I texted her.
She didn’t respond.
My heart hammered.
Had she been caught? Did she lose the phone?
I got out of the car, closing the door softly. I walked along the street, tiptoeing past the flower beds and avoiding the street lamps.
My steps slowed as I passed Ava’s duplex. A shadow on the front porch shifted, and the wood floor squeaked. I froze, terrified that Ava’s mother was outside and had seen me.
But a low, wavering voice said, “The mother suspects.”
I peered at the shadow on the porch. It wasn’t Ava’s side, but the other one.
“Are you Grandma Flowers?” Ava had mentioned her many times since learning more about her from her old journal. The two had managed to smile and wave, but Ava’s mother refused to let Ava talk to the woman.
She rose from her chair, her silhouette blocking the window behind her. “Ava called me that, back when I could see her. I have lived next door to that family for coming up on three years.” She moved painfully down the steps, holding onto the rail.
I began to make her out in a long, loose dress.
When she came down the walk, the streetlight illuminated her big, kind eyes. “Let’s take a walk, you and I.”
“I’m supposed to meet Ava.”
“You won’t be seeing her tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s move along, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
When we’d put some distance between us and the duplex, she spoke again. “I’m a night owl. I’ve seen you coming for her, and you should know, the last time her mother learned a boy was near her daughter, they moved.”
My fists tightened. “She’d do that? Just move her?”
The old woman sighed. “The girl was beside herself when she arrived here, missing those friends of hers. I gave her some flowers. She didn’t know she had a gift for tending them, but I could see she’d done it before.”
We turned the corner. “What happened? Why can’t Ava see you anymore?”
“I love that girl like the moon,” she said. “We spent many long afternoons together. We read books and talked flowers. But I saw what was going on there, and I asked too many questions.”
My mouth went dry. “Whatisgoing on?”
“Her mother wants Ava protected. So she keeps her away from the whole world. Nobody comes ‘round to see her. She’s like a bird in a cage.” She shakes her head. “It’s a tough go sometimes. I’ve seen her forget a few things. And I’ve seen her forget everything. It’s like rolling the dice.”
“So not every seizure is the same?”
“No. Some of them take everything away, even her ability to read. But most only take her memories. One day we’ll be chatting about the roses, and the next she won’t know a flower from a turnip.”
“She’s been taking medicine since the hospital,” I said. “I’ve been talking to her.”
“That’s good,” she said. “No young person should be locked away from the world.”
“I’m going to get her out of there. She turns eighteen soon.”
Grandma Flowers patted my back. “You stay the course, young man. She needs someone to rely on.”
We turned and headed back.
