Page 6 of Too Old for This

Glenda stops me at the door to make sure I take the spinach dip home. Half of it is left. I chalk that up to her table placement rather than the quality.

“Try a hot dish next time,” she says. “You know we have plenty of warming trays.”

“I’ll do my best, Glenda. And thank you for all that you do.”

She smiles. Sometimes I say things just to make myself laugh on the inside.

I practically roll myself to the car, stuffed full from all the food I ate. Sheila brought her chicken-stuffed buns, and Bonnie made her infamous crumb cake. My doctor would be appalled, but it’s not like I’m going to tell him.

Thursday is my favorite night of the week. Yes, it’s mostly old people like me. We’re retired and bored and looking for something to do. All of us come together because no one else sees us. Or wants to.

There are no text messages or voicemails waiting on my phone. Nothing from Cole or the police or anyone else. Good. The lull continues.

As much as I want to check the news and see if Plum has been reported missing yet, I don’t do it from my phone. In fact, I’m a little afraid to search at all, even on my home laptop.

I once brought my laptop to a computer store and told the clerk, a young man named Ernie, that I was afraid of identity theft and hacking and all the bad online things you hear about…on the internet. Though it’s nice that the internet lets you know how terrible it is.

Ernie set me up with a VPN, which he said would block my location and browsing data. I have no reason to disbelieve him; Ernie sounded like he knew what he was talking about. The police and the FBI and the ones who invent things to circumvent VPNs are the people I have nightmares about.

I wait until I get home to check the local news. Decades ago, I used to check every channel—all four of them—to make sure I didn’t miss anything. That was long before twenty-four-hour news and the internet. Information was not readily or quickly available.

A few times, I was stupid enough to attend press conferences by the police. But only because it was so infuriating when the news only showed the highlights. I wanted to see every question and answer.

However, none of this did any good. The information didn’t help me. Either you do it right, and get a little lucky along the way, or you don’t. The most useless thing to do is sit in front of a computer, refreshing the news over and over. That’s a good way to drive yourself crazy.

—

Sunday afternoon, the knock on my door comes right after I return from church. I’ve just taken off my hat. Today I wore the lilac one with the polka-dot ribbon. Spring is here, so we’ve all dug out our pastels and florals. I toss it on the bed and head downstairs.

In the foyer, I grab my walker out of the hall closet. It came from a secondhand shop in a strip mall. It’s the aluminum kind with two wheels in front and rubbery grips for my hands. It also folds up and lies flat against the wall, hardly taking up any room.

“Who’s there?” I say.

“Cole Fletcher. I called you last week about Plum?”

Yes, I remember offering to help Cole, but at no time did I say he could stop by. And yet here he is. There was a time when stopping by without calling was considered rude. I don’t know when that ended, but it was a mistake.

I thump my way over to the door and open it.

Cole is very tall. That’s the first thing I notice, because it’s impossible to miss. His red hair and freckles are a close second.

“I’m really sorry to bother you,” he says. “I was just hoping to ask a few more questions.”

“Of course. Come in.”

He walks into the foyer, not appearing as impressed as Plum did. He stands in the center and awkwardly holds out his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs.Jones.”

I nod and shake his hand. It’s soft, no calluses anywhere. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

Cole follows me down to the hall, which is a much slower process with the walker. Behind me, I hear him. Step, pause. Step, pause.

“I’ll make us some tea,” I say.

“You don’t have to go to the trouble—”

“It’s no trouble. Earl Grey or peppermint?”

He takes a reluctant seat behind the table, on the built-in bench. “Um…peppermint.”

“That’s my favorite, too.”

Fill the teapot, put it on the stove, set two cups with saucers and spoons.

Making tea while using a walker is a tedious process, but I have to stay committed. Cole jumps up more than once, offering to bring the sugar, milk, and cups over to the table.

“You said you wanted to ask some questions. Is this about the docuseries?” I say.

“It’s about Plum.”

I stop stirring my tea. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t heard from her?”

“Not since the night she was here.”

“What about her family?”

“Well, it’s really just her mom, and that’s a…weird situation.”

Sounds like something to know more about, so I stay quiet. Let Cole fill in the blank air.

“Plum’s mom dumped her on her grandparents’ doorstep when she was little, said she wasn’t ready to be a mother, and took off. Plum didn’t see her mom again until she graduated from high school.”

“Are her grandparents still around?”

“They passed away before I met her. So it’s kind of just me. I feel like I’ve got to find her.”

Cole wants to be the hero. Good to know. “Plum still isn’t answering her phone?”

“No. The last time her phone pinged was at the Salem airport.”

I shake my head, look befuddled. “I don’t understand.”

Cole launches into an explanation about their location app, describing her whereabouts in detail. He knew when she had arrived here, what time she left, and that she went straight to the airport.

He’s right. Her phone did all those things.

“Have you looked anywhere else?” I ask.

He nods, takes a sip of his tea. The cup is so tiny in his hands I bet he could drink it all in two gulps. “We live in Seattle, so I looked there. And I went to Spokane, where she was also doing some research. Her car was found at the Salem airport, and that’s where I talked to the police.”

“What did they say?”

Cole averts his eyes, looking down at the table. “They asked me what our relationship was like.”

“Your relationship?”

“When I told the police she left her car at the airport and disappeared, they sort of…” He stops and moves his hand around, like he’s trying to conjure up the words. “They kept asking if we’d gotten into a fight. Sort of insinuating that she was trying to escape. Like I was…abusive or something.”

This comes out of nowhere.

I reach over and place my hand on Cole’s arm. “That must’ve been terrible to hear.”

“It was, because I never…I mean, I would never …”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” But, really, how would I know if Cole is the abusive type? It’s not like they come tagged and bar-coded.

“This detective kept asking me the same questions over and over,” he says. “The last time we argued. If it got out of control. How often things got physical between us. I kept saying it wasn’t like that.”

Cole’s emotions are a little overwhelming for both of us, and it seems like a good time for cookies. Moments like this are why I disagree with my doctor about sugar. Sometimes, nothing else will do.

The walker makes the trip to the cupboard slower than it should be. By the time I return to the table, Cole’s face has turned red, something he can’t hide with that pale skin.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to me,” he says.

“Nonsense. A young woman is missing, and that deserves attention.”

“Right? That’s what I kept telling them.” He picks up a cookie, eats it in one bite. “The thing is, this is the sort of stuff that drives her crazy. People making assumptions about what happened, thinking someone is guilty when they aren’t.”

“Plum seems like a very passionate young woman.”

“She is.” Cole smiles a little. It makes him look about twelve. “Plum is a really positive person. She believes she can change people’s lives.”

“Tell me more about her.”

Cole talks for the next half hour, sharing the story of how they met, how long they’ve been together, what Plum likes and what she hates. By the time he runs out of words, Cole is holding on to his teacup with both hands like he’s guarding it. Always the hero, even for porcelain.

“She’s just getting her business off the ground,” he says. “She wants to help people who were wrongly accused of a crime. I think it’s because of her mom. She had a lot of problems, but Plum still wants to believe the best in her, you know?”

“Had she produced a lot of these docuseries?”

“Three so far, and they’re all online. Her dream is to get a deal with one of the streaming networks.”

Good thing that hadn’t happened yet. Otherwise, a lot more people would be searching for her.

“She sounds like an amazing person,” I say.

“I feel like I’m babbling now. Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime. And if there’s anything I can do, you let me know.”