I’m here now,” I say, leaning against the open car door. “Come inside with me so we can eat Christmas dinner.”

What’s left of it.

She peers past me to the door, apprehension painting lines around her mouth and eyes. “You sure the coast is clear?”

“I’m sure.” I extend my hand to help her climb out of the SUV.

When we enter the kitchen, I stop short, shocked to see the flour swept up, the counters clear, a window open letting in cool fresh air to dispel the smoke. For a moment, I wonder if Mama’s delusion has some merit, when the kitchen door swings open.

“Aunt Geneva!” I press a hand to my racing heart. “I forgot you were coming.”

“That’s obvious,” grumbles my aunt, a retired elementary school teacher, walking over to the pantry and putting away the broom. “House wasn’t even locked up. Betty, you forget I was coming?”

Aunt Geneva, my mother’s older sister, wasn’t around very much when I was growing up. In their forties, they had a falling-out over land my great-aunt left them, one of those silly family spats that blows up and takes years to sort through. It’s only over the last ten or so years they’ve started truly repairing their relationship.

---