Chapter 15

When Nora pulled up outside of Lacey's neat bungalow in Hyde Park, she spotted only a single light on in the house. She could hear faint music as she stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door. No one came. She knocked louder.

The door suddenly swung open, and Lacey stood there with frizzy hair in an old Foo Fighters T-shirt and baggy gym shorts. She looked quite unlike her usual, very put-together self. "Nora?" she said, her voice full of surprise. She looked past Nora to the street as if she expected someone else, then at Nora again. "Wow, you cut your hair. It looks great. It's sogood to see you. I've been meaning to call, but I'm so busy, and anyway, Mom says you're struggling to get back into the swing of things, so I didn't." The words were rushing out of her.

"Why did she say that? I'm not struggling," Nora said.

"Whatever," Lacey said with a wave of her hand. "Come in." She opened the door wider.

Nora stepped into the living room, which was in disarray. This was not the way Lacey usually lived—she was organized, very particular about neatness, and very proud of the renovations she'd done to this house.

"You want something to drink?" Lacey dragged her fingers through her hair as she turned toward the kitchen. Lacey was two years younger than Nora, but she'd always acted more like a big sister. She was confident and competent in all the ways that Nora wasn't. Seeing her this on edge was jarring.

"Some wine?" she asked as Nora followed her into the kitchen.

"No, thanks."

"Oh, sorry. Are you not allowed to drink with... everything?"

Allowedand everything were a couple of curious word choices. "What do you mean? Wait... is Mom still saying I'm brain damaged? Have you been talking about me?"

"Not talking about you. Just... checking in, I guess. She said you've been doing some weird things and that you're taking a lot of medicine."

"Well, FYI, I'm allowed to drink. And I'm down to just a couple of prescriptions. But it so happens I'm not drinking these days because I'm not ready to return to any state of oblivion. And I cut my hair. Is that suddenly weird?"

"It's really cute, by the way. Not drinking is probably a good idea too, what with the medicine. You don't mind if I have some bourbon, do you?" She was already pouring it into a glass.

Nora slid onto a barstool. There were papers stacked on the end of the bar and dishes stacked on the kitchen table, as if Lacey had been cleaning out cabinets and drawers.

"I'm a little shocked you're here," Lacey said and took a healthy swig of her drink.

Her surprise pricked at Nora and, naturally, powered up the old guilt engine. They'd drifted apart in their adult years. Different lives, different hours, different parts of town. Different headspaces. Honestly, Nora had done more drifting than her sister. As far as Nora knew, Lacey had never suffered from depression. "I warned you I'd come by if you didn't call me."

"Yeah, well, you always say you're going to do something and then..." She fluttered her fingers in the air.

Another gut punch. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to, but she'd get busy and life happened and... She wanted to prove to Lacey that she wasn't that Nora anymore. "Lace? I'm sorry I was such a workaholic in the Before."

Lacey frowned. "In what?"

"In the Before, as in before I died and came back to life. Now I'm in the After. And I'm strangely sensitive to things in a way I wasn't before—like how much I miss my sister." Desperately so, she realized as she gazed at her sister's flawless complexion. She would give anything to have back the friendship they'd had as girls. They'd played together, traded clothes and makeup, teased Gus. Clung to each other when Dad was at his worst.

Lacey put down her glass. "Huh."

"Tell me everything. How's work?"

"Work?" Lacey groaned. "Diversity and equity training of staff and faculty is going to eat my lunch." She began to explain to Nora the new standards her school had adopted for training and impossible timelines and confusing contracts and so many other things that Nora didn't try to follow. She'd always appreciated that Lacey was a no-nonsense kind of woman who could get the hardest things done with élan. Lacey was really the son her father never had, and yet he'd called her a feminazi. He was so wrong about Lacey—she wasn't a radical feminist. She was passionate about life and lived it fully.

But the thing Nora most admired about Lacey was that, for whatever reason, she'd always been able to stand up to their father's withering criticisms, whereas Nora crumbled.

She thought back to the summer she was fifteen. Her parents had rented a villa in Cancún to see and be seen by all the wealthy Texans vacationing there—Important People who would think the Novembers were Somebody. She and Lacey were expected to be on their best behavior and attend every freaking pool or beach party to which their parents managed to wrangle an invitation. Her mother was a pro when it came to social climbing.

The day came when thirteen-year-old Lacey would not put on the bikini Mom insisted she wear and donned her favorite board shorts instead. Dad got so angry with her disobedience, her willful insistence on looking like "a dyke," that he'd sent Lacey back to Austin for the rest of the summer in the company of Leda, the nanny Lacey and Nora despised. Leda liked to pinch them in the soft flesh of their underarms if they didn't behave.

Nora would never forget Lacey defiantly marching to the car, her backpack slung over her shoulder with her anime graphic novels—Dad hated those too—still wearing her board shorts. She once told Nora she wore them every day until Leda managed to nab them and throw them away.

