The Mafia's Doll.

Night One (8)

Valerie Gauthen

Miss Mae welcomed me into her cozy living room, ornamented with vintage furniture and the faint scent of lavender. An aura of nostalgia and affection permeated the air.  

"Oh dear, I am so sorry to hear about your renovation. I understand that it might be unpleasant; breathing in so much dust is bad," she said empathetically, her eyes displaying real worry. Her motherly mentality, so authentic and caring, made me feel a twinge of guilt for deceiving her.

I created a story about my apartment undergoing a bedroom renovation, something I made to excuse my sudden need to seek a roof over my head elsewhere. The reality was much more complex, a maze of dishonesty that I had to unravel and the need to confront the cheater I once trusted appeared ahead. I wasn't prepared for any of this.

She asked, "Are you hungry, dear?" in a gentle way. Her lips formed a smile, her eyes sparkling with kindness. Her face was marked with wrinkles that each told a tale of laughter and joy, a tribute to a life well lived. The comfort of her presence nearly made me overlook the real reason I was here. "Well, it is so nice to have some company around here," she remarked, her voice laced with hospitality. The innocent-sounding but piercing question then arose. "Where is your husband? Would he also be staying with us?"

The word "husband" crept into the cracks of my mind and remained in the air like a thick fog. I forced a tight-lipped smile on my face, hoping she wouldn't see the flicker of pain in my eyes. "No, he's not around. For now, it's just me," I answered, sounding more composed than I actually felt. "We are just together--not marriage yet," The words slipped out my mouth.

Miss Mae graciously took the duffle bag, placing it near the bottom of some stairs before offering directions to my temporary stay. "The upstairs room to the left is yours to have. I stopped going up there ever since my joint pain started, and also, my nephew is staying, if you don't mind. He's not a bother at all," she informed me, her voice carrying hospitality. Nephew? This was news to me. Her having a nephew in New Providence was something I had never heard of.

As she settled onto the well-worn couch with floral patterns, I followed. The cushions were stiff, preserving the history of countless conversations. "What about your stepdaughter, Amanda?" My question flew out of my mouth before my thoughts could gather themselves. Her mention of a nephew raised more questions, but I hesitated to overwhelm her with inquiries.

My heart sank as the words left my lips, momentarily forgetting how I had intended to break the news to Miss Mae about Amanda Gomber. The room seemed to hold its breath for me, caught between the unspoken tragedy that had unfolded just the night before.

Guilt coursed through my veins as I sank into the couch, aware that I was harboring the knowledge of her stepdaughter's death while staying at her home. As I sat down across from Miss Mae, her face twisted in confusion. She firmly declared, "I don't have a stepdaughter named Amanda," eliminating any possibility of a relationship of that kind. The possibility of her aging memory contributing to the confusion flickered in my mind, but the thought disappeared.

I shifted in my seat and got ready to ask more questions. "You informed me and multiple other law enforcement officials that Amanda Gomber was your stepdaughter, looking after you," I gently reminded her, trying not to put her through any more stress. Miss Mae's face stiffened, and she got up from the sofa as quickly as her aging body would allow. Her voice quivered as she asked, "Officers? oh god, am I in trouble?"