“You’re actually not who I’m looking for, but I didn’t want to offend her,” I said, pushing my thumb over my shoulder.
“I wondered when I’d run into you,” Lis smiled, her fingers linked on the table.
Confusion furrowed my brow. “New faces stand out like stoplights here, huh? Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.” I picked up my mug, ready to move on. I wasn’t about to fend off the questions friendly strangers asked in small towns.
“I know you,” she said, polishing her small oval glasses on her pale blue shirt before slipping them back on.
I hovered with my coffee half-raised, half-lowered, watching her through narrowed eyes. The skin on her arms sagged as if it belonged to someone else. Her gaze met mine with something close to satisfaction.
“Miss Lissy?” My voice squeaked.
“Gastric bypass surgery, the opposite of a facelift,” she said as she pulled at the loose skin around her throat.
I’d half expected my stomach to fill with metal butterflies upon seeing her, or for unwelcome memories to make themselves known, but there was nothing. It was like looking at a stranger. It was hard to make eye contact, but I smiled at her, not wanting to agree with her comment even though I totally did.
“I really wouldn’t have recognised you. You look good,” I said, then immediately regretted it. This woman was not my friend.
She watched me for a few moments with narrowed eyes. “What brings you back to little old Glades Bay?”
I wasn’t stupid. I knew her. And I knew she would know why I was here. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that in a town thissmall, with her family so prominent, she hadn’t heard who the new owner of Bellamy Children’s Home was.
I leaned back in my chair. “I’m guessing you already know the answer to that.”
She shrugged and took a sip of coffee while watching a mother drop her toddler off next door. “Going to move into that big old place on your own?”
I snorted.
“That’s a no, then.”
“That’s a hell no. I’m here to get rid of it,” I said, resting my chin on my linked fingers.
A flicker passed across her eyes. Excitement, maybe.
New goal: there is no way in hell that Bellamy Home will end up in the hands of Miss Lissy. A shiver ran across my shoulders at the thought of anyone reopening it under the guise of being a respite centre. You can change the language, but it would still be an institutionalised children’s home. Even the government-funded ones barely had oversight from independent agencies. They were glorified children's prisons.
“You surprise me, Riley Walls.” She said, keeping her eyes on mine, and I tried to hide the agitation I felt when she used my name. Irritation clouded my mind, and the temporary friendliness I’d felt towards her evaporated.
“You think anyone who went there would want to live in it?” I asked, and her expression shifted for the first time. Annoyance. I wasn’t supposed to talk back. Even now, apparently.
She let her mouth curve to hide it. “You guys think it was so bad. There was nothing happening there that wasn’t happening anywhere else. Times change, and we changed along with them. Honestly, your generation. A bunch of milksops.”
I laughed sharply once. “Is that what you tell yourself?”
Miss Lissy watched my mood change and seemed to enjoy it.
“I’ve hardly thought about it since it closed, Riley.” She leaned in. “Why? Does it fill your thoughts?”
Heat and nausea rose from my stomach. I wanted to reach across the table and slap her smug, sagging face. But I’d never been a fighter. When you know what it feels like to be physically hurt by someone, really hurt, it changes something in you. I could never inflict that on another person. Plus, I’m pretty sure it was frowned upon to slap old people in public.
Even when they deserved it.
“Do you know who left me the home?” I asked through counted breaths, and she looked surprised.
“You don’t know who left it to you?”
I rolled my eyes, my lips pressed together as we sat in silence.
She watched me for a couple of moments. “That doesn’t even make sense. Why would someone leave it to you?”
