Page 58 of Too Old for This
The lies were exposed over time, a slow drip of news articles over a series of months. The girl remained missing.
Yes, people put their interests ahead of others’, even in times of tragedy. Accident, illness, missing child—it doesn’t matter. Self-interest always takes precedence. The people who are supposed to help, who getpaidto help, will still choose themselves.
I learned that a long time ago. But this might be Norma’s moment of realization. Before I can offer another cup of tea, Norma excuses herself to the bathroom. She takes her bag with her.
When she returns, her eyes are still red, but her face has been washed. “It’s late. I’ve got to go.”
She heads for the door, leaving me hobbling behind her with my cane. It clunks against the floor in the hallway.
“Are you okay? Maybe we should—”
Norma whirls around, almost bumping into me. Her earlier sadness is gone, replaced by anger. “I feel stupid. Is that what you want to hear?”
“It isn’t your fault the police lied. You’re just trying to find your daughter.”
“Everybody lies, right?” she says.
“Maybe.”
“Then I shouldn’t believe anything you say, either.” She crosses her arms over her chest, waiting for my response.
“Ms.Dixon, I really am trying to help.”
She scoffs. Leaves in a huff and slams the door behind her.
The aftermath of killing Plum Dixon has grown into a giant, slimy squid. All those tentacles make it so difficult to contain.
Listen to me, getting poetic in my old age.
Norma and I were never going to be friends. That would’ve been too awkward. Still, I had hoped we’d end up on the same side: two people trying to find Plum. But the police made it impossible.
Instead, she hates me more now than when she arrived.
I head upstairs, hoping I’ll fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. So much work to do tomorrow.
—
Archie has been in contact a bit more often than usual, and most of it revolves around the wedding. But today he calls in the middle of the afternoon, which is almost unheard of.
“How are you?” he says.
“I’m doing well, thank you. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Just checking in.”
I don’t believe that. Archie doesn’t call in the middle of a workday to check on me. “Is something going on?”
Big sigh. I imagine him sitting at his desk, staring down at a leather blotter and picking at the edge, pulling out a thread. He could never sit still for long.
“Did you get Morgan’s text?” he finally says. “She sent you a picture.”
“Hold on.” I scroll through my messages looking for this picture. Morgan’s bridesmaid dresses are as unattractive as her wedding gown; her taste didn’t improve between those decisions. The process of zooming in makes me hang up on Archie.
He calls right back.
“Yes, I got the picture,” I say.
“Can you please answer her text? She thinks you hate it.”
