Chapter 23

That feeling of liberation Nora had felt leaving her parents' house Sunday evening did not follow her into Monday morning. She entered the office like a golem slogging into the Before.

She was desperate to move on from her job, but her medical bills were piling up—she'd received one for "pulmonary services" that was eleven thousand dollars, of which her insurance had agreed to pay five. Until she found another job, she had to face the fact that real-world constraints meant she was stuck. Worse, the deposition for the bus case loomed, adding to her sense of urgency to find another job before she had to litigate it.

At the initial client meeting for the case, one of the kids had sat on the edge of the conference table as if he paid the bills in their offices, his thumbs moving over his phone. He was trim and cocky, like his parents. Nora's dad joked about how hard it was to find decent charters these days, and the kid had said, without a breath of knowledge or empathy or culpability, without even looking up from his phone, "He's probably illegal. You should look into that too."

That was the world she inhabited as a November—a privileged, can't-touch-this world where the less fortunate were looked upon with disdain, or worse, indifference. She wanted no part of it.

She perfected her procrastination each morning by reading the comments on her social media search for the corner store guy. The trolls came out at night, anonymous posters who declared her stupid in not-very-nice terms. Sometimes people had an idea of where she should look—usually something she'd already thought of, but she appreciated the attempt to help. Mostly, people saw her posts as an opportunity to tell their meet-cute story. Still, the shares were growing.

Her favorite part of the day was stopping at the garden on the way to work. On Monday, she intended it to be a quick stop, but she found the tomato food and the note left for her by the old man in Plot Seven. The find charmed her; she left a note thanking him and gifted an overgrown cucumber she'd found lurking in the back of her plot. She'd taken care to write in clear block letters like she used to do for Grandpa, so that he'd have no trouble deciphering her handwriting. She wrote that she now had every confidence her tomatoes would grow to be big and beautiful, thanks to his gift of supersecret food.

But her tomato plants were worrying her. They weren't growing, and the tiny leaves were beginning to brown around the edges. She watered them until she feared the Goodfellow Community Garden board would send her a bill.

By midweek, they had not improved, even after the application of the tomato food. She snapped some pictures of the plants for Nick, as well as the empty space where she'd planted the calla lilies. Nick said she couldn't drown them, so she watered them more—but she had to be doing something wrong.

She dragged the hose back to the spigot, turned off the water, then noticed Catherine standing in the middle of the path, as still as a statue, her arms akimbo, staring at a clump of beautiful rhododendrons. Walter, her constant companion, was nowhere to be seen.

There was something off about the way Catherine was standing, like she wasn't really there. A stroke, maybe? Nora strode down the crushed granite path toward Catherine.

Catherine turned when she heard Nora's approach. "Oh," she said. "It's you."

So, no stroke, apparently. "And a jolly good afternoon to you too, Catherine. Is everything okay?"

Catherine sighed heavily. "Nothing that you would understand. I wish Jim were still here. He had a good ear. I sure miss him."

"I do too," Nora said. More than she could ever convey. "Maybe I could help?"

Catherine looked at her sharply. "Help? I don't even know if I'm talking to you yet."

"Because I wasn't here for Grandpa?" Surprisingly, Nora asked this without emotion. Nothing Catherine could say to her would make her feel worse than she already did, or would erase the image of him lying on the kitchen floor that was burned into her brain.

"Well." Catherine touched the edge of one of the rhododendrons. "You have put in a lot of work to make up for it. He'd be happy about that."

"Do you think so?" Nora asked hopefully. Her tomatoes had given her confidence the old heave-ho.

"Look, I know I shouldn't take it out on you," Catherine said. "I always felt like I was in control of my life, but I wasn't. Same for you, right?"

Nora flushed with the truth of that. Was she so transparent? "I'm really trying to change that."

"Well, if you figure it out, let me know, because I could use some tips."

Nora laughed. "Really? Because you seem like someone who has life by the balls, if you don't mind me saying."

One of Catherine's brows arched. "Thank you. Unfortunately, lately it feels like everything is spinning out of my control and there is nothing I can do to save it."

"Save what?"

"The theater."

"What theater?"

"The Triangle Theater. Just up the street from here."

Nora didn't know of a theater nearby and shook her head.

Catherine groaned. "Are you kidding me? Is there any arts education in schools these days? The Triangle Theater. Home to retired thespians."

