Mrs Jones lowers her sights to her lap. Then she turns to me. “She’s still at the hospital, but,”—she sighs—“she’s not well, Noya. Your mum is now undergoing withdrawal and lashing out at everyone she sees. I tried entering her room twice until I toldthe doctor they should take her to a rehabilitation facility once she’s calmed down and stops self-harming.”
“Oh…”
“If you wanted to see her, I suggest waiting a month after she’s in rehabilitation. Maybe two. From what I’ve seen, she’s been abusing pain medication and… other illegal drugs for a long time.”
“I don’t want to,” I admit, grimacing. “She’s only done two good things in my life. She lied when I snuck out the window and held Dad down the morning before the police arrived. Two good deeds don’t make up for the thousands of times Dad put his hands on me.”
“And you’re right for feeling that way.”
I smile weakly.
I do, and I have a right to feel like this.
I drop Mrs Jones home, and as I get to the end of her street, I look towards the right, in the direction of the apartment, and then left, towards that house.
I take a deep breath and flick my blinker left.
62
YOU SAVED ME
I park on the curb,and glare ahead at the yellow tape still bound around the home. I wonder if the blood is still there, staining the tiles, haunting whoever moves in there next.Who would sleep in those rooms after knowing what happened? How do they sell a house like that? Or do people not care?
Those are the thoughts running through my head.
Opening the car door, the car beeps until the door closes. The door locks automatically, and the headlights flash twice as it locks.
I head up the steps onto the porch of Mrs Crawford’s house and knock. Mrs Crawford peeks through the curtain, makes a delighted squeal, and opens the front door. “Noya, come in!” she says as she ushers me inside.
I step inside, my sights drifting to the shotgun above the unlit fireplace. Then, lowering my gaze away from it, I follow Mrs Crawford into the kitchen. I sit at the dining table while she puts the kettle on and grabs her famous sugar cookies. I smile longingly at them, taking one out of kindness.
“How are you feeling?” she asks as she scoots into her seat. “I tried visiting a few times, but the police wanted more questions once I entered the hospital. Pests.”
Covering my mouth while I eat, I breathe a laugh.
“Anyway, what brings you here?” She leans in, her eyes widening alarmingly. “You aren’t going intothatplace, are you?”
I shake my head. “No. I came to see you… and to say thank you. You’re the one who saved me that day.”
“Dear, you don’t have to thank me. If anything, I wish I had got there sooner.”
“No. You got there right on time.”
Mrs Crawford rises from her seat, goes to the kettle, and pours the hot water into the sugar and coffee mixture until the bitter scent simmers in the air.
“How’s your new place? You and that cute boy living together?”
I smile shyly, feeling the blush creep across my neck. I take hold of the mug when she hands it to me.
“We are… and it’s nice. A lot quieter,” I joke, but as she laughs, I feel sick for trying to make a dark situation lighter.
“He’s a hunk of a man,” she says, sighing dreamily. “From the first time I saw him drop you off and then wait, I knew he was a true gentleman.”
I smile at the memory of Conner dropping me here, thinking this was my home. He has always waited until I went up the steps before he drove off. Now, we share different, longer memories, feeling safe, lying in each other’s embrace.
We talk for a few hours, and I know she tries to keep the conversation lighthearted for my benefit. And when I leave, I thank her again, embracing her as I say so. Even if she doesn’t believe it, she saved me that day. If she hadn’t come, who knows what state I’d have been in before the police entered the premises?
Would Dad have killed me?