Chapter 9: Concerned Mother

The little numbers over the elevator counted down to one.

Jude was still standing by the desk where he'd set his mug.

"What did she sign to you?" he asked, with his hands only.

I told him.

He read it, and his jaw moved under his beard.

"Is it true? Is your mother saying that?"

I didn't know yet.

I found out two weeks later, on the second of July.

My aunt sent me a screenshot at seven in the morning, with no message, just the picture.

It was a post on my mother's page.

There was a photo of Jenna and me at our sixth birthday, in matching yellow dresses. Jenna was laughing. I was looking at the cake.

Under it my mother had written four paragraphs.

Please keep our Amy in your prayers.

Since graduation she has been going through something very dark. She has cut off the people who love her most.

She is saying things about her family and her sister that are simply not true.

We think it's a breakdown. Doctors say this can happen with kids who struggle to communicate.

We are not giving up on her. If you see her, please be gentle. She is not herself.

There were two hundred and twelve comments.

Praying for you, Lori.

You're such a strong mom.

That poor girl, she was always so closed off.

Then, under those, my aunts started messaging me.

Honey, call your mother.

Your mom is heartbroken. Just call her.

Amy, whatever it is, pick up the phone.

I have never once in my life been able to pick up the phone.

All three of them knew that.

I put my phone face down on the nightstand and got dressed for the hospital.

I had made the appointment the week I started at Carrick Works, the day my insurance card came in the mail.

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