As far as Nora knew, the Triangle was the name of an area in central Austin. "What happened to it?"

"Happening," Catherine said. She reiterated that Nora wouldn't understand, but then proceeded to tell her about some financial troubles that sounded dire, including a tax lien and a developer intent on throwing the retirees off the property. She said they didn't have the money to pay the arrears, but nevertheless, they were going to try to raise money by staging what Catherine called a "brilliant" production of A Streetcar Named Desire: The Musical.

"How big of a debt are we talking?" Nora asked.

"Oh, thousands," Catherine said. "I spoke to a lawyer and he wanted a ten-thousand-dollar retainer to help. Now, where are we going to get ten thousand dollars when we can't even pay the arrears? We're opening in a few weeks, and we still haven't sold a third of the seats."

Nora felt a shift, the seed of an idea taking root. It felt almost like kismet, like Grandpa had made her look up to see Catherine, because this was something she could do. "Who's trying to get you thrown out?"

"Some guy named Brad Sachs."

A bolt of lightning went straight through Nora—Brad Sachs had been to her parents' home on many occasions, was one of her father's closest friends. He was a shark too, just like good ol' Dad. "I'll do it," she blurted. "Pro bono."

The words were hardly out of her mouth before the ghost of Nora frantically tried to claw them back. What did she know about taxes or tax law? Nothing!

The ghost of Nora begged her to say she would find someone to do it pro bono, but the new Nora thought maybe this was what it was all about. Could she start her own practice? Well, here was a case landing in her lap. Granted, she'd offered her services pro bono and hadn't yet told Catherine she knew nothing about tax law. But she realized, as Catherine began to sputter her ohmygodsand areyousuresand wecan'tpayyous, that Grandpa had kicked this problem out of his celestial garden and right into her lap.

***

Nora was a full hour late into the office after talking with Catherine but still called out her greetings as she walked down the long row of cubicles. Yet again, she had no takers. Assholes.

James hopped up from his desk, striding into her office ahead of her. When she came in, he closed the door behind her.

"Hey, look at this," she said and pulled two cucumbers out of her bag.

James looked at the vegetables. Then at her. "You're, like, reallyinto this gardening thing."

"I am."

"And you're really into a job search too."

Her smile faded. "How do you know that?"

"Because a Ms. Paula Ranstein from Maxwell and Graeber called to set up an interview. I made some assumptions. Why didn't you tell me?"

Nora gasped with elation. She had all but given up hope. "I have an interview?"

"Thursday at four. Nora, are you really doing this?"

She nodded.

"Wow. Does your dad know?"

"Not yet."

He gaped at her, shocked. "But... you're taking me with you, right?"

"If I can, absolutely."

"You'd better." He handed her a file. "Here are some notes on the bus case. For your meeting with Andrea to game-plan the deposition."

"You did that for me?"

"Shut up, it's my job."

"It's not your job."

"Whatever."

She smiled gratefully. "Who's out of the pool today?"

James consulted his phone. "Tamara in billing."

"She could use the money, right?"

"Definitely. She's the one whose baby has spina bifida. You have Andrea in thirty," he said, consulting his watch. "She's coming in hot. Like, literally—she gets all sweaty when she comes to ask me where you are, and then I get all sweaty."

Nora nodded.

When James left, Nora opened the file he'd prepared and began to read. The heat of disgrace climbed up her neck—this case would ruin the small family-owned-and-operated bus company. Where was the good in that? What problem did it solve? Personal injury law was supposed to protect people, not hurt them.

She felt weird, the way she'd felt in the beginning of the After, when her body didn't quite fit her skin and her thoughts felt as if they were about to go off the rails. This case had left the station, and there was nothing she could do about it—there was no way that November and Sons wouldn't move forward with it. But the idea of her trying the case sickened her. She wasn't the ghost of Nora anymore, wasn't trying desperately to be the lawyer her father wanted her to be. She was the new Nora, the real Nora. The Nora who didn't believe in cases like this and wouldn't be party to them anymore.

She pushed James's notes away from her.

She thought of the job interview she had later this week. It was the only one she'd managed out of twenty résumés thus far. She thought of Tamara in billing and how unfair life could be. She thought of Catherine and her gaggle of senior thespians who lived on Social Security without a safety net. She thought of her bills and her anemic savings (where had all her money gone?), and Lacey, and Gus, and her parents, and how cold and choppy the water had been at Surfside.

