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I was so angry at Mom because this wasn’t the first time that she’d been forgetful in the last few months. I didn’t know what was happening with her. Was it the anniversary of Dad’s death? It was nearing, but it had been a while since it affected her that much. But then I realized the house was empty, and the guilt slammed into me all at once. However, when my mind started to come up with all the different scenarios of what could have happened, the fear took root.
What if somebody took her? Or did she walk away? But why? It hadn’t made any sense. So after searching the house and the yard from top to bottom and calling all our neighbors to get the same answer—Mom hadn’t been there in days—I left Matthew home to wait in case Mom came back while I searched for her. It took hours. Hours of driving down the streets of our little hometown until I finally found her.
Blinking, I get back to the present and clear my throat. “A few times, but it’s been a while. There are a few places where she usually goes to, but since Linda told me she’s been gone only a little while, I want to drive home to make sure she isn’t still around there somewhere.”
“Who’s Linda?”
“Mom’s caregiver,” I admit softly.
This topic was another hard pill to swallow. Linda is amazing. She really is. And Mom seemed to like her for the most part, but there was always this shame I felt when I had to leave her. I knew there was nothing that could be done to stop it. I had to work so I could help support my family. I couldn’t staywith my mom twenty-four-seven and give her the care she needed. But none of it made any of this easier.
Miguel doesn’t say anything, so I stay quiet.
What is there to really say?
I didn’t want or need his apologies; I just wanted to find Mom and make sure she was alright.
For the next half an hour, we sit in the cab of the car in complete silence and just drive. At one point, I thought I might have spotted her, only to realize that it was not her but Mrs. Willow.
Linda meets us when we get back to the house, but a small shake of her head tells me all I need to know, so we head back into town.
First, I drive past the spot where Dad died. My hands are squeezing the steering wheel so tightly I can feel my nails digging into my palms, the physical pain the only thing grounding me and helping me to not think about worst-case scenarios. But the spot is empty, so I continue past it and toward the outskirts of town, where the cemetery is located. I park in front of the metal door and leave the ignition running as I jump out of the car. “I’ll be back in a few.”
I don’t wait for his response as I enter the silent space, my eyes scanning for any sign of living as I walk toward where Dad’s buried. Only his grave is empty. The flowers that I left there a few weeks ago, now completely dried out, are the only thing waiting for me.
I stare at the stone headpiece for a second, wishing my dad was here. Expecting him to know how to deal with this. Hoping he could take off some of the weight sitting on my shoulders, but as soon as those thoughts pop into my mind, I push them back. Nobody deserves to watch their loved one go through this. Nobody.
“I’ll find her, Dad,” I promise, my hand skimming over his tombstone before I turn around and get back to the car.
“Nothing?” Miguel asks, worry dancing in those brown eyes.
Silently, I shake my head as I pull out of the parking space, and we’re back on the road.
“Should you maybe call the police? Somebody?”
“Not yet.” I shake my head before he can even finish his question. “People who need to know are looking for her.”
“Are you sure? The more people there are, the more likely—”
“There she is,” I whisper, stomping on the break so hard the truck jerks forward.
Miguel’s hand presses against my chest, holding me back from connecting to the steering wheel.
“Rebe—” Miguel doesn’t get to finish because I’m already putting the truck in park and jumping out. I can hear him cursing quietly behind me, but I don’t bother slowing down.
I’m breathless by the time I come to a stop in front of the gazebo. Mom is sitting on the grass under a tree next to it, that faraway look on her face.
I’m about to take a step forward when a hand touches my shoulder, startling me.
“I was just about to call you,” Mr. Maverick says softly. “She’s been there for a while, just staring into nothing. I tried talking to her, but she kept asking about your Dad.”
“Thanks, Mr. Maverick.” My throat bobs. “I’ll go talk to her.”
The old man nods, his eyes darting toward my mother, a sad, understanding look on his face. “Such a shame.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slowly close the distance between us. I knew better than to startle her, and thelast thing I wanted was to make a scene. There were a few more people standing on the sidewalk, watching us with interest. Mom deserved better than to be the topic of the town’s next gossip.
“Mom?” I call out gently once I’m in hearing distance.
