Page 48 of Mortala
Maybe things would’ve been different.
But I can’t blame her for leaving just because I couldn’t. It isn’t fair.
If she had never left, I never would’ve had this place to come to now. I never would’ve had somewhere that felt safe. Somewhere that reminded me what it felt like to be loved without conditions.
I watch as Nonie lifts her tea cup to her lips, the steam curling around her face while she looks out over her garden. She looks completely at peace here, like this little corner of the world belongs only to her. I wish I could feel that kind of peace. I really do. But even here, surrounded by flowers and memories, that same uneasy feeling follows me. The feeling that someone is watching. The feeling that no matter where I go, I’m never truly alone.
Is this ever going to end?
“Not that I don’t absolutely love seeing you, Lynie,” Nonie says, pulling me from my thoughts, “but I get the feeling that you didn’t come here just to sit in my backyard and drink tea with me.”
Her knowing smile makes me nervous.
“What makes you say that?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Because I’ve known you your whole life, and you have the same look on your face you had when you were little and you broke one of my flower pots and were trying to figure out how to tell me.”
I laugh softly despite myself.
Her smile fades into something gentler.
“So,” she says, setting her cup down. “What’s going on, baby?”
I take a deep breath, staring down at my hands. I knew this was going to be hard. I just didn’t realize how hard.
“There are some things I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” I admit. “I just didn’t know how to go about telling you…”
Nonie’s expression changes immediately, concern replacing the teasing look from moments ago. She doesn’t push, but that somehow makes it harder.
“I think…” My voice catches, and I force myself to continue. “I think I have a stalker.”
The color drains from her face.
“A stalker?” she repeats. “Madelyn, what's going on?”
I swallow, trying to ignore the panic building in my chest.
“I’ve been getting these text messages, and I keep seeing things.”
“What do you mean, seeing things?”
She leans forward, placing a comforting hand on my knee. The gesture helps—it does—but it doesn’t erase that horrible feeling sitting beneath my skin.
“I keep seeing my dad’s car,” I confess, watching as her brows pull together. “The blue Camaro.”
“Oh, sweetie…”
The second the words leave my mouth, she pulls me into her arms. For a moment, I let myself be held. The tears burning behind my eyes threaten to spill over, and I hate that I still feel like that scared little girl sometimes. Like I’m still waiting for someone to come save me.
“Just because you see a car that looks like his, doesn’t mean he’s here,” she whispers. “You’re in California now, Lynie. This is a much bigger state than Alabama. There’s no way he would have followed you here.”
I pull away, wiping quickly beneath my eyes. Nobody knows, not even her. Nonie thinks I left Alabama and came here for school. She thinks I walked away from my father and left himbehind. She doesn’t know what really happened. If she knew the truth, would she still look at me the same way?
Would she still hug me like this?
I don’t know if I could handle finding out.
“Tell me about the messages,” she says softly.