When Andrea came in, she was, predictably, all business. She had a game plan for the deposition. Andrea was a type A personality, well-suited to this type of work. She would go far. Maybe even make partner someday.

"The deposition is all yours," Nora announced.

"What do you mean, all mine?"

"I mean, I'm not going."

Andrea seemed confused. "Wait... what are you doing?"

Nora stood up and started putting things in her garden tote. "An excellent question, Andrea. I don't know yet, but I do know that I am not representing these clients on this case. It's a horrible, awful case—don't you think so?"

James got up from his desk and came inside. "Everything okay?"

"What does it matter what I think?" Andrea responded to Nora. "It's our job to look at the facts and make sure the full remedy afforded by law is made available to the client. That'swhat I think."

Nora sighed. "If only it was that simple."

Andrea helplessly watched Nora clear out her desk. "Is this because of what happened before? The thing in court? Kate told me about that."

Ugh, the wrongful death case. Nora had gotten heart-poundingly sick as she'd stood to present, and the judge had to recess court. Kate was the one who'd followed her into the bathroom and begged her to pull it together.

For the record, Nora did not pull it together that day. She had a full-on panic attack and a paramedic told her to put her head between her knees next time. Mason had to step in and take over for her.

"No. It's because I find what I do intolerable, so I am leaving this case to you. Take your shot."

"You can't do that," Andrea protested.

"I can, because I quit."

James gasped.

"No," Andrea said, violently shaking her head. "There must be a supervising attorney, Nora! I'm not a supervising attorney."

"Right." Nora scratched her shoulder. "Then I guess you'll have to reschedule until you get one."

"It's this afternoon!"

"Then you'd better make a call."

"Nora, what are you doing?" James asked frantically. "Your dad—"

"Is going to be pissed. Don't I know it." She had to gear up for that, but first things first. "Look, you guys, I'm doing what I should have done a long time ago. James, will you call Paula Ranstein and give her my cell phone number?" She stuffed her cucumbers into her bag. Then a picture of her, Lacey, Gus, and Grandpa. It was the only picture in her office.

"This is bullshit." Andrea picked up her things and walked out of her office, headed, presumably, for David November.

"Oh my God," James whispered.

"You must think I'm crazy," Nora said.

"Nora... no. No.I think, in the long run, you won't survive if you don't get out of here. Just remember you promised to take me with you." He hurried out of the office.

Nora figured she had only a few moments to compose herself. Curiously, she wasn't hyperventilating or feeling panicked. A peacefulness settled on her in these last moments alone in her office. She had not a single doubt that what she was doing was the right thing. It was going to be hard, and she couldn't think of money right now or she'd lose her resolve. This was a scary, huge risk. But she had to remember she'd been given a brand-new world and a brand-new chance at life. She had to take it or lose herself completely.

When her father walked in a few minutes later, she was sitting calmly, her garden tote packed and ready to go.

He looked at her, his jaw working. He folded his arms across his chest and walked to the window to look out. He was wearing a tailored blue suit with a checked tie, and his scruff of beard was neatly trimmed. She absently wondered if maybe he really did have a girlfriend. Mason's wife, perhaps? Nothing would surprise her.

He turned from the window. "I need to know, are you having another episode?"

Why did he have to make her panic attacks sound like temper tantrums? "Nope. I'm feeling pretty good." A little buzzy, but good. Strong.

"Any sort of mental health crisis?"

Nora smiled. "No, Dad."

He moved to the conference table and settled one hip onto it. "I spoke to Andrea."

"I figured. She's good, you know. And she's put a lot of work into this case."

"I don't need you to tell me who is good on my staff," he said quietly. "My question is, why haven't youput a lot of work into it? This is your job, Nora. You're supposed to do the leading around here—not be led."

"Right." She braced her hands against her knees. "Except that I'm being led by you, Dad. I told you I had reservations about this case. I don't like that you're going to bleed that company dry just to show your friends you can do it. Those kids didn't have the kind of injuries that require a lawsuit."

"Are you a doctor now?"

"No. But I know a stubbed toe when I see it."

