Page 69 of Too Old for This
I haven’t talked to Archie about selling the house and moving. That’s a conversation I’ve been avoiding. Would he invite me to move down to California, to be closer to him and the grandkids? Or would he not? Do I even want to do that?
I’m not ready to know yet, so I haven’t called. Is anyone ever ready to ask their children for help? I bet not. I bet every parent avoids that conversation until they’re incapable of having it.
A knock at the door interrupts that cheerful thought.
Anotherknock at the door, I should say. Over the past month, my house has become the hottest spot in town. Under any other circumstances, that might be a compliment.
I get up, hoping Tula has returned with news about Norma having some kind of mental breakdown. I could use a bit of good news.
No such luck.
Norma is standing on my porch.
CHAPTER 38
She holds up a paper bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. The smell of Italian herbs wafts into the house.
“I brought dinner,” Norma says.
It takes a mighty big ego to assumesomeonewants to break bread with you. But I am nothing if not polite, and I force myself to smile.
“What a surprise! I hope this means you’ve found Plum and we’re celebrating?”
She shakes her head no. I open the door wider.
Norma wipes her shoes on the mat and steps inside. It’s cool out tonight, she’s wearing a nice pair of slacks, a sweater, a jacket, and leather boots. To anyone else, Norma would look like an average middle-aged person. But I’ve seen her latest post online.Normais not short fornormal.
Earlier today, she posted a picture from the window of her hotel room. The Harmony faces the mountains and cliffs, the views that make people want to live here.
Dreaming of Plum. She is starting to haunt me.
#WhereIsMyBaby #CantStop
I wave her inside.
“Come on in.”
She follows me into the kitchen, plops the paper bag on mycounter, and starts unpacking our meal. It comes from a downtown bistro. I’ve been there a few times with Archie.
I hand her plates from my everyday set—not my good china—along with serving spoons and a wine opener. I go into the dining room and set up the table while she dishes out the food. From the outside looking in, we look like two friends having dinner.
From the inside looking out, it feels wrong.
“The last time we spoke,” Norma says, “I think things went a little…sideways.”
“Did they?”
The table is set for two. Place mats, silverware, and cloth napkins. The centerpiece is a vase with fresh flowers from my garden and a couple of candlesticks. If I wasn’t so curious to know why she is really here, I would never go to this much trouble.
“I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did,” Norma says.
“Perfectly understandable. Of course you’re upset about Plum. Any mother would be.”
She sighs, looking a bit relieved. “Thank you.”
Dinner is eggplant parmesan, mixed vegetables, and pasta. The garlic rolls are drying out, but otherwise it looks delicious. We settle down at the table for what would be a very nice meal if it wasn’t with the mother of a girl I killed.
Talk about new experiences. The neurons in my brain must be working overtime right now.
