Chapter 32

Nora slept restlessly—she dreamed she was chasing Jack, but he was always out of reach and moving so fast she couldn't catch him.

She woke feeling grumpy and lumpy.

Over coffee, she viewed the video from last night on the news website. It was just a clip: "With her hair swept over one eye, she said he had her heart." A paragraph below explained more.

Nora felt so sad for the woman in the Darth Vader T-shirt.

She took her coffee to the balcony that overlooked the parking lot. She couldn't hear the birds this morning—the sound of traffic drowned them out. She could feel the ghost of Nora hauling her gloom around like a heavy backpack as she Eeyored her way into Nora's brain. She couldn't blame her ghost—everything was feeling futile this morning. Her dead end with Jack, her dead garden, Walter's dead plants, her empty job search, her inability to really help Gus or bridge the gap with Lacey. She couldn't even shoot from the free throw line or blend a sauce. Plus, she was getting notices from her credit card company.

When she'd believed everything was different, she'd thought her life was better. Now she wasn't so sure. "Where are you, Grandpa?" she murmured.

The dark creep was real—if she marinated in negative thoughts, she'd drown in them for days. She forced herself to get up and do something before she couldn't and spent the weekend researching treatment options for Gus (expensive) and Brad Sachs (shark), the man who wanted Catherine's theater.

Brad Sachs had made a business of doing complete teardowns and building high-end apartments. His method was to buy tax deeds on foreclosed buildings and then evict residents as soon as the required grace period of around a year was up. He left people no option, which was what Catherine had hinted at—he'd initially try to buy them out for a few pennies on the dollar, and when they wouldn't or couldn't budge, he bought the deed from the taxing authority and started the countdown immediately. Catherine's countdown had begun months ago. She had less than forty days to get the arrears paid.

Nora needed to consult with a tax attorney. She didn't know any off the top of her head, but she'd graduated law school with a guy named Terrell Carter-Smith who'd gone into tax law. She would give him a call this week. In the meantime, she'd try to think of some roadblocks to buy the residents more time.

When the time came Sunday evening to make the dreaded trip to her parents' house in Rob Roy, Nora changed into a sunny yellow dress splashed with tiny white ducks and held up by two thin spaghetti straps. She styled her hair into a messy bun at her nape. Her dad hated messy buns. "One should take the time to groom oneself," she'd once heard him say to an associate. That young woman had disappeared into her cubicle with apple-red cheeks.

There was no valet at her parents' house tonight, but there was a car in the circular drive she didn't recognize. Only family, huh, Mom?

Sharon answered the door with a tray of drinks. "Hello, Sharon," Nora said cheerily. She declined the offer of a drink and went into the living room. The big French doors were open to the mild spring temperatures, and Cynthia and Drew Firestone, her parents' oldest friends from the club, were outside admiring the view.

Cynthia brightened when she saw Nora and came forward with arms wide. "Look at you,hon. You're looking very well, all things considered."

"Thank you, all things considered," said Nora.

"Do you have a scar? I don't see it if you do."

"A scar?"

"From the head injury," Cynthia said and touched two fingers to her own forehead. "Do you get headaches? Drew says that can be a sign of damage."

"Nora, darling, there you are," her mother trilled, emerging from the hallway to the right. She peered closely at Nora's dress.

"They're ducks," Nora said.

"I see that. I also see you're putting a bit of the weight back on." She playfully pinched Nora's waist.

Nora had not thought once about her weight in the After, and that was one small but powerful bit of change from the Before. She wanted to gain total liberation from her mother's view of her. "You mean the weight I lost when I was in a coma?" she asked cheerfully.

Her mother blinked, surprised by her cheek. "That's not even remotely funny."

"Oh, sure it was, Roberta," Cynthia said, laughing. "Well, I think you look wonderful, Nora. Healthier than I expected. Drew had a patient who was in a coma, and it took him two years to fully recover. Most people don't recover at all, you know. What's the statistic, something like 10 percent?"

"Well, that's sobering," Nora said. "I guess I'm one of the lucky ones." In a manner of speaking, she supposed, given her run of bad luck. "Mom? Where's my box?"

"By the door." Her mother pointed to a small box. "Look, here comes Lacey."

Thank God. Nora excused herself and went to her sister.

Lacey's smile was wan and there were dark circles under bloodshot eyes. "You look exhausted, Lace."

"I haven't been sleeping well."

"Is everything okay?"

Lacey shrugged. "Hannah. Hey! Your page is really blowing up."

It was a valiant effort to change the subject, and Nora let her. "I had the meet-up Friday night."

Lacey grabbed her arm. "Already? I missed it. What happened?"

"He didn't show. But I—"

"Nora."

The disembodied voice of her father startled her. She preferred to see his approach so she could get her game face on. She steeled herself and turned. "Hi, Dad."

He was nattily dressed in a button-down shirt ironed within an inch of its life, the cuffs turned up revealing colorful paisleys, and dark trousers. His gaze flicked over her. "How are you?"

