She runs her thumb along my cheek. Almost like she’s trying to commit my face to memory. Eyes as focused as they are decided.
“You don’t belong here anymore.” Her head angles stiffly behind me. “That’s your family now. They need you, same as you need them.”
“You’re my family too,” I defend.
“And I always will be.” Alma’s fingers pinch at my skin. Eyes glistening. “As happy as I am to see you, you can’t keep running back here.”
“What are you saying?”
My eyes widen, a dizzying spell sweeping over me.
“I don’t know what caused all this, but I know your home is with them now.” Her voice grows bold. “Our time together after today will remain where it belongs. Where it should stay. In the past.”
My chest surges, pupils swimming. I don’t understand. Is she trying to get rid of me?
Her head shakes on a soft chuckle. Face tender, loving. The complete opposite of how I am. “It’s unfair to lie to yourself. In all our years, we laughed, sure, but you thought you could ever only cry alone. With yourself.”
A lump settles in my throat. Her wisdom as blinding as it is igniting.
My throat catches. “You heard me, then? All of it?”
She gives me a sympathetic look.
I should be upset that she’s eavesdropped, but I’m not. I could never be mad at the only woman who’s ever looked out for me.
“Those people got you to do something I never could. They got you to open up. Talk. Express what’s inside that sharp mind of yours.”
“We talked,” I defend.
“Maybe,” she agrees. “But never like that.”
She’s right, and it is headache inducing, annoying.
For so long, I shut things out. Moving robotically to make it through each day. Breathing but not living.
Stuck in my own form of purgatory, like Lillian. Her death is the reason I’d been forced to wake up. Flourishing like a flower that found its bloom once I had.
“You think this is the right choice?”
Alma’s head jerks back. Hating that she also catches the insecurity in my voice.
Her brow arches. “You think those four boys would have come all this way if they didn’t think you are worth it?” Disbelief tinges her voice.
I give her a tight, unhappy smile that wouldn’t fool a clown. She said four, not three. Alma noticed Iceman’s car yesterday too. It’s here again. Far enough away that it’s buried in the shadows but not unnoticeable—his favorite place to be.
My chin dips, folding in on itself. “How’d you know?”
She huffs, shoulder standing proud. Carrying too much pride and self-worth.
“I may be old, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I know what hatred that’s really disguised as hurt looks like.”
My lower lip wobbles as I focus on nothing. Flicking at a piece of dead skin along my thumb until it tears. Cutting too wide.
The pain is instant, but it’s better than talking about this. About him.
One minute I want to smash that too-perfect face with my fist and the next, all I can do is cry. The second I’d done, a lot.
The other means I’d have to be within reaching distance and that’s something I don’t think I can manage. Not without the second part happening again.