Drowning

Chapter Two

Lillian placed her hand on the door handle of Betty May's coffee shop and pushed it open, the rusty hinges complaining loudly as she did. Betty, the owner and sole employee of the cafe, greeted her as she sat down in a chair at the counter.
"Lilly! I haven't seen you in ages! How've you been, poppet?"
Lillian smiled wanly.
"I've been...okay, how about you?" She replied slowly, long fingers absently combing through her long red hair, pulling over her cheek to cover the ugly purple bruise.
"Just fine..." Betty muttered under her breath, her brow knitted as she searched Lillian's face. Lillian knew this expression all too well. Ever since she first came here when the coffee shop opened when she was eight, Betty always knew when she was lying and what was wrong if she was. It was uncanny, the old woman's ability to read her face like an open book. Lillian looked down uncomfortably, eyes tracing the loops of the knots tied in her bootlaces.
Betty's face suddenly hardened, fine lines and wrinkles showing as her brow furrowed and her eyes filled with fury.
"What the hell did he do?" She asked quietly, her voice carefully metered so as not attract attention.
"Nothing," Lillian replied, trying in vain to sound convincing even though she knew Betty would call her bluff. Suddenly, without warning, Betty's hand shot out over the counter to pull back her hair. Lillian flinched instinctively. Betty's eyes widened and she ran her hand tenderly over the swollen, discoloured flesh.
"Oh lord," was all Betty could manage. She turned around and began fussing with her ancient coffee maker, busy at work pouring cocoa and steaming milk, her hands shaking as she did so.
"Betty, please, it's not what it looks like," Lillian said weakly, her own words not even convincing herself. She reached up to touch her face again and was surprised to find it was wet with tears. She sniffed, pulling her sleeve over her hand and using it to dry her tears. Betty disappeared into the storage room and returned to Lillian, passing her a box of tissues and turning around to get the hot chocolate she had made for her, setting it down in front of her with a smile. Lillian looked down at the cup, fresh tears springing to her eyes readily as she saw the smiley face drawn in cocoa powder slowly melting on the surface of the steaming liquid. It looked identical to the hot chocolate Betty had made every time she used to come to the coffee shop as a child. Pulling a tissue from the box with a grateful smile and drying her eyes once more, she looked up at Betty, thanking her quietly.