Page 56 of Too Old for This
“Who are you?” I say.
“My name is Norma Dixon. I’m Plum’s mother.”
CHAPTER 31
It was one thing for Cole to show up on my doorstep. Plum’s boyfriend was sweet and trusting, and it’s a real shame the police think she was running from him. But Plum’s mother is a whole different animal.
She has been looking into my life, following me the same way I followed Kelsie. She is also a woman who abandoned her child. No telling what she might do next.
“I am so sorry about your daughter,” I say. “This has all been so awful.”
“I’m not here for your sympathy.”
No, I bet she isn’t.
“Why don’t you come inside?”
She follows me into the entryway and down to the kitchen. I go straight to the counter and fill the teapot. Norma stands in the doorway and looks around.
“Mighty big house.” The words come out like she’s spitting.
“Yes, it is. A lot of work, too.”
She sits down at the breakfast table and looks around, studying each item in the room, and finally nodding to the fold-down ironing board. “Do you ever use that?”
“No.”
Her idea of small talk isn’t the décor. It’s about household chores. That doesn’t bode well for the rest of this conversation.
I don’t ask Norma what kind of tea she wants. She getschamomile. No caffeine for her. While waiting for the water to boil, I open a package of cookies and set them on the table. Norma picks one up and sniffs it before taking a tiny bite. She puts the cookie back down.
“If you want something else to eat, I also have some—”
“Is this what you did with Plum? Serve her tea and cookies?”
The pot whistles, giving me a second to think about my answer. Norma’s mood wavers by the minute, teeter-tottering between anger and curiosity. I bring our cups to the table.
“Yes, Plum and I did have tea,” I say.
“What kind did she drink?”
“Chamomile. Same as you have.”
She nods, satisfied enough to add a little milk to her tea and stir it. Unlike Plum, she does not get the string wrapped around her spoon. I watch and wait for her to tell me why she is here and what she wants.
“It’s like Plum just vanished.” She snaps her fingers. Norma has long nails, white with red tips, except for one that has snapped off. “Poof, your daughter is gone.”
“I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do—”
“What I also don’t understand…” She stops, her voice dropping off. Norma shakes her head and tries again. “What I don’t get is why she wanted to make documentaries about people like you.”
“Like me?”
“People who’ve been ‘wrongfully accused’ of crimes.” She adds those air quotes herself.
Norma’s judgment is almost thick enough to blur my vision. I blink a few times, trying to find a path through the anger. It’s already starting to build. Some things never change,no matter how old you get. And some things you never get over, no matter how hard you try.
Deep breath. “If there’s some way I can help, I would be happy to.”
