by Layla Hagen
“That’s exactly what I’ll do, you bastard.” My voice is high now, but I don’t give a damn. I’m two seconds away from losing my shit and throwing something at him. Anger and hurt billow inside me. “I will leave now.”
“I hope you understand, but it would be for the best if you didn’t come again,” he says, his voice neutral.
I laugh, and even to my own ears, I sound a little manic. “Don’t worry. Even I’m not that big of an idiot.” Walking to the door with determined strides, I come to a stop in front of the door, my hand on the handle. Then I turn to him. “You know what, I just realized something. I lived my entire life feeling as if I wasn’t good enough for you. I was wrong. You’re the one who wasn’t good enough for me, or for Grams. We were both better off without you. Have a nice life, Father.”
I walk out of the bar with my chin held high.
Max rises to his feet the second I enter the coffee shop across from the bar. Without hesitation, I walk straight into his open arms, not caring that we’re attracting stares. I rest my forehead in the crook of his neck, grateful for his strong, warm presence and the care in his voice as he utters one single word.
“Emilia?”
“Let’s go back home.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Emilia
Bad things usually come in a pack. A storm hits New Orleans, delaying the flight by six hours. That means it’ll be early morning when we arrive, and Max will have to go to his office directly. I will barely have time to go home and check on Grams. While we wait, I relay the conversation with my father to Max almost word for word. He goes on a rant, deservedly calling that rat all the profanities that cross his mind, and then he simply kisses my forehead, holding me in his arms. He’s simply being Max—solid and quiet, and I love him for it. Still, even as I lie in his arms, it still feels like my heart was cracked open. An age-old hurt and fear have resurfaced: fear of not being wanted or good enough. It’s stupid and makes me weak, but I can’t help it.
“I should have bought some more beignets before we boarded the plane,” I say. “I don’t think I’ll ever want to go back to New Orleans.”
“Hey, we can arrange for you to get as many beignets as you want whenever you want them,” he says softly.
“That, right there, is the sweetest love declaration in the world, Max Bennett.”
We spend the rest of the flight in silence, with Max working on his laptop. The meeting with the distributors in Brazil will start one hour after we land. I feel guilty for pulling him away from work for so long, but whenever I bring the subject up, he simply shrugs, saying work can wait. I try—and fail—to sleep for the second night in a row. It’s a good thing I didn’t tell Grams where I was going. She doesn’t have to go through the same heartbreak I am. I’ll have to tell her we didn’t find him. I hate lying to her, but in this case, it’s better than the truth.
I am in a zombie-like state when we land. Max worked until two hours ago, after which he fell into a deep sleep. He woke up in full business mode, and even changed into a new suit while on the plane.
“I’ll call you after the meeting is over,” he says before we part.
“Sure. I’m going home to check on Grams, and then I’ll go to the clinic.” I have no idea how I’ll be of any use to my patients today. I can barely keep my eyes open, or form coherent thoughts.
Half an hour later, I let myself into my house as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake up Grams or Mrs. Wilson, who was kind enough to sleep here. I leave my bag at the door, kicking off my sneakers as well and tiptoeing on the hardwood floor. It appears Mrs. Wilson is up though, because the couch on which she usually sleeps when she spends the night is empty. Weird. Maybe she slept in my bedroom. Except my bed is empty too. And so is Grams’s.
“Mrs. Wilson? Grams?” I call loudly. No answer. I head back to the living room, and instantly feel something is wrong. The room is eerily quiet, as is the rest of the house. Sweat breaks at the back of my neck as I make my way through the house, checking each room again. Steeling myself, I head to the back of the house, pushing open the door to the backyard. No one is in the yard. On the coffee table in front of the sofa is a half drunk cup of tea. My stomach constricts. Where are they? Did something happen to Grams, and they had to rush her to the hospital? In that case, why didn’t Mrs. Wilson call me?
I swipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my legs before heading back inside the house, hunting for my phone. When I find it, I dial Mrs. Wilson’s number with trembling hands.
“Hi, Emilia,” she answers, and my stomach constricts at the tightness in her tone.
“Mrs. Wilson, where are you? Where’s Grams?”
“You—you’re home?” she stutters.
“Yeah, I got back just now. Where are you?”
“I’m two blocks away, with Mrs. Andersen and Mrs. Jensen. We’re looking for Grams.”
I grip the nearby chair for support. The two women she mentioned are our neighbors. “What do you mean, looking for her?”
“She took off.” Her voice is trembling now, and my heart squeezes as I realize she’s crying. “She had a rough night, barely slept and woke up at four o’clock. I made tea for both of us and we were in the backyard. Then I went inside the house to bring sugar for our tea. It wasn’t in its usual place, so it took me quite a bit to find it. When I went back, your Grams was gone.”
I take a deep breath, attempting to calm myself. “When was this?”
“One hour ago.”
“One— Jesus!” My mind races with scenario after scenario, each more pessimistic than the one before. She could be anywhere. She could be hurt. She could be— No, I won’t go there. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“She’s my grandmother. Of course I will worry!” My voice comes out as a shout, one I instantly regret. I know she meant well. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wilson. Where are you exactly? I’ll come right away.”