Life hadn't been easy for Lacey. When she officially came out to their parents, Nora had supported her as best she could, but her best wasn't nearly good enough. There were terrible battles during which their father would accuse Lacey of being a deviant, of being sick in the head. Their mother would say Lacey needed help, that it wasn't natural. Lacey fought back, challenging their beliefs as best she could, while Nora faded into the background. She'd been mired in her own teenage misery at the time and hadn't been much of an advocate, too easily cowed by her father's admonishments to shut up, uncertain of what to say. She wished she'd been a better sister then and in so many ways since then. It remained to be seen if Lacey would allow her to make up for that now.

"Anyway," Lacey said with another heavy sigh. "What's new with you?"

"Well... Gus finally picked up. He said it was his busy season," she said with a self-conscious laugh. "I didn't know that was even a thing in cell phone sales."

Lacey frowned. "Cell phone sales? Nora... Gus hasn't had a job in weeks."

A soft buzz erupted in Nora's chest. "But he said... What does that mean?"

"What does that always mean? He's drinking again."

"What?" Nora pressed her fingertips to her temples. How had she missed it? "I didn't know."

"Yeah, well, now you do," Lacey said, sounding slightly annoyed.

"I wish you'd told me—"

"Sorry," she said curtly. "I can't be everyone's personal assistant. Anyway, you had your own drama, remember? You thought it was a good idea to take a little vacation, and then you almost died and spent weeks in hospitals and rehabs, and now we're all supposed to pretend it didn't happen."

She sounded angry, and every word was a slice across Nora's heart. Before her accident, she'd been suffering a depressive episode. It was hard for someone as enthusiastic for life as Lacey to grasp how crippling depression could be. How it could pin you down, make it impossible to move or pick up a phone or eat or bathe or anything else. Nora felt utterly worthless during those periods. "I'm not pretending. I'm so sorry to hear about Gus," she said softly. "Have you seen him?"

Lacey shook her head and took another deep swallow of bourbon. "I can't take him on right now, okay? Between work and Hannah and your accident—"

"Hannah? What about Hannah? Where is she?"

Lacey's face fell. "We broke up."

Nora gasped. "When?Why?"

"A couple of weeks ago. She..." Lacey rubbed her face. "I don't know, honestly. She thinks I'm not emotionally available or something. That I'm always solving someone else's problems instead of my own." She picked up her bourbon glass. "Not the first time I've heard that, to be honest," she added miserably and polished off what remained in the glass before filling it again. "She packed her bags and left, and now I'm sorting out her stuff," she said, indicating the clutter in the kitchen.

"Oh my God, Lacey... I'm so sorry."

Lacey shrugged. "Shit happens."

Compassion mushroomed in Nora. She loved Lacey and wanted her to be happy. Really happy. "Are you okay?" She got off her stool and came around the bar to hug her sister, but Lacey sidestepped her.

"I'm fine," she said, quite unconvincingly. "Or I will be. I always am, aren't I? Heaven knows someone has to be in this family."

Nora reached for her sister's hand, but Lacey ignored that too. The rejection was painful, and deserved. "Listen, Lace... I know we didn't have the closest relationship in the Before, but I love you. I want us to be closer. I want us to have a relationship where we can talk about anything."

Lacey said nothing.

"What?" Nora pressed.

"I mean... great. That's great. But honestly? I just don't have the bandwidth to deal with your issues right now, Nora."

Another ghastly stab into Nora's heart. "Yikes." She tried to laugh it off, but how many times had Lacey called Nora in the Before to make plans, only to have Nora bail at the last minute, her day too dark to get off the couch? "That's a little harsh. I know I haven't been there for you like you've always been there for me, but—"

"I didn't say that. You've been there for me."

"No, I haven't. You've always been able to stand up to Mom and Dad, and I never could. I wish I'd had the strength to be more helpful to you."

"What are you talking about?"

"So many times, Lacey. Going way back. Like when you came out to Mom and Dad."

Lacey looked confused. "What could you have done? Dad was being an ass, as usual, but look at what you did do. You got my journal and my Spurs hoodie that Dad hated and said made me look like a drug dealer. You hid them before he could stab them or burn them or whatever. You were there for me in the only reasonable way you could be."

"But I—"

"Hey." Lacey held up her hand. "You couldn't have saved me. No one could have. You know who he is and you know he hates who I am."

The tears began to burn behind Nora's eyes and her compassion for Lacey surged. "I love who you are," she said softly. "I always have. I just wish I'd had the courage to say it then, and when you got the award for administrator of the year that I missed, and when—"

"Don't do that to yourself," Lacey said. "Don't. You were there for me, but we were a dysfunctional family, and it was impossible for two girls to know what to do about it, and let's be honest, two girls grew into women who still don't know."

It was a disquieting, ugly truth—they'd spent so much of their life swimming upstream.

"It wasn't until we were grown that I knew I couldn't count on you."

Nora blinked. "Oh."

Lacey shrugged. "Don't look so surprised. You know you disappeared. You stopped caring what was going on with me. I only heard from you when you needed me. Which, to be honest, was a lot, Nora. A lot. There was always some problem that you needed me to fix, and frankly, I'm tired of having to fix things for you and everyone else."

