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“Her name is Nora. If you knew her, you would’ve known her as Nora Owens.” My eyes flicked away from hers guiltily. If they knew who my mom was, then they would know that she was married to Aaron when she got pregnant.
“I remember her,” Margaret smiled and my stomach plummeted. “She was very sweet but she always seemed so sad. She was married, wasn’t she?”
I nodded reluctantly.
“Aaron, I believe his name was?”
I nodded again and Trace squeezed my hand in reassurance.
“Derek told me about him. He said he wasn’t…” She paused, unsure if she should continue.
“He was a bad man. I know,” I sighed.
“Is your mom still married to him?”
“No,” I answered.
“Good for her,” Margaret smiled.
I swallowed thickly, debating on whether or not to tell them what had really happened to Aaron. In the end, though, I decided against it. They didn’t need to know what I went through. I wanted them to look at me, and see me, not the girl who was traumatized by the abusive father figure who’d tried to kill her.
“Are you hungry?” Margaret asked us. Before we could answer, she went on to say, “I’m starving. Why don’t I make us all a nice lunch and we can catch up some more?”
“Sounds good,” I smiled.
“Would you like to help me?” She asked with a wide smile as she stood.
“Of course,” I pushed myself up off the couch to help her. Before I left the living room, I turned to look over my shoulder at Trace, fearing he might be mad that I was leaving him alone. But he was already carrying on a conversation with my grandpa, completely at ease.
The kitchen was bright and cheery with cabinets painted a pale green and a white tile countertop. It needed some updating, but it was cute and well maintained.
“I thought we’d make some sandwiches, nothing fancy,” she opened the refrigerator, laying different items on the countertop. “Bread is over there,” she pointed to a pantry.
I opened the doors and located the loaf of bread.
Margaret was already getting out plates so I undid the twist-tie and counted out the right amount of slices.
“Are you in college?” She asked, trying to make small talk.
“I recently graduated,” I replied, taking the mayonnaise jar from her and untwisting the lid since she was struggling.
“Good for you,” she smiled, clapping her hands together in excitement. “What’s your degree in?”
“English,” I supplied. “I’m going to be a teacher.”
“That’s really wonderful!”
“Really?” I questioned.
She frowned. “You don’t think so?”
“No, it’s not that. I’m excited to be a teacher. Some people tend to be really negative about it though.”
“People…like?” She probed.
“Just people in general,” I shrugged. “My mom’s supportive and so is Trace but…”
“But what?” She asked, spreading the mayonnaise on the bread.