She gives me the address, and I slip on into my sneakers with lightning speed, not even bothering to tie my shoelaces before leaving the house. I find the three women huddled around a bin at a crossroads, looking lost.
“Where have you searched?” I ask as I reach them. I’m shaking like a leaf—the fear and exhaustion eating away at me.
“Well, we’ve been up and down the main streets, and we haven’t seen her,” Mrs. Andersen says.
“How about the neighbors? Did anyone see her?”
Mrs. Wilson shakes her head. “No. We asked them already. It’s early morning, so not all of them are up, but….”
“Have you alerted the police?”
“Yes, they are searching already, but haven’t reported anything back.”
Panic coils through my veins, threatening to suffocate me as the thought sinks in, slashing and unforgiving. Grams is lost. Far above us, thunder breaks across the sky. Almost unwillingly, I look up. The clouds are gray and heavy.
“Let’s search for her too. We have to find her before it starts raining,” I say, and my voice sounds hollow to my own ears. “She can’t be that far. The neighborhood is small.”
I don’t say what we all must be thinking. That by now, she could have left the neighborhood already. No, she hasn’t. She didn’t. She couldn’t. I cling to this last hope with all my being.
“My weekly book club meeting starts in fifteen minutes,” Mrs. Anderson says, her eyes lighting up.
“We can ask them to help. They all love your grandmother,” Mrs. Jensen adds.
“That’s a great idea,” I say, relieved. “Thank you.”
Within fifteen minutes, we have a party of eight, armed with umbrellas and flashlights, in addition to the two police officers already searching the area. Even though it’s morning, the sky is so dark with clouds that we might need the flashlights.
“All right, listen up,” I say loudly, holding up a map of the neighborhood. “We should divide and each take a street. Please look even in places you don’t think a perso
n would linger, such as behind trash cans. I also brought some pics of Grams. You can show them to passersby and ask them if they saw her.”
There is a round of nodding, and then we start the search party. I go to the local bakery first, knowing how much Grams loves his bread and sweets, but the vendor hasn’t seen her. I leave him my number, and he looks at me with pity as he assures me he’ll call me if Grams shows up.
I go inside every shop on the main street of the neighborhood, and then I look at the back of the streets, leaving no stone unturned. But Grams is nowhere to be found.
After an hour, the rain descends upon us, pouring with a vengeance. The umbrella isn’t helping much, because the wind is strong, scattering raindrops everywhere. My phone rings, and Mrs. Wilson’s name appears on the screen.
“Did you find her?” I hold my breath as a desperate hope surges through me.
“No. I’m so sorry, honey. Everyone is seeking shelter from the rain. The umbrellas aren’t helping.”
My stomach sinks as my hopes plummet. “You stopped searching?”
“We can always continue after the rain stops.”
“But she’s out there in the rain.” I bite my lip hard, fighting tears. Where is she? I can’t let anything happen to her.
“I’ll search with you, okay? Everyone else from the book club is too cold to go on. But the police officers are still searching, right?”
“Yes. I also called MedicAlert.” It’s an emergency service helping locate people with Alzheimer when they get lost. “They’re searching too, but I feel as if I have to do something.”
“I’ll continue the search too.”
“I—thank you, Mrs. Wilson. Call me if you have any news.”
But the next time she calls me, it’s not to give me any good news. “I can’t go on, sweetheart. There is water in my shoes, and the rain is so strong, I can’t see a damn thing.”
“I know,” I say through sobs. “You go home and make sure you don’t catch a cold, Mrs. Wilson.”
My heart constricts at the very real possibility that Grams might catch a cold, or worse, develop pneumonia. Neither the police nor the search service has reported anything good.
“You should go home too, girl. I’m sure the police will find her.”
I know her words are meant to calm me down, but they just fuel my panic. “Thank you, Mrs. Wilson.”
With a deep breath, I shove the phone into my pocket and then start my search again. Half an hour later, I am drenched to the bone, and the rain is so heavy I can barely see in front of me. When a gust of wind completely ruins my umbrella, I’m forced to seek shelter from the rain too, stepping inside a coffee shop. Yet the moment I’m inside, the ceiling seems to cave in on me, suffocating me. I force myself to take deep breaths, to no avail.
Grams will have sheltered herself. I know she has.
I fumble with my phone, desperate for someone to tell me it will be all right, that Grams will be fine. That’s when I realize whom I need. Max. Without hesitation, I call him. He doesn’t pick up the first time, but I call him again. Finally, he answers.
“Hi!” I say through sobs.
“What’s wrong?”
“Grams is missing. She left the house, and we can’t find her, and now it’s raining, and I can’t even see in front of me, and I don’t know what to do. The police are still searching, but if they haven’t found her until now….”
“Where are you? I’m coming where you are right now.”
That’s when I remember that Max has an important all-day meeting today.
“No, I’m sorry. I forgot about your meeting. I’ll deal with this on my own.”
“Emilia, just give me the damned address. I’ll be there.”
