Page 130 of Can't Get Enough

“Some mornings to wake up and for a few minutes, not even know your name. It’s like fumbling in the dark. You keep reaching, trying to find something to hold on to, but it’s just pitch-black. I try so hard to remember, and there’s just nothing there.”

Tears burn my throat and I force words out. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“It’s terrifying,” she whispers, blinking at her own tears. “At first when I realized something was wrong, but I didn’t know what, I was so scared. When I started needing the Post-its, I figured it was… Well, I knew.”

I’ll never forget coming home and seeing Post-it notes all over the house.

Your name is Elizabeth.

Your daughter is Hendrix.

Your sister is Geneva.

Your husband John is dead.

Dozens of small yellow notes scribbled with the most basic information, glowing on the walls like pinprick lights to guide Mama through the dark.

“I can’t decide if I want to slow it all down.” Mama sniffs and raises her eyes to meet mine with breathtaking candor. “Or if we could skip all this hard stuff and the good Lord could just take me home.”

“Don’t say that.” I drop my forehead to her hand. “I want you here as long as possible.”

“Here?” she scoffs. “Where exactly is here? Some days I don’t know for sure.”

I shake my head, eyes closed tight even as tears slip over my cheeks and water Mama’s hand.

“Look at me,” Mama commands, some of the old strength in her voice compelling me to lift my head. “Don’t worry. God ain’t through with me yet, so I guess I’ll stay.”

Her smile is wobbly, but somehow it reaches her eyes. “You not getting rid of this old lady that easy.”

I let out a teary laugh and kiss her knuckles. “Good.”

“I just don’t want to be a burden to you, Hen.” She shakes her head. “Or to Geneva. All this fuss for me and—”

“Don’t even think like that,” I cut in. “We’re family. It’s what we do for each other. It’s what you’ve done in some way for everyone else through the years, especially me. It’s my turn.”

I lean forward to kiss her forehead. “And I love you. You’re never a burden, Mama.”

“Okay,” she says, patting my hand. “Well, if I’m gonna be in this place a few days like the doctor says, I’m gonna need my stuff.”

She goes through the list of things she needs brought from home. It ranges from her Velcro hair rollers to her special hand lotion she can only ever find at Rite Aid.

“And my devotional,” Mama mumbles, lashes fluttering closed as the meds kick in. “It’s on my nightstand.”

Outside her room, the nurse pulls the door closed and turns to me.

“She’ll be fine here tonight,” she says. “I suggest you go home and get some rest, especially since I heard you mention your aunt is still recovering there.”

I glance at my watch. It’s been almost three hours since Dr. Katz brought me back to Mama’s room.

“There’s nothing you can do here tonight,” the nurse adds.

“I’ll be back as early as I can tomorrow then.”

I mentally run through my schedule and the appointments I need Skipper to cancel as I head outside. When I reach the parking lot, I glance around for a few minutes, dazed and trying to remember where I parked.

“Damn.” I rub my eyes tiredly. “Girl, you rode here in the ambulance.”

I pull out my phone to call an Uber, which may take longer than I’m used to considering this isn’t exactly a booming metropolis. I’m punching in Mama’s address, wondering if I may have to find a taxi, when a set of headlights flare brightly. I put a hand up to cover my eyes, shocked to see a silver Maybach, fully tricked with five-spoke titanium rims. When it pulls to a stop and the door opens, I almost fall to my knees for the second time tonight.

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