“This is Police Chief Mason. I’m sorry to have to tell you that we have your mother here at the police station. . . . .’
Elizabeth felt the color drain from her face. Her knees lost their strength. She had been expecting this, in a way, since October, and yet a part of her had never believed it would happen. She stared at the picture on the wall, Washington Crossing the Delaware, or something. Then she froze.
“Thank you. I’ll be right there.” She slammed down the phone.The short trip to the police station seemed to take hours. She prayed not to have an accident, and she prayed that she would have wisdom to face all this when she got to the police station.
Elizabeth’s feet hardly touched the old wooden steps, hollowed out by the thousands of footsteps that had preceded hers. Pigeons cooing in the eaves made sobbing sounds. Inside, several people sat forlornly in front of the dispatcher’s cubicle, some of them teary-eyed and some of them scowling belligerently. She looked up at the ceiling and noticed the old-time metal tooled designs in it.
The chief emerged. Shaking hands with her and expressing his sadness over the situation, he led her to a tiny private room where her mother sat. “I’ll let you talk to her a while. She’s calmed down a bit; she was somewhat belligerent when they brought her in. Then I’ll come and get you and answer any questions you may have. After that, we’ll talk about what happenss next.”