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In looking down at the disheveled heap of her mother lying on the floor of her loft, a feeling of anger, frustration, and sadness welled up inside her.
“Mother, get up!”
“I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Melinda pulled herself up, a raspy groan emerging from deep in her throat. Stacy grabbed her mother by the wrists and steadied her.
Stacy was flummoxed. “Intrude? Mother, how did you get in here?”
Melinda held up a finger. “The spare key. Chance had one made for me a while back. He thought I should have it. Glad he did because I need to be here.”
Stacy bit down hard on her lip, trying to hold back the range of emotions.
“No, Mother. I don’t need you here.”
She regarded her mother for a minute. Melinda Tavitt was clearly old but fighting it every step of the way. Her hair was jet black and cut evenly near her shoulders. The white skin of her face looked too tight. Her green eyes seemed dull and listless in their sockets. False eyelashes and plumped lips only made the signs of age more evident, particularly with her sagging jowls that moved up and down anytime she spoke or shook her head. She was also short and dumpy, with sloped shoulders. She wore a pair of faded jeans with holes and a purple sweatshirt that had dulled in color to a light mauve.
"I don't agree," she said, wrinkling her nose and staring up at Stacy like she was watching her for the first time. "I've been trying to call," she said, tapping one of the bulging, tattered pockets in her jeans. "I left some messages, but none were returned."
Stacy felt accused of a crime. “I’ve been working, Mother. This case—”
“Save it,” she said, pushing Stacy back with a soft hand. “I’ve heard that before.”
Melinda had never totally approved of Stacy’s choice to become a police officer, which came after Stacy had completed a part-time job working as a clerk for the Cuyahoga County State of Ohio Highway Patrol office during her senior year of high school. She loved listening to the stories from the cops and found them to be some of the crassest, most sardonic, superstitious, honest, and hardworking people she’d ever met anywhere.
Melinda shuffled past the small entry under the staircase and moved into the middle of the living room. Her back was at Stacy. “And that boy likes you. Really likes you.”
“Mother, his name is Gavin, and he is the assistant prosecutor assigned to our unit.”
“Ah-ha,” her mother said, holding up a finger. “And you like him, too!”
Stacy stepped forward and folded her arms. She felt her posture grow rigid. “Fine, Mother. We’ll play this game.”
“There’s no game to it,” Melinda said. “For the first time in as long as I can remember, I know more details about this boy than any man mentioned. He seems smart and kind. I peeked through the closet door as well.” Melinda slowly turned around until she faced Stacy. “And he’s so handsome, Stacy. He’s the total package.”
Stacy threw up her hands. “Gavin and I are colleagues, Mother.” Stacy stormed past her and then pulled back the sliding steel door separating the loft from the hallway.
“And you need to leave.”
Melinda looked at Stacy, slack-jawed. “I just got into town.”
“There are flights that leave Hopkins airport for Sacramento all the time.”
“Stacy, please. I think we need to talk.”
“Yeah, we do,” she scoffed. “We’ve needed to for a long time, but now is not the time. I’ve got work to do.”
“No, we’re going to talk now!”
The sudden edge to her mother’s tone caught Stacy by surprise. She felt her body tense as her mother moved close.
“Chance is missing, and nobody here knows where he is. Not you, not the police, nobody.”
Stacy remained calm. “Mother, we will find him.”
“Stop lying to me,” Melinda barked. Stacy flinched. “I know everything about his disappearance. Everything.” She wagged a finger at Stacy. “And what I know, I had to learn by myself. I was never told about what was going on in his life—or anything else by anyone in this household.”
“That’s crap, Mother.” Stacy took a step toward Melinda. They were just a few inches away from each other. “Both of you talked to each other all the time. I didn’t even find out about Ashley being pregnant with his child until Chance realized that she could move to Cleveland with the baby and have all of us live together. I was lucky that she had enough sense to move to Texas to be near her family.”
Stacy saw Melinda recoil at the comment. Her mother had always been the one to look away from Chance’s emotional and psychological problems and pretend they didn’t exist. Chance sought their mother because he realized that she had a fondness for him that would allow her to forgive and forget his behavior while enabling him to continue his recklessness. The thought still filled Stacy with a quiet fury.
“Don’t go there,” Melinda said, her eyes ablaze with anger. “Chance came to stay and take care of you after you nearly drowned in that damn river. He came when I couldn’t be here.”
“That was your choice,” Stacy said. “I can remember the doctor telling me that the hospital called and nobody in Sacramento answered the phone—or returned the voicemails. I love Chance, Mother. But he did very little while he was here. He only helped around the loft when I threatened to kick him out if he didn’t clean up his messes.”
“And kick him out is exactly what happened,” Melinda added, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “If you had just been kinder and more compassionate, Chance wouldn’t have been roaming the streets of Cleveland. That awful black man wouldn’t have found him. And he wouldn’t have found you. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have needed to be rescued by the police and put into a police car that was supposed to take him to the hospital to see you, but instead got smashed by a truck!”
“I kicked Chance out to send a message that he had to do something. Get a job! Be a father to his child. Something! Anything other than play with his camera and sleep every day until three in the afternoon.”
Stacy watched her mother wheeze and try to catch her breath. She let out a deep, racking cough brought on from years of smoking. After a couple of deep coughs, Melinda smacked her lips and squared her shoulders.
“Finished, Mother?”
“It wasn’t your place to send a message,” she said, her voice softer and hoarse.
Stacy saw the corners of Melinda’s mouth quiver and then draw her lips slightly down.
"Mother," Stacy said in a slightly scolding tone, "Is that what this is about? I'm to blame for Chance going missing. Really? I kicked him out for his own good. He needed to grow up! Someone had to teach him that lesson. What happened to him when he left here happened because of the choices that he made."
Melinda lowered her head. “He’s always been fragile.”
“Nothing has changed,” Stacy blurted out, tossing up her hands. “Defending him still.”
Melinda’s face contorted into something softer and more delicate. The wrinkles near her mouth flattened as she pursed her lips.
“I have to live with the guilt every day, knowing I put all of this into motion because I reacted in anger instead of thinking everything through.” Melinda’s breath sputtered out like she was on the verge of tears. “This time, there might be nothing we can do to find Chance. We might not find him because he doesn’t want to be found.”
Stacy made a face. “I don’t understand.”
Melinda reached into her pocket, pulled out a folded piece of cardboard, and handed it to Stacy.
Stacy took the cardboard and folded it back.
It was a postcard of a nature scene. Stacy eyed it carefully. When she turned it over, there was scribbled handwriting on the back.
I am okay. But none of us are safe.