Coming for You by Deborah Rogers

Author:Deborah Rogers [Rogers, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780473513467
Publisher: Lawson Publishing (NZ)
Published: 2020-06-21T16:00:00+00:00

17

Not long after I leave Chris’s apartment, my phone rings. I look at the screen. Mom. Again. I think about letting it go to voicemail. I don’t want to talk about vacations to Bali. The pathetic state of my love life. Or how my career is in tatters. Oh, she means well, she really does, but talking to her is a reminder of what I once was, what I could have been. It’s like a fall from grace from which I’ll never recover.

My thumb hovers over Ignore. I suddenly feel racked with guilt. I can’t keep avoiding her, because she’ll think she’s done something wrong when it’s really not her, it’s me. Me and my inability to heal and move on from the past.

I duck into a doorway and hit the answer button.

“Hiya, hon.” I hear running water. I picture her at the sink washing dishes, phone wedged between her shoulder and ear. “You got my messages, then, about the vacation?”

“I did. Thanks.” I pause. ”How is everyone?”

“Your brother and sister? Why good, hon. What about you?”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

I hear the tap twist off, the snap of latex as she removes her kitchen gloves. “You sure? You sound a bit flat.”

“Did my boss call you?”

“Your boss? No. Why would he do that?”

“Never mind.”

“Is something wrong, honey?”

“I’m fine, Mom. Really, I am. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you. I know it’s been a while.”

“Why don’t you come visit on the weekend? We could go to brunch and visit one of the farmer’s markets, get some fresh fruit for you to take home.”

“That sounds nice, Mom. But I can’t. You know, it’s nuts here. Work.”

“Oh sure.” There’s a pause. “It’s just that I worry, Amelia.”

My eyes mist. “I know, Mom.”

We lapse into silence.

“Listen, I better go,” I say.

“I understand, hon. It was lovely to talk to you.”

“I’ll call you.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Something came for you. A letter.”

My mouth goes dry. “Oh?”

There’s a rustle from her end. “Well, the things is, I opened it. By accident, of course. I didn’t read who it was addressed to so I just assumed it was for me.”

“Who was it from, Mom? What did it say?”

She lets out a breath. “That’s the funny thing, sweets. The darn thing was empty.”

*

In some ways an empty envelope is worse than a horse’s head in your bed. It seems more sinister. More personal. More of a power play. See, I don’t have to do much to terrorize you. Just send you an empty envelope and your fragile little mind will do the rest. And, of course, there’s the implied threat. I know where your mom lives. I can get to her anytime I want.

I resist the urge to tell my mother to change the locks on her windows and doors. To move to a different town. Get a guard dog and some security surveillance. I don’t want to scare her. I don’t want her life to become the same as mine.

There’s no evidence the empty envelope is from him, of course.

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