Selfish.
“No.” This time the word escaped from me. My tongue felt fat. Too big for me to swallow.
Momma, where are you? Calm down. Calm down. Maybe, just maybe, she was in the store. But somehow—from my clenched stomach?—I knew she wasn’t.
Just take a deep breath. A deep cleansing breath. The smell of the black asphalt filled my nose. The scorching sun beat down. The air felt like a wet blanket. When had it gotten so hot? A car beeped somewhere behind me. Another car answered.
“I’m not late,” I said out loud. “I know I’m not late.” My voice shook.
For a moment I remembered the two weeks after Aunt Linda left. I squeezed my eyes tight at the thought.
“Please,” I said, but without any sound. “Not that again.”
It all came back to me in a flash—like lightning. How Momma wouldn’t be waiting in her room when I got home from school. How I would look for her and find her sitting on the neighbor’s lawn, them not even home from work. Or walking along the road leading into town, wearing only one shoe and her housecoat. Or in the tree near my bus stop.
One day—I shivered just thinking of it—I looked for Momma all over the house. I walked the neighborhood. I called and called for her. And that afternoon as the sun set, when I was ready to phone the police, I collapsed on the front porch, crying.
“What is it, girl?” I heard her voice, muffled. Sounding far away, almost.
“Momma?” I had said.
“What are you crying for, baby?”
I burst into tears then. Started sobbing.
“Momma, where are you?”
I came to the edge of the porch and looked out over the property. Out through the oaks that grew strong and tall, Spanish moss dripping from the limbs. I looked out toward the old garage that housed Momma’s car that we hadn’t driven for months now. Out into the near darkness and called for her.
“Where are you off to?” I had said.
“I’m right here, Lacey.”
Momma’s hand reached from below my feet, that slender arm of hers snaking up after it.
I screamed till I saw light flash behind my eyelids. I screamed till I thought my voice might break.
“I been here all along, Lacey,” Momma said, from under the porch
“Get out!” I screamed at her. “Get out from under there, Momma. There’s snakes under the house, you know that.”
Momma pulled herself from under the old wooden porch. Dead leaves stuck to her nightgown, cobwebs were in her hair. But lucky for her she wasn’t bitten by a snake.
“Momma,” I said, brushing dirt from her face. “Momma, you know better than that. We’ve seen rattlesnakes in this yard. We’ve seen coral snakes. What in the world were you thinking?”
Momma shrugged. “Granddaddy told me to,” was all she said.
But that was over—all her running off. Ten months ago, at least, she stopped her running. She stayed home so I could go to school without worry. She didn’t bother the neighbors, didn’t peer in their windows, didn’t climb in their cars. It was done with. I had been sure.
But you aren’t sure now.
“I know I’m not late,” I said to Aaron. I looked him right in the eye and he looked back at me. “We said four-thirty.”
“What?”
“I was supposed to meet her at four-thirty.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “I get it.”
Into the store I ran, the air-conditioning making me feel damp where I had sweated. The smell of greasy chicken filled the air. A girl who pushed grocery carts in line glanced at me, then away.
“Maybe your mom decided to work a little extra,” Aaron said, jogging close, skateboard tucked under his arm. “My mom comes home from work late lots of times.”
“Maybe,” I said. “I hope so.” I stopped and looked at all the checkers, searching for Momma’s shiny hair. Her thin body. Twig fingers. “She’s not at any of the stands.”
So we hunted, Aaron and me. Near the fruits and vegetables, up and down all the aisles, in the meat section—the whole time my heart beating harder or not at all. I swear, it felt like sometimes it stopped. When I realized I had lost her, it just quit. Momma wasn’t in any of those places. In fact, she wasn’t in the store period. I know because we checked the break room and the huge storage room in the back and both bathrooms.
Momma was gone.
You lost her, Lacey. You!
“How about I look around the outside of the store?” Aaron said.
“That’s a good idea.” I was having trouble getting spit down. My body was shutting off, one organ at a time. Like on TV. Like on those rescue shows where people died and weren’t rescued at all. “She’s got on a red checker’s apron. And her hair is long. And black. And pulled back.”
Aaron nodded.
“She’s not that tall. Just about an inch more than me. And she’s thin.” For some reason, saying she was thin bit at my insides. She was too thin, I wanted to say, but didn’t.
“It’s okay, Lacey,” Aaron said. “I saw her on the bus. I’ve seen her at your house. I think I’ll recognize her.” He moved close to my face and I could smell the penny smell of sweat on him. Could see part of his bangs stuck to his forehead. “We’re gonna find her.” He patted at my shoulder.
“You’re right. I’ve got to think that.” But I couldn’t make my mind think anything positive. Where Momma was concerned there was only worry.
Aaron hurried toward the door.
I went up to the service desk.
The lady behind the counter smiled. Her name tag read EMMA. “Yes?”
“I’ve lost my mother.”
“What’s her name, honey? I’ll page her.”
“No,” I said, wringing my hands, trying to warm them. Even in the heat I was freezing. “I’ve already looked everywhere. She’s not in the store. She’s not here.”
“Then I can’t help you.”
Overhead came the voice of a man advertising green beans and canned corn that was
