The Mafia Kidnapped Me

(28) Are You Okay?

Pamela was sitting still, her hands on her lap, looking through the window, lost in thought. She was also having a sense of deja vu – except it was real. Her mother's body had been transferred from the hospital to the morgue, just like her dad had, weeks ago and she'd been there to witness it. She shut her eyes against the fresh wave of anguish that swept through her. Tears rolled down her eyes as she recalled how painful it'd been to see her mom so lifeless and still.

Even if she didn't want to admit it, she was feeling so lonely and wished she had been born a normal child, who lived in a small cottage with a picket fence, taking care of chickens and sheep and milking cows. She wished she had friends to be with her, someone to lean on.

She wished she'd never been home schooled, whished the few friends that she could count on one finger which she made in college were not so far away; she'd hardly kept up with them after she moved back home. She wished she'd taken friendship more seriously than she had, but it wasn't her fault, was it?

Being unable to go out with her friends as her dad had ordered, she began to feel like an outsider anytime they came together to discuss their exploits. Soon, she started to feel excluded because they never did anything in common, and that, therefore, led to them having nothing to say but greetings. It made her feel she wasn't part of them anymore and so when college ended, there was no need to keep calling and pretending they would have some "remember when's " to reminisce about.

"Pamela dear?"

She whipped around to see her mother's friends: Sally, June, and Bree. Without saying anymore, Sally and June moved towards her, their eyes brimming with tears. They wrapped her in an embrace. It was a gesture of love but Pamela couldn't breathe, especially when June – with her very generous bosom – hugged her once more. Sally on the other hand that was graced with frizzy reddish-grey or greyish-red hair unintentionally threw her hair into Pamela's mouth. It took all the strength she had to swallow her spittle to say thank you to their very mushy and teary condolences.

Bree, a British, who was the most civilized of the trio – always have been from the outset – didn't hug Pamela but squeezed her arms affectionately. Bree had always been the perfectionist: not a single blonde hair out of place, her purse always hung on her shoulders, and her skirts were always without creases. Pamela wouldn't be surprised if Bree didn't hug her because she didn't want to ruin her perfectly ironed clothes – if only her life was as smooth as her dress.

Urgh! Pamela stop! Why are you bringing such a sadist?

At least her mother had not been alone like her – that was the most important thing. It was unfair of her to criticize her mother's friends because no one was perfect, and the beauty of friendship lay in merging each and everyone's imperfections to create a whole universe of love, tolerance, and understanding.

Pamela genuinely smiled at them, tears filling her eyes. She was so grateful her mom had been a part of that universe.

She offered them drinks but they refused. When they were leaving, Pamela walked them to the door and thanked them again.

"The cops will find him, honey," Sally said, using her hands to unsuccessfully pat down her frizzy curls that were standing in the hot July evening air.

"Yes, they will," June said fiercely. "He will pay. I will post his face on my Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Quora, Telegram, WhatsApp, Google Plus, Pinterest, YouTube, Snapchat –"

Pamela was horrified. "Oh my goodness, no! Thank you –" She held June's hands. "– so much, June, but I want this to be as private as possible."

June nodded while Sally snorted. "She's not on any of those platforms."