His exasperation was evident in the glint of his eye. "Honestly, Nora? I've had enough. I've put up with your moping, and your accident, and your stupendous lack of motivation. I don't know what issue you're having now, but I would really like you to work on being present."

Her resolve expanded into her lungs and gave her wings. "Funny you should say that. Because at this moment, I'm more present than I've ever been. My issue is that this is who I am, Dad. I'm not the Nora who inhabited this office before. I'm a completely different person now."

His gaze turned thunderous. He stood up, shifting closer to her, glaring down at her from his superior height. "You sound like a lunatic. Who do you think you're talking to? I've done everything for you. Everything!I took my father's two-bit operation and turned it into one of the largest firms in this city. I created a kingdom so that you wouldn't have to lift much more than a finger. You've had your little seaside jaunt and your time off, so now I ask that you be a November like you were raised to be and stop embarrassing us."

The force of his words, and the unmitigated disdain, stirred up the bees, causing the humming to crescendo to the point it felt a little like her father was talking to her from the other side of a glass wall. "My seaside jaunt?" She laughed bitterly.

His nostrils flared. "Get your shit together," he snapped. "And grow up. Not everything has to have some noble cause behind it. Not everything in life has to make sense to you. Do your job and stop making me look bad. I'm out of patience."

She would have been smart to leave it there, but the bees had begun to swarm, and she couldn't help herself. "You think I'm making you look bad? I'm listening to my conscience. I'm thinking about what we do here and how oily it is sometimes. That's what makes you look bad—not me."

"You're pathetic," he snarled. "You're weaker than I ever imagined."

She'd always suspected he couldn't abide her, but now she could feel it coming off him in waves. And although it was devastating that her father didn't like her, she was relieved that, for once, she could face it headlong. "I never should have come to work here. You wanted Nathan, and I wanted to be him for you. We both tried so hard to make that happen. But, Dad... Nathan is dead. I'm Nora. And I'm done here. Consider this my resignation."

Her father was uncharacteristically speechless, his mouth gaping at her like a fish seeking air. "What in the hell are you talking about? After all I've done for you? After all I've givenyou? Where is your gratitude?"

Gratitude. She didn't feel grateful; she felt like she was swimming against a tide, to escape a father and a twin she never knew.

Dad shifted closer, his presence bearing down on her. "You listen to me, you ungrateful little bitch," he said with such iciness that a shiver ran down her spine. She could feel herself wanting to curl into a ball, to hide, just like she had as a girl. "I don't give a damn about your conscience. I risked a lot to put you in a plum position, and this is how you repay me?"

She was shaking internally, and she hoped to high heaven that he didn't see it. "You haven't done as much for me as you think you have. Don't get me wrong—I'm beyond grateful for the education and the opportunity. But you know this work doesn't suit me. And like you said, you took a small firm and turned it into a juggernaut. Why would you want weak, pathetic me at the helm of that? Just let me go be me."

"And just who areyou? A cook? A gardener?" he snarled. "This has been your problem from day one—you act like a child, and I must care for you like a child. I'm preparing to file suit against the resort so you can pay your medical bills. How does your conscience feel about that?"

Her conscience couldn't let that happen. "You can't sue them!" Her temples began to throb. "I don't want to sue them!"

"Shut up," he snapped. "Go on, go see if you can find a touchy-feely job that will pay you enough to live on. You're a selfish, entitled brat, and I'm sick of it."

In the Before, that proclamation would have put her on the floor. Nora slowly drew a breath. It was astonishing to realize she wasn'tentirely cowed by his anger. He suddenly seemed like a very small man. She felt almost indifferent to the heat rolling off him. It occurred to her that for most of her life, she'd thought she was the unlovable one—but it wasn't her. It was him.

His disdain couldn't touch her right now, and that was amazing. "That's okay," she said after a moment. "Because I'm pretty sick of you too."

She picked up her tote, stepped around him, and, putting one foot in front of the other, began to leave.

"Don't walk out that door, Nora. If you go, don't come back."

Nora paused, then looked at him over her shoulder.

His expression was thunderous. "You have no clue how much you will live to regret this."

"I'm pretty sure I won't," she said confidently and walked out.

Her breath had deserted her. Her heart was racing as she anticipated the moment he would grab her hair and yank her back like he had when she was a teen. But he didn't. And Nora kept walking, feeling freer and more buoyant with each step.