Page 31 of Too Old for This

It was one thing for Cole to show up on my doorstep. Plum’s boyfriend was sweet and trusting, and it’s a real shame the police think she was running from him. But Plum’s mother is a whole different animal.

She has been looking into my life, following me the same way I followed Kelsie. She is also a woman who abandoned her child. No telling what she might do next.

“I am so sorry about your daughter,” I say. “This has all been so awful.”

“I’m not here for your sympathy.”

No, I bet she isn’t.

“Why don’t you come inside?”

She follows me into the entryway and down to the kitchen. I go straight to the counter and fill the teapot. Norma stands in the doorway and looks around.

“Mighty big house.” The words come out like she’s spitting.

“Yes, it is. A lot of work, too.”

She sits down at the breakfast table and looks around, studying each item in the room, and finally nodding to the fold-down ironing board. “Do you ever use that?”

“No.”

Her idea of small talk isn’t the décor. It’s about household chores. That doesn’t bode well for the rest of this conversation.

I don’t ask Norma what kind of tea she wants. She gets chamomile. No caffeine for her. While waiting for the water to boil, I open a package of cookies and set them on the table. Norma picks one up and sniffs it before taking a tiny bite. She puts the cookie back down.

“If you want something else to eat, I also have some—”

“Is this what you did with Plum? Serve her tea and cookies?”

The pot whistles, giving me a second to think about my answer. Norma’s mood wavers by the minute, teeter-tottering between anger and curiosity. I bring our cups to the table.

“Yes, Plum and I did have tea,” I say.

“What kind did she drink?”

“Chamomile. Same as you have.”

She nods, satisfied enough to add a little milk to her tea and stir it. Unlike Plum, she does not get the string wrapped around her spoon. I watch and wait for her to tell me why she is here and what she wants.

“It’s like Plum just vanished.” She snaps her fingers. Norma has long nails, white with red tips, except for one that has snapped off. “Poof, your daughter is gone.”

“I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do—”

“What I also don’t understand…” She stops, her voice dropping off. Norma shakes her head and tries again. “What I don’t get is why she wanted to make documentaries about people like you.”

“Like me?”

“People who’ve been ‘wrongfully accused’ of crimes.” She adds those air quotes herself.

Norma’s judgment is almost thick enough to blur my vision. I blink a few times, trying to find a path through the anger. It’s already starting to build. Some things never change, no matter how old you get. And some things you never get over, no matter how hard you try.

Deep breath. “If there’s some way I can help, I would be happy to.”

“You know where I just came from? Spokane. And I talked to a lot of people up there.”

“Norma—”

“You can call me Ms.Dixon.”

I grit my teeth. She has forgotten who is the elder at this table. “Ms.Dixon, I’m not sure what my past has to do with finding your daughter.”

“If your child was the one missing, would you say my past doesn’t matter?”

I try to imagine this scenario, if Archie disappeared and Norma was the last person he spoke to, but I’m not sure it’s helpful. My reaction would be very different than hers is right now.

“Why did you lie to the police?” she asks.

“Pardon?”

“You told the police that Plum had a bruise on her temple. Right here.” Norma shoves aside her hair and jabs a finger at her temple. “You said it was purple and blue, like she’d had it for a couple of days.”

I stare at her, waiting for more. She delivers.

“But what you don’t know is that Plum and I are very close, and she tells me everything. We FaceTime, too. She never mentioned anything to me about getting injured or hit.” Norma smacks her hand on the table. “And I never saw a bruise on her.”

Plum and I are very close.

We FaceTime, too.

Norma is really trying to make up for all those lost years. I admire that. I really do. And I would applaud her efforts if they weren’t making my life difficult.

“And then you blamed Cole,” Norma continues, “for this supposed bruise on her head and the burn—the burn!—on her arm. You made it sound like he was abusing Plum and she must’ve run away from him.”

Her eyes look even smaller than they did outside. She has thin lips and porcelain skin; it’s smooth and flawless except for the fuzz. I start counting in my head, making myself wait to see if she has anything else to say. When I reach five, she picks up her cup to take a sip of tea.

“Ms.Dixon, I never said anything about a bruise.”

Her head rears back. For a second, I think that tea is going to spew out of her mouth. “Yes, you did. You told—”

“No. I never saw a bruise on Plum or…what was it? A burn? No. I never saw anything like that, and I certainly never told the police she had marks on her.”

“You must have. Why else would the police tell me—”

“They’re lying.” I pause, letting that sink in.

“In my experience, the police lie about a lot of things. They asked me about Plum, and I told them she came to my house to talk about her show. The police didn’t record the interview, and I never signed an official statement.

If you ask them for proof that I mentioned a bruise or a burn or any other kind of mark, they won’t have it.

They can’t prove it, because it did not happen. ”

She shakes her head like she’s trying to clear it. “But why would they want to blame Cole?”

“Look at how convenient the story is for them. If a young woman disappears , they have to investigate. But a woman fleeing from her abusive boyfriend? The police don’t have to look for her.

Without any evidence a crime was committed”—I clap my hands together like I’m dusting them off—“this case is no longer their problem.”

Norma slumps in her chair and bursts into tears.