The buzz started again, climbing up to settle in Nora's head. Nora had asked a lot of her, that was true. She had a vague memory of literally crying over a beer on her couch while Lacey rubbed her back. She gripped the edge of the bar. "I was depressed—"

"Right. You were depressed, and Gus is an alcoholic, and Dad's an asshole, and my job is intense... and now this thing with Hannah." She sighed, dragged her fingers through her hair. "I feel like I'm Atlas holding up the world sometimes. I need a break, so..." She shrugged and turned toward the sink.

In the Before, Nora would have promised to do better and then wouldn't. But tonight she had a dull fear she might never get Lacey back. She didn't hope for better—she was committed to it. Her relationship with her sister was completely up to her now, and that was only fair. "I get it."

"Don't get me wrong—I love you, Nora. I never would have recovered if we'd lost you. Never. I'm so thankful you're still here."

"Understood," Nora said. "But you need me to be a better sister. I need me to be a better sister. I'm asking you to give me a chance."

"Sure," Lacey said, but her tone suggested she'd heard it all before. "I'm happy you're feeling so good right now, and I sincerely hope it sticks this time."

Ouch.She knew what Lacey meant. In the Before, she would feel great for a while. She'd be present. And then she wouldn't, because sadness was in her marrow. "You know, in the Before, there were days so bad that I would wake up just so I could go to bed again. I know it was bad. I know I was a burden to you— Don't deny it," she said quickly when Lacey opened her mouth. "But I swear I am changing. I feel so different now."

"Maybe so," Lacey said with a shrug. "You had a really scary experience, and you want to change things. I get it. But seriously, Nora—what makes this time different?" She poured more bourbon. "Honestly? I don't trust you. There, I said it."

Nora tried to shake off the weight of her grief for the sake of her sister. "Okay, fair. But I've been working hard to change into the me I want to be. I've been molting and shedding all the stuff in my life that makes me unhappy. Like my hair."

Lacey smiled a little. "I hope that means you got rid of that floral twin set that made you look like someone's spinster aunt, because that made me unhappy."

"As a matter of fact, I did," Nora said. "And I took all my designer bags and clothes to consignment. And I'm getting rid of my job."

Lacey's mouth gaped. "I don't believe you."

"Believe it," Nora said emphatically. "I mean... that's the plan, anyway. I have some past-due bills and medical bills and rent to pay, but I am actively looking for a new opportunity, as they say. It's on my reverse bucket list."

"Your what?"

"I made a bucket list after I died. So... in reverse."

Lacey laughed. "What's on the list?"

"Grandpa's garden. I'm going to bring it back. And be a better sister and cousin to you and Gus. Make art. Learn how to cook. I had my first class tonight. And, Lacey, there was a kid there, a girl—she had a basketball, obviously totally into it. Anyway, she let me have her ball, and I couldn't believe how well I could still dribble. My old coach would be so proud. I'm going to play basketball again."

"That's fabulous. You were the club's star player, after all. Until Mom deliberately signed you up for that ballet class at the same time." She suddenly laughed. "Oh my God, did you hate ballet."

"You would too, if you were the gangliest kid in class."

"All because a November doesn't play a masculine sport like basketball," Lacey added. "Too manly," she added, mimicking their father's voice.

Dad had sneered at Nora when she'd come home with a basketball. "Are you a lesbian? Do you like girls?" Nora had been fourteen—she'd liked everyone. "I'm sorry he said that, Lace."

Lacey waved a hand. "Par for the course. Listen, I understood way, way back that Dad was a dick. Anyway, I remember Grandpa taking you up to the YMCA in Pflugerville so you could play."

"Until Dad found out and murdered my basketball."

They both laughed as if it were perfectly natural for a father to stab his kid's basketball. But the memory made Nora a little fizzy with rage. She'd begged him not to do it, had fallen to her knees crying and begging, but he'd been so angry she'd gone behind his back that he'd been a little frothy at the mouth.

She remembered something else too. Lacey had crawled into bed with her that night and wrapped her arms around her. Nora ached with love for her sister. She would give anything to be that comfort to Lacey... if her sister would let her.

"What else is on your reverse bucket list?" Lacey asked.

Nora dragged herself out of her memories. "The corner store guy."

"The who?"

"Did I seriously tell no one about him?" She reminded her sister of the hostage situation, which Lacey remembered. But she didn't know about the corner store guy, so Nora filled her in. She told her about her search and posting on the "Lost and Found in the ATX"page.

"I lovethis," Lacey said, her enthusiasm returning. "Have you boosted the post?"

As Nora's social media experience in the Before had been limited to a personal Facebook page where she'd last posted more than two years ago, she didn't know what Lacey meant. "What's a boost?"

"Here's what you do," Lacey said and explained how to get more eyes on the post. They spent the rest of the evening eating chips out of a bag and strategizing how to widen the search.

When Nora stood to go, Lacey asked her what was next on her reverse bucket list.

"Art," she said, smiling. "Gus and I are going to take an art class. He just doesn't know it yet."

Lacey rolled her eyes. "Good luck with that." Like she thought it was impossible.

But nothing was impossible. Nora had to believe that.