Feel Me

Chapter Eight

Martin pressed the doorbell of Lydia and Susannah’s house and waited for someone to answer. Despite her threats of not admitting him inside, he seriously prayed Susannah was in. At least she’d let him in.

He pressed the doorbell again, peering about him in the quiet neighborhood and frowned slightly at the silence, wondering if anyone was home. Susannah should be home. He thought. It’s been almost two weeks since he last spoke to Lydia.

A distant “Who is it?” came from the other side of the door.

“It’s me, Martin.” He answered with a grateful smile of hope.

The door opened revealing a dark woman the same tone as Lydia with similar features. “Who?” her curious dark eyes stared at him with a slight frown. “Can I help you?”

His smile faltered a bit. “Hello. I’m Martin. A friend of Lydia’s. Is she in?”

The young girl watched him with a curious frown. “No.” she said in an accented voice, same as Lydia, only deeper. “She went out to get foodstuffs.”

“Oh, okay. Is it okay if I come in?” he asked softly.

“I-I don’t know. I don’t know you.” She replied warily.

“Is the other lady in? Susannah. She knows who I am. She can vouch for me.” He said a bit to desperately, watching the conflicted emotions on her face. The mention of Susannah’s name seemed to lower her suspicion.
“Is she expecting you?” the girl asked. “My sister.”

“Yes.” He answered. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He did tell Lydia he’d drop by.

The girl gave him one last steady look, battling internally with herself probably sensing he was harmless, then pushed the door wider letting him in with a jerk of her head. “Come in. Susannah will come back today.”

He heaved an inward sigh of relief as he entered, pausing in the foyer to take off his shoes and coat before heading into the living room. He felt the girl’s gaze drill his back as the door closed quietly behind him.

“You’re certain my sister invited you.” She stated. “She really hates unwanted guests.”

“So I’ve seen.” He muttered under his breath taking a seat in front of the coffee table. The same one he sat on the first time he’d been here.

“Eh?”

Martin’s gaze shot up to meet her, watching her standing a little distance away from where he sat, slender arms folded suspiciously over her chest. Not that he could blame her, he’d do the same thing in her shoes. “I told her I’d drop by sometime.”

“But she never told me about a visitor.” She murmured moving to sit on the floor in front of the coffee table.

“Maybe she forgot.” He suggested.

She seemed to accept that and resumed what appeared to be a game. It was a long cylindrical wood spread up like a book with six shallow holes carved horizontally on each slab. In some holes were four, five, two and six baby smooth pebbles, while the rest of the holes were empty. The rest of the stones were outside the box neatly arranged on the coffee table.

Martin watched with curiosity as she played, taking the pebbles from a hole and dropping it into the empty holes. When she won a hole, a victorious grin emerged from her face.

“What’s the name of the game?” he asked.

“What?” She asked with narrowed brows.

“The game, what’s it called?”

Her face lit up with a smile. “It’s called Nchorokoto in Igbo. I don’t know the English name.”

Martin nodded in understanding watching the board. He pronounced the foreign word and the girl giggled then pronounced it again, straining on each syllable until he pronounced it correctly. He made a mental note to include Igbo to the list of languages to learn.