Chapter 30 Matt
Thursday morning came gray and heavy, the kind of sky that promised rain by evening.
I cracked eggs into a pan while Dad read the paper at the kitchen table. Mom sat in her usual chair, staring at nothing. The weather forecast on the radio called for severe storms overnight. Wind gusts up to fifty miles per hour, possible flooding in low-lying areas.
"Storm's going to be bad," Dad said, not looking up.
"Yeah."
"You working late?"
"Till six."
He turned the page. Outside, the wind was already picking up, rattling the kitchen window.
Mom hadn't touched her toast. I set the plate of eggs in front of her and she blinked, slowly, like she was surfacing from somewhere deep.
"Eat, Mom."
She picked up her fork, then put it down, picked it up again.
We'd toured another memory care facility on Tuesday. Clean rooms, activities calendar posted in the hallway, staff who spoke in those careful, gentle tones. The director had walked us through everything from meal schedules to medication management and how they handled late-stage dementia.
Dad had waited until we got to the parking lot to break down.
I'd driven us home in silence, his shoulders shaking in the passenger seat, while he tried not to let me see him cry.
This was why I’d come back, to help carry this. And yet, I couldn’t stop thinking of Elena. The way she’d calmed Mom down at the grocery store. The way she'd looked at me in the parking lot… It hadn’t been pity on her eyes, but something else. Grief, maybe.
She’s a good one, Elena. She still cares, Dad had said after we got home. I could see it.
What if he was right? I pushed the thought away and grabbed my keys.
"Heading out," I said.
Dad looked up. "Be safe."
Mom lifted her head and, for just a second, her eyes focused. "Matthew?"
"Yeah, Mom?"
"You look nice." A small smile. "I'm proud of you."
Something twisted in my chest. "Thanks, Mom."
The moment passed, and she went back to staring at her eggs.
The day stretched out in the way slow days always did. I spent most of the morning on Route 19, with its farmland and empty roads. I had nothing but my thoughts and the gray sky pressing down to keep my company.
Then, a speeding ticket on Highway 4. A fender bender outside the diner, nobody hurt, just insurance cards exchanged. A late lunch at my desk with coffee that had been sitting since morning.
My phone sat next to my keyboard, and I kept looking at it. Elena's contact was still there. Same photo from four years ago: her laughing at something I'd said, sunlight in her hair, back when we were still us.
I could just text her and ask to talk. It’d be just coffee. Something simple, easy, and honest. I could say the words, couldn’t I? I could do it.
I still love you. I never stopped. If there's any chance—
My hand moved toward the phone, then stopped.
What if I was wrong? What if the grocery store was just Elena being kind, and I was taking Dad’s words too seriously? What if I was about to make a fool of myself? What if Elena looked at me with pity and said please don't do this?
I pushed the phone away, my heart kicking against my ribcage.
When I headed out again at four o'clock, the sky had darkened. Wind bent the trees along Route 19, leaves scattering across the road. The radio kept updating the storm warning: heavy rain expected after six, seek shelter, stay off the roads if possible.
I drove past the turn that led to Elena's apartment and kept going. Came back around and drove past again.
At five, I headed back to the station.
Foster was on his way out, keys jangling. "You coming to Miller’s Tap? Half-price wings."
"Can't tonight."
"You sure? It's half-price."
"Got something I need to take care of."
He grinned, clapped my shoulder. "Hope it's something good, man. You've been working too hard."
After he left, I sat in the empty squad room, just me and the hum of fluorescent lights and the decision I'd been circling all day. I'd done the work. Two and a half years of therapy, learning to sit with discomfort instead of running. Learning to be honest instead of performing.
So maybe… maybe it was time to take all that and put it to the test. Not to pressure her, or to make her responsible for my happiness.
Just to let her know.
I changed in the locker room into jeans and the old shirt Elena used to say made my eyes look darker. I caught myself in the mirror and stopped. This wasn't about looking good; this was about telling the truth.
The rain had started by the time I got to my truck.
Light, but steady. I sat there with the engine off, hands on the wheel.
The wisest thing to do would be to text Elena and arrange something.
Maybe even wait until tomorrow before I pull the trigger.
Going straight to the clinic, or even her apartment, was probably too much.
And yet… part of me knew I was making excuses.
I had to just do it, right now. Before I lost my nerve.
I reached for the ignition and, as if on cue, my phone rang.
Dad.
"Hey."
"Your mother's gone." His voice was shaking, wrong, all the air gone out of it.
"What?"
"She wandered off. I fell asleep, Matt… Just… just for a few minutes. And when I woke up she was gone. I checked the house, the yard, the neighbors…" He was barely holding it together. "Matthew, I can't find her."
I forced myself to focus. "Dad, listen to me. How long were you asleep?"
"I don't know. An hour, maybe? The news was on and then I—"
"Okay. Listen. I'm calling it in right now. Keep checking with neighbors. I'll be there in fifteen."
"I'm sorry. I just closed my eyes for a second—"
"Dad. It's not your fault. We'll find her." I was already starting the engine. "I'm on my way."
I hung up and called dispatch. Gave them everything: Mom's description, the dementia, how long she'd been gone. They'd alert every unit in the county and put a BOLO out.
Then I was pulling out of the lot, moving fast.
The rain was coming down harder now, and the storm was just beginning.