LITMIR.BIZ

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said it like it was just one of his wife’s charming idiosyncrasies. The real reason Lily always kept her wallet well stocked, Rita suspected, was that she still lived in fear of being made to evacuate at a moment’s notice. Not that she ever talked about the bad old days or even admitted they’d happened.

      Camp.

      Occasionally, when Rita was little, Grandpa used to tell stories about this place where the sand blew so fiercely that stepping outside was like standing under a shower of pinpricks. “Where was this camp? Were you on vacation?” Rita would ask, although she couldn’t understand why anyone would choose to visit such bleakness. The old man wouldn’t answer, staring off into space, his cheeks hardened like a walnut shell. As she got older, she came to understand that it had been an internment camp, where all people of Japanese descent had been imprisoned on suspicion of being traitors throughout the war. But Lily insisted she’d never set foot in any such place. Maybe they sent the farmers and poor people away. Not us. We never left Little Tokyo.

      “D’you consider it unusual behaviour for your mom to go off like this on her own?” Davis said.

      The cuckoo clock appeared a welcome hiding spot. Family business was private business, Grandpa had always made clear.

      “Mom’s just a bit absent-minded.”

      “Absent-minded how?”

      “Forgetful.”

      “Everyone gets forgetful as they get older.” Gerald pulled at a loose thread on his trousers.

      “Let’s be clear: has Lily ever gone missing for several hours before?”

      “Never,” Gerald said.

      But the officer was looking at Rita.

      A pungent odour worked its way into her nostrils, something burnt to a crisp. One of Lily’s casseroles hadn’t turned out so well. A lot of things hadn’t turned out so well, like the state of their family. Rita’s face had become hot and prickly; the acrid smell turned her stomach.

      She used to live in fear that her friends would find out something was funny with her mom. It was bad enough being Japanese — one of only two Oriental girls at her school and the other girl wasn’t at all outgoing or pretty. The last thing she wanted was to be seen as both the Japanese girl and the girl with the crazy mother.

      “When I was growing up, Mom would get distracted and wander off for maybe half a day, tops. We always knew she was coming back.”

      “Like she needed some alone time?” Davis said.

      “You could say that.”

      “Fair enough. Every woman needs alone time. Ever find out where she went?”

      “Once, when I was a kid, we couldn’t find her.” Actually, there’d been many times. They smeared together into a dark, murky shape that had left its stain across so many of Rita’s childhood memories. “It turned out Mom had wandered past a dry cleaner that must’ve reminded her of her dad’s old shop in Little Tokyo. Guess it stirred up some stuff.”

      “Stuff? Could you be more specific?” Lee said.

      “Stuff about the past. She got confused. About where she was. She thought she was back in her father’s store and tried to take over at the cash register, from what I was told.”

      “What happened?”

      “The owner kicked her out. Later, he called our house when he found her crouched in the alley out back, crying. Grandpa was out, so I talked to the guy. I walked over to get her.”

      “And how was she?”

      “By the time I got there, she seemed back to her old self.”

      “Did she remember what she was doing there?”

      “I’m not sure. She was upset, so I didn’t push it.”

      “D’you read in the paper last year about that chick that showed up at a homeless shelter, no purse, no ID, nothing?” Davis’s cheeks had turned rosy, almost. “Not even an old lady — young, blond, decent looking. Just walked straight out of her life. Fugue amnesia, they were calling it.”

      Knife handles protruded from a wood block on the counter. Rita imagined their steel blades narrowed to perfect points. Weren’t the police supposed to be trying to reassure her that Lily was all right — everything would be all right? She’d wandered off before and had always come back, so wasn’t the same pattern bound to repeat itself? In a couple hours, Lily would be sitting at this very table, and they’d laugh about the incident and order a pizza. Yet the police weren’t acting like everything was fine; they were taking amusement in the possibility that she might be batshit crazy. Sleeping in a homeless shelter or in a ditch on the side of the road. Shame, sharpened by fear, crept around Rita’s stomach. The kitchen felt cramped as though there wasn’t enough space for them all to stand at the counter or enough air for them all to breathe. Didn’t these people have more pressing things to do than hang around yakking?

      “I hate to break this up, but maybe you guys should get out there and find my mother. I agree she has her problems. That makes it all the more important that you bring her home immediately!”

      “We appreciate what you’re going through,” Davis said. “We’ll be on our way just as soon as we’ve finished interviewing you and Mr. Anderberg.”

      Rita pinched her lips, not trusting herself to speak. She couldn’t afford to alienate the police.

      “Well, this is the first I’ve heard ’bout any of … my wife’s memory problems.” Gerald looked so blindsided that Rita couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.

      They’d been married for less than a year. They’d met at a dance for the Electricians Association of Canada, where Lily had been brought as someone else’s date, but had somehow managed to hook up with Gerald. Whenever she introduced him to anybody, she liked to emphasize that he was a retired electrical inspector, like that made all the difference. Rita thought he seemed like a decent enough guy, if a surprising match for her mother. Funny how after all Lily’s years spent preaching the virtues of marrying your own, she’d succumbed to a classic case of yellow fever.

      Rita had only partly taken the advice: Cal was Korean, but at least that was Asian. Not that it did jack shit to keep them together.

      Poor Gerald. He’d been so eager to get Lily to the altar. How long had they actually dated? He had no idea of the full extent of her … eccentricities.

      “Did your mom ever receive psych treatment?” Lee asked.

      It was a question Rita had tossed around with her brother from time to time. Their mother needed help — professional help. Tom never denied the point. But they both knew she’d never go for it, so what were they supposed to do? Have her committed?

      “My grandfather considered shrinks on par with witch doctors. Mom just has weak nerves.”

      “Weak nerves, huh?” Davis laughed. “Nothing that smelling salts won’t take care of?”

      They wanted to know whether Lily was on any meds. Gerald mentioned some pills she took for her thyroid. They went upstairs to the bathroom to search through the medicine cabinet and then moved on to the bedroom. The pills were nowhere to be found; it seemed she carried them in her purse. Everything of any importance was in that purse: reading glasses, makeup, facial cleanser, half-eaten sandwiches, vitamins. A survival kit, it was her life in miniature.

      “Any recent disturbances or fights that might’ve pushed her to leave?” Davis said.

      “’Course not, we’re newlyweds.”

      “Rita, what about you? Anything you can think of?”

      “Nothing comes to mind.”

      “Were you guys close?”

      “I don’t know. Things have been a bit bumpy since I split with my husband.”

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