Feel Me

Chapter Eight

He asked her to teach how to play and she conceded. He was sloppy at first for a beginner, losing more times than he cared to count; still he played, enjoying her company and lively chatter. She was warm, cheerful and free-spirited…unlike her sister.

Later he found out that her name was Ebere and Lydia who was the first born was her only sibling. Her parents were deceased and they lived with their grandmother who raised them both. Lydia worked and fought through a lot of obstacles and people until she’d gotten that visa. They hadn’t seen each other in flesh for three years. About the same time she and Susannah lived together.  Their grandmother passed away a year ago. She was looking to apply for college here, as Lydia was almost done processing her student visa. She also wanted to be a designer highly sort after. A personal dream of hers.

The click of the lock drew their collective gazes to the slab of wall separating the foyer from the living room. Ebere rose at the sound of Lydia’s voice from within and moved to meet her, taking the paper and plastic bags filled with groceries from her. Ebere disappeared into the kitchen as Lydia came into view, dropping a bunch of keys into the ceramic bowl. Her eyes met Martin’s and stilled.

Martin rose from the floor with a small smile, awaiting her biting remark.

Lydia stood rooted to the spot watching him with a paper bag in hand, and stared dumbly. A whirlwind of emotions suffused her body; anger, irritation, amusement, rage and scorn blinded her, threatening to bust her brain. “Ebere!” she barked training a steady eye at Martin.

Her sister appeared from the corner of her eye, sensing the tension and acrimony oozing from her. She wasn’t happy to meet Martin. But he said she’d invited him. She wouldn’t have invited him in if she hadn’t thought that wasn’t the case.

She was sure Lydia wouldn’t toss Martin out by the ear. She never did that to unwanted guests, yet her frosty animosity was enough to send them on their way. Very few stayed.

A string of heavily intoned questions in her language came from Lydia. Angry and venomous, Martin felt sorry for Ebere who cowered from her scolding. He couldn’t understand their exchange of words but from the body language and gesticulations and anger printed on Lydia’s face told he all he needed to know.

“He said you invited him?” Ebere protested.

“Invited him when? Eh? When? Anama ju gị? Did I tell you I was expecting someone!?” Lydia shouted.

Martin stepped in, coming to Ebere’s rescue, “It’s alright, Lydia. She didn’t want to invite me. I persuaded her to–”

Lydia didn’t seem to hear him. “What if he’s a serial killer or a rapist, or a pedophile?”

Martin snapped. “And what is that supposed to mean, Kaanyimara? A rapist and a pedophile?!”

“Isn’t that what you should be called? A stranger inside a big house with a young girl of 19. What do you expect me to think? Eh?” she retorted hotly.

“Will a stranger know your native name?” Ebere asked a little too smugly earning a dirty glare from her older sister.

“Come on, mechie onụ gị. Shut up.” She said grudgingly. “Ngwa, take this bag and put the items away in their correct order and place. Then start cooking.” Shoving the bag into her sister’s hands, she turned to him. “I told you not to use that name. You weren’t permitted to use it.”

“I’ll use that name whenever I fucking please.” He snapped.

Lydia arched a taunting brow, “Eziokwụ? On top my name again.” She proclaimed with a disbelieving laugh tinged with scorn. “It seems God didn’t answer my prayer for a thunderstorm, after all.” She said moving to sit on the opposite him with a tired groan.