I give him the address and then buy a cup of steaming coffee, clutching it in my hands for dear life. The rain intensifies, so all I can do is wait. And waiting kills me. I sit at a small table by the window with my forehead pressed to the glass and hugging my knees to my chest.
Max finds me in the same position when he arrives, and my entire body is numb.
“You’re soaked,” he says, sitting next to me.
“I know.” I hate how defeated I sound.
“Let’s get you home and changed.”
“No,” I say vehemently. “If I go home, it means I failed her.”
“Emilia, I’m sure Grams is somewhere waiting for the rain to pass.”
“I— Help me brainstorm.”
“What?”
“Places where she might have gone. I tried to think about that while I was there, but I was too panicked—”
“Okay,” Max says. He takes my hand in his, rubbing the back of my palm with his thumb. I instantly feel calmer than I’ve been in hours. Calm enough to think.
“What were her favorite places in the neighborhood?” Max asks.
“The bakery, but I was already there, and they hadn’t seen her. The movie theater, which is closed. The gazebo in the park, the library, and the store with knitting supplies. I’ve been everywhere.”
“How long has she been missing?”
A knot forms in my throat as I look at the time displayed on my phone. “Five hours. The police are also looking, and also a service specialized for these cases, but….”
We exchange brief looks, and I know exactly what he’s thinking.
“I don’t think she left the neighborhood, she couldn’t walk much without tiring,” I explain. “She looks fit, but she tires quickly.”
“That means she must be close,” Max says with such conviction that I almost believe him too. “Is it possible for the disease to make her think she might be somewhere else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she mistook you for your mother. Maybe she could think that she’s in some other area where you used to live.”
“Oh,” I exclaim, realizing what he’s getting at. Hope fills me anew as I brainstorm out loud, remembering her favorite places in the other cities we lived. “The church, the flower shop…. I know where the church is here, but I don’t know if there is any flower shop. There isn’t one on the main shopping street.”
Max pulls out his phone, typing on it. “There are three in the area. The closest is two blocks away.”
“Let’s go to the church first. It’s closer.”
The heavy rain has dwindled to scattered raindrops, which makes things somewhat easier. Max’s phone rings nonstop, but he doesn’t answer.
“You should go back to the office,” I insist, hating to know I’m keeping him away.
“I’ll deal with it later. Let’s focus on finding Grams now.”
When we arrive at the church, the priest tells us Grams hasn’t been there. Bile rises in my throat, my vision blurring for a split second. At my insistence, Max and I go around the building once, making sure she’s not in the vicinity, which she’s not. Next we go to the first two flower shops on Max’s list, but there is no sign of Grams.
“Where is she?” I say through tears. “Where?”
Max squeezes my hand reassuringly, but as we walk back toward the main square, he looks in the distance, lost in thought. I can’t help notice that some of the light in his eyes has faded. Then he blinks, snapping his head to me.
“Look….”
I follow his gaze to the bakery, and then I start running as fast as I can, stepping into puddle after puddle of water, and not caring one bit. Because right in front of the bakery, looking around with wide, fearful eyes, is Grams.
When I’m in front of her, I want to hug her, and then I remember I’m soaked. Thank God she isn’t.
“Grams?” I ask tentatively.
She looks up at me, smiling. “Emilia, darling. Thank God. I went out to buy bread, but forgot where the bakery was. Now I found it and want to go home, but I don’t remember the way back, so I thought it would be best to wait for you. I had to hide from the rain. What took you so long?”
I laugh, relieved to hear her stern voice again. Most of all, I’
m happy that she is safe.
“I got lost too,” I say. “Come on, Grams, let’s get you home.”
Ten short minutes later, we are home. I’ve already announced to everyone involved in the search that I’ve found her. Grams grows agitated as she starts to acknowledge the events of the day, growing confused about what she was doing at the bakery and how she got there. I manage to calm her down and convince her to go to bed. Within minutes of her head hitting the pillow, she falls asleep. I wait a while, afraid she’ll get up and disappear again, but eventually I leave her room on my tiptoes, texting Mrs. Wilson to thank her for watching Grams this weekend. Ms. Adams is about to arrive to start her shift. The last thing I want to do is leave Grams again today, but there is no way I can take more time off from the clinic.
***
I find Max in the small kitchen, talking on his phone. He’s with his back to me, in front of the window.
“What do you mean they left? Go after them. Keep them there. Do you know how much work it was to bring them to the negotiations table?”
The person at the other end of the line is yelling loud enough that even I can hear him. “You shouldn’t have left if you wanted to seal the deal.”
“I can be there in half an hour, forty minutes tops. Go after them and bring them back in the meeting room,” Max says, his voice growing hard.
I only hear snippets of what the other man is saying, but I catch the words already left and the deal fell through. You just lost your company millions.
“God damn it, Anthony, you think I didn’t want to be there instead of dealing with all this shit? I’m done now. I’ll be there as soon as possible. Go after them.” He puts his phone away, turning around. His whole body stiffens as he sees me in the doorway. One million thoughts race through my mind, overwhelming me.