“Thank God you made your way home. Thank God.” She turned on the kettle and the little noises calmed me. The clink of the metal tea canister on the counter. The scrape of the mugs as she pulled them from the shelf.
I knew this place, deep down. When the water hit the tea, the smell made me want to breathe deeply. And when Mother gave me the cup, the first taste was beautiful, warm and cinnamon and sweet, like everything good.
I had done the right thing.
I was home.
CHAPTER 40
Tucker
I’d been driving the streets surrounding Ava’s apartment for twenty minutes when I decided to stop at her place and try Marcus again.
His voice wasn’t sleepy at all, despite the hour. “I missed your call. What’s happened?”
“The new meds failed. She seized for six minutes. We got to the hospital, but they wouldn’t listen about the memory loss. They sent us home, and she ran!”
“When?”
“About half an hour after we got back. She asked me to leave her alone, so I waited in the kitchen to give her some space. She found her old notebook full of warnings to herself, and I think she got spooked. I’ve been driving around looking for her.”
“Have you called the police?”
“I thought I’d spot her. She can’t get far on foot.”
“Call them now. I’m jumping in my car. Call me back as soon as you’ve talked to them.”
I hung up. I was about to dial 911 when something occurred to me. Where were the keys I’d handed her?
I retraced our steps from when we walked in. The kitchen. The med cabinet. Her room. Nothing on her dresser or on the bed. Nothing in the closet.
She had her keys.
Maybe she saw the keychain and thought of Big Harry.
I raced back to the kitchen and snatched up her phone to plug in her passcode.
Big Harry was in the contacts.
I called him and listened as it rang and rang. When the recorded message kicked in, it gave the hours and location of the diner. It wasn’t his personal line.
Damn it.
Now it was time to call the police. With a heavy heart, I dialed the numbers.
The woman’s voice was chirpy. “911. What is your emergency?”
“I have a missing person to report. It’s urgent.”
“I’ll connect you to the police.”
I paced the living room while I waited. Another woman answered. “Austin Police. What is your emergency?”
“My girlfriend is missing. She has amnesia. She can’t be off by herself.”
“I understand,” the woman said. “Can I have your name?”
The process of giving her the information took forever. Finally, she asked, “And what is the age of the missing person?”
