To Catch A Thief. Nan Dixon

      “I’m not sure.” She checked whether her mother had left a text, but Mamá never did. She preferred conversations. “I need to call my mother.”

      She waited as the phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

      “Carolina!” Mamá wailed. “Thank God.”

      The water in her stomach churned. “What’s wrong?”

      “It’s back,” her mother sobbed. “It’s back.”

      Carolina swallowed. No. “What’s back?”

      But she knew. Her fingers squeezed the phone.

      “The cancer. The maldito cancer.”

      Mamá’s sobbing gulps had tears filling Carolina’s eyes. She bit her lip. No. No. No. “What happened?”

      Ella’s fingers pressed into Carolina’s shoulder. She leaned into her friend’s strength.

      “Dr. Laster says I’m dying. The cancer is killing me.”

      “Breast cancer? Again?”

      “In my head,” her mother wailed. “The tumors are in my head.”

      Her mother’s breast cancer had metastasized.

      Carolina’s joy slid away. She whispered, “Mamá.”

      “I need you,” she whimpered. “Come home. I don’t have much time left. I need my baby with me.”

      “Of course. Yes.” Her mind whirled. “I’ll... I’ll come home.”

      She wanted to ask more questions about the diagnosis, but couldn’t force words past the lump in her throat. She choked out, “I’ll get home as soon as I can.”

      “Hurry.”

      Ella handed her a tissue. At Carolina’s confused look, Ella blotted Carolina’s wet face.

      “I’ll... I’ll...leave tomorrow.” There was so much to do. “Get some sleep, Mamá.”

      “How can I? I have no one. If only your father...”

      “Mamá, think positive.” She couldn’t let her mother dwell on the past or on the wrongs Rosa Castillo felt the world had dealt to her. “I’ll be home tomorrow.”

      After teary goodbyes, she dropped her phone on the makeup table. There was so much to do, but her heavy body wouldn’t move.

      “I’m sorry.” Ella hugged her. “I’ll...help you pack, do whatever needs doing.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Great show.” Gar pushed into the tiny room.

      “You need to knock,” Ella snapped. “What if we’d been changing?”

      “Who cares?” Gar waved Ella’s anger aside. “Why the hell are you crying? Someone die?”

      Ella gasped. “Carolina’s mother is sick.”

      “She’s always sick.” Gar’s diamond ring flashed as he waved his hand. “We’ve got a meeting with the execs who were here tonight. They loved you. I need both of you. They want to hear a different set.”

      “They’re interested in me?” Carolina covered her mouth.

      “Of course they are. Great performance.”

      “Thank you.” But Carolina couldn’t push any enthusiasm into her voice. Her mother’s cancer was back.

      Gar nodded. “Tomorrow afternoon at two.”

      “I... I can’t.” Her ribs squeezed against her tortured stomach. “I have to go back to Tybee.”

      “What?” Gar shouted.

      “I have to go home for my mother.”

      “You can’t leave.” He jabbed his thumb toward the stage. “They’re looking for a new artist. They have an open slot they can fill in a heartbeat but they gave you an audition. You can’t leave.”

      “My mother’s cancer is back. Can you explain that to them.” She pushed her hair off her face. “I’ll... I’ll let you know when I can get back to Nashville, but I have to go home.”

      “Damn it, Carolina.” He leaned over, his face inches from hers. “I put too much energy into getting them to come listen. They won’t wait. You can’t do this to me.”

      “To you?” She pulled away. “It’s my mother!”

      “What was wrong the last time she begged you to come home?” His jaw clenched so tight the bone stuck out. “And the time before that? You’re a yoyo, always bouncing home at your mother’s demand.”

      Was her mother crying wolf? She’d done it before. The last time had been on the anniversary of Daddy’s death. She’d been lonely. “This is different. This is cancer and it’s spreading.”

      “Call her.” Gar shoved her phone at her. “Tell her this is your big break.”

      Ella gnawed on her knuckle.

      Carolina snatched her phone from Gar, but instead of dialing she shoved it in her purse. “I’m sorry. I’m going home.”

      “This was your big break and you blew it.” Gar jerked the door open. “Find yourself a new manager.”

      * * *

      CAROLINA OPENED THE window as she drove down the causeway. Pungent marsh air filled the car. It was so humid, she could almost drink it in.

      She was home.

      A container ship headed through the channel on her left, bound for the port of Savannah. On her right, water and reeds filled the flat landscape. River channels twisted through the marshlands.

      She checked the time. Five o’clock. She should have met the record people at two. If she’d stayed in Nashville, would the label have signed her?

      Instead she was heading to Tybee Island, Georgia. What if Gar was right? What if her mother was faking—again? Carolina might have blown her best chance at getting a label to back her career.

      She couldn’t think that way. Time to call Mamá.

      “I’m almost there,” she said when her mother picked up.

      “I don’t understand why you didn’t leave last night,” her mother complained.

      “I had to pack.” And sleep. And cancel her other singing engagements, but she’d done that while driving. “I’ve been on the road for almost ten hours.”

      “You’ll have to let yourself in. I’m at the mall, but I’ll leave now.”

      Her mother was shopping? “Mall?”

      Mamá hung up.

      Carolina gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles ached. Each month she sent money to her mother. She’d eaten a lot of peanut butter and oatmeal so she could help her mother cover her expenses.

      Maybe Mamá was at the grocery store? No. She’d said the mall. That meant she was in Savannah.

      With her lips pinched together, Carolina slowed for the turn into the neighborhood and her grandparents’ home where she’d grown up.

      Poppy had run a charter fishing boat out of Tybee. When she was little, she’d loved sitting on her grandfather’s lap as the wind tangled her hair and they flew across the waves. He’d smelled of salt, sunshine and fish. Love.

      The white shells on the drive crunched under her Ford Focus’s tires. She stared at the yellow house on its white stilts. Two drives flanked the central staircase and led under the house to carports.

      The trim on the windows, steps and railing needed a fresh coat of white paint. So did the porch. The