7. Norah

Around 9:00 P.M., Norah stood up from Jessica's couch. They'd managed to convince Jessica to go to Port Agatha and speak to the police first thing in the morning. Like Jessica, Norah didn't relish the idea, but as it seemed to be an inevitability it felt wasteful to keep the debate going. Besides, a part of her was intrigued by the discovery of the bones. She wanted to know who they belonged to. She wanted answers.

Norah was a big fan of answers. It was, undoubtedly, why she was so fond of maths. The knowledge that the square root of this equaled that had always been a balm for her soul. Even when she took into account irrational numbers—numbers that could not be expressed as the quotient of two integers—there was certainty in knowing that combining an irrational number with a rational would form something real. Norah had thought she'd done that with her memories of her childhood at Wild Meadows. She'd taken her irrational memories—the ones that the police and psychologists had deemed to be false—and combined them with rational facts to form truth. But the discovery of the bones meant she was back to square one: stuck with an irrational number, with nothing rational to help her make sense of it.

It was why she needed to go back to Port Agatha.

As Norah slipped out, Alicia waved but Jessica didn't even notice. The irony of Jessica always worrying about her was not lost on Norah.

In the driveway, Norah unlocked her car and got inside, taking a minute to bask in the silence and the comforting scent of old dog vomit that had dried into the seats. Today had involved far too much talking. Norah appreciated the great wonder of communication as much as the next person, but she despised it in excess. She particularly despised it when the topic had anything to do with her childhood.

She started the car and was preparing to drive when her phone flashed with a new message.

My nose is broken. I've spent the entire night in the emergency room. You can't just go around assaulting people, Nora.

The message was from someone called Kevin. Norah was about to reply that he had the wrong number when she remembered the man she'd put into a cab to the hospital a few hours earlier, blood dripping down the front of his shirt.

Shit.

She hadn't told her sisters about him. She'd been distracted by the news of the discovery at Wild Meadows, but even if she hadn't, she probably would have kept it to herself. After what the judge had said about Norah running out of chances, Jessica would just worry, and what was the point of that? Norah could take care of this herself.

She picked up the phone and thumbed in a reply.

Send me a list of your medical expenses and I'll pay them.

P.S. It's Norah. With an ‘h'.

Three dots appeared immediately. A second later, another message.

It was a public hospital. It's not about the money.

Jesus H. Christ. Now the man had principles?

She turned on the car light, lifted her top, and snapped a photo of her breasts. Let's see what his principles thought of that.

For your pain and suffering.

She sent it. For a moment, there was no response. Then Norah saw dots.

That's… not what I expected. Wow.

She could practically see his revolting smile. That should take care of it. Hallelujah. Norah thumbed another quick message.

Just don't go to the cops, okay. I have a community corrections order. It's like a suspended sentence.

Lol. Seriously?

Seriously. You should count yourself lucky. The last guy didn't come off as well as you.

Kevin sent back a laughing face, which was weird, but Norah figured she'd got her point across. She chalked up Kevin's easy acceptance of the situation to the fact that she was extremely attractive, and men tended to make poor choices when it came to extremely attractive women. It was one of the few certainties in Norah's life that she could rely on.

She dusted off her hands theatrically, and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. There, she thought. She'd taken care of it. If there was one thing Norah had learned from growing up in foster care, she thought as she drove away, it was how to take care of things. Her methods were a little unorthodox, perhaps, but they had to be. Back when she was a little girl, it was undoubtedly her unorthodox methods that kept her and her sisters alive.