Page 162 of Can't Get Enough

“You see that poem right there?” She nods to the opposite wall where “Footprints” has hung for as long as I can remember. It’s always been one of Mama’s favorites.

“Of course.” I shift to settle more comfortably against the cushions. “What about it?”

“You ever really read it?”

I glance from her to the wall, allowing my eyes to skim the familiar stanzas. “Sure. I mean, not in a long time, but I know it. The person says they see two sets of footprints, but at the lowest times of their life, it’s just one set.”

“Right, and they ask God why He left when things were hardest.”

“Yeah, I know it almost by heart,” I say wryly.

“I read it now and think about it differently.” She swallows andfiddles with one of her Velcro rollers. “When I look at those disappearing footsteps now, I see us.”

“Us?” My brows pinch into a frown. “You and me?”

“I’m the one vanishing, Hen.” She breathes out shakily. “I’m scared of the day when my body is still here, but I’m gone for good. I mean in my mind, gone for good.”

“You are here.” I cup her jaw, urging her to look at me. “You’re here with me, Mama, andI’mgonna take care of you. You hear me?”

Silence greets my question, but after a few seconds, she nods, a single tear streaking down her cheek. I swipe it away with my thumb and pull her close.

“I’m not going anywhere, Mama. When those footsteps disappear, that’smecarrying you. I willneverleave you alone or in the dark by yourself. Okay?”

She offers a shaky smile and leans into my arm, her head dropping to my shoulder. I force myself not to move, but sorrow and determination and gratitude and resentment and a thousand disparate emotions war inside me. While I choke back my own tears, Mama slides down until her head rests in my lap.

“John,” she whispers in a troubled sleep, a few of the rollers in her hair dislodging when she turns her head fitfully. “He home yet? I told him not to… didn’t need that ice cream.”

It’s astounding how obstinately her mind clings to certain things and lets the rest float away. I squeeze my eyes shut, but silent, hot tears scorch my face. That damn ice cream. That night is suffused withcould’ve beens andnever should’ves, the hours that her mind circles over and over again searching for a different outcome. One where the love of her life is here. That night is a door that stays cracked open; one that deprived her of one last kiss. Of a final farewell. And in the fog of her memories, that door remains ajar.

He’d know. Daddy would know how to carry Mama in the lowest times when the footprints disappear. I silently promise him and myself that I’ll do my best.

With the remote, I turn off the television and lie back, my mind and heart much wearier than my body despite the lateness of the hour. Between my fingers I rub the silk-pressed curls that have slipped free of Mama’s Velcro rollers. I hold myself still while her breathing evens out. The frown pinching her brows smooths and I hope that sleep resets her mind and she can wake in the morning firmly planted in the day we are living.

My heart squeezes around the reality of my father really being gone. Of the people I’ve loved and lost. I don’t blame Mama for slipping away sometimes, her mind taking refuge where it finds it. If I could escape to a place where they were still alive, I would. Sometimes I want to sayTake me with youto this place where you can still hug Daddy, still sing hymns with Grammy, and freeze-frame the best times of our lives. I can’t do that, but I can be a harbor when she comes back to this dimming present. I allow myself one last tear because it’s not actually Maverick who is teaching me how it feels to miss someone before they’re gone.

It’s Mama.

CHAPTER 53

MAVERICK

There she is,” I whisper into Hendrix’s neck, my hands seeking her curves beneath the sheets. There’s something extravagant about the fullness of her body, soft and unbound and warm in the sheer morning light.

“It’s too early,” she grumbles, rolling away from my touch to bury her face deeper into the pillow. “Keep them hands to yourself. I was up at the crack of dawn taking She-she out.”

Over the last few months, Sheila E quickly evolved to She-she. That little dog has so much energy, Hendrix can barely keep up, but on some of the hard days when things with Hendrix’s mom are tough or the case is frustrating, one bounding leap from She-she can chase the tension from my girl’s face. Hendrix may complain about early-morning walks, but there is no doubt in my mind She-she is her favorite gift I’ve given her.

“Keep my hands to myself?” I laugh and pull her back flush to my chest. “Ain’t no way. You should’ve thought of that before you told me you loved me. No take-backs.”

“Can we at least wait until after eight in the morning before your hands start wandering?” she complains, but humor has entered her sleep-rasped voice and she sounds more alert.

“Eight?” I scoff. “It’s like ten o’clock, Gorgeous.”

“Shit.” She sits up straight and slaps a hand over her forehead, dislodging the silk scarf covering her braids. “Why’d you let me sleep so late?”

“Because Skipper told me you didn’t have appointments this morning, and you didn’t come to bed till after one.”

“Isn’t your body supposed to be on West Coast time?” She swings her legs over the side of the bed and considers me over one bare shoulder. The flimsy strap of her pajama top keeps drooping down and it makes me want to rip the whole thing off.

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