She thought it might be the first time he'd asked since her accident. "Great! And you?"

"What do you think?"

"I think dinner's ready," Lacey blurted. "I think Mom is trying to get everyone to the table."

Without a word, Nora's father turned and walked to the dining room.

Nora and Lacey exchanged a look. "He's in his usual cheerful mood," Lacey muttered.

Her mother had taken charge of the seating tonight ("Sit here, Drew, so you can see the river."), and as a result, Nora ended up next to her father. Thanks, Mom.

The caterer served a Caesar salad to begin. What was with this family and Caesar salads? Nora didn't touch it—it seemed blasphemous to her now. Not that anyone noticed; Dad was holding to his end of the truce by ignoring her completely. He was engrossed in his conversation with Drew, a neurologist who had a former patient who'd filed a malpractice suit over a lumbar puncture that had gone wrong. Nora's dad was suggesting they go after the maker of the puncture tool Drew had used. Nora's stomach clenched just listening to them.

When the main meal of trout and potato soufflé had been served, Cynthia asked about Nora's search for Jack. "I read about it on the KXAN website," she said.

"Read about what?" her father asked.

"Um... the corner store guy, Dad. I told you about him the last time I was here." She turned her attention to Cynthia. "No luck so far."

"Your daughter is very clever," Cynthia said. "She posted on social media asking him to meet her at the corner store where they were held hostage. The article said dozens showed up in hopes of seeing a reunion."

Nora's scalp began to tingle. She could feel her father's displeasure dripping down her spine. But she had too much to lose now and would not give in to the fear of his wrath like she would have in the Before. She decided to roll with it—her life couldn't get any worse. "Yep, thirty to forty people."

"What are you talking about?" Mom sounded frantic.

"Nora," her father said, smooth as ice, "let's not have the evening hijacked by your—"

"I'm looking for the corner store guy, Mom," Nora continued, boldly ignoring her father in a way she'd never had the guts to do in the Before. "He's one of the regrets."

"What are the regrets?" Cynthia asked.

"When I recovered from my NDE, I had some strong regrets about things I hadn't done before I almost died. Like interests I wanted to pursue. Since I have a new lease on life, I'm doing them now. I call it my reverse bucket list—all the things I mean to do after I died."

"Wait," Drew said. "How does this corner store person fit in?"

"His name is Jack. He was a fellow hostage, and I really connected with him. I regret that I never saw him again, and I want to find him to say thanks."

Her dad laughed coldly. "I don't see how this man can be a sincere regret, sweetie."

"Sweetie?"Lacey whispered with revulsion under her breath.

"Makes sense to me," Drew said. "It's not unreasonable to experience something traumatic and be drawn to someone you went through the experience with."

"Trauma drama," Cynthia said with a laugh.

"I think it's exciting," Lacey defiantly chimed in. "It's very cool that you're at least trying, Nora."

"I'm sorry, but I can't condone this sort of thing," Nora's mother said. "Drew, you're a neurologist. Didn't you say Nora was possibly brain damaged?"

"Whoa, whoa." Drew instantly threw up his hands, his face reddening. "I said it wouldn't be unheard of for an experience like Nora's to result in brain damage. I didn't say she had damage."

"But how do we know that she hasn't hallucinated this man? I mean, when one's brain completely shuts down for several minutes, isn't it possible?"

It was both alarming and hideous that Nora's own mother was so casually hypothesizing about the possibility of her brain damage. "I don't have brain damage, and I'm not hallucinating, Mom. I had a life-altering experience."

"There is a more practical reason why you shouldn't publicly chase this fantasy," her father said, quite matter-of-factly, as if it were up to him. As if she'd asked.

"Not a fantasy," Nora said curtly. But wasn't it? How in the hell would she ever find Jack? Her father was saying aloud what she feared deep down. As usual.

"Because of the lawsuit I have filed on your behalf against the resort for negligence," he blithely continued. "You don't want to generate any publicity that could harm that suit."

The old, familiar quake of anxiety came back with a vengeance, rocking Nora's belly. "You did what? I specifically asked you not to do that."

Her father smiled indulgently, as if she were a precocious child. "I told you I took care of everything. You shouldn't have been on that beach that day, plain and simple."

This news was infuriating. Her father expected her to back down, to not cause a scene in front of guests. But he'd underestimated the new Nora. "You know we have no business suing them, Dad. It wasn't their fault; it was—" She had to swallow down a lump that suddenly lodged in her throat. She wanted to say exactly what it was, but the words wouldn't come. Something was blocking her, a memory not fully realized.

"It was a result of their negligence."

"No," she said. "That's not—"

"Can we talk about this later?" her mother interjected.

Nora ignored her. "You can't sue them if I don't want to. That's unethical."

Her father's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are you telling me, David November, what is ethical?"

"David!" her mother all but shouted. "Did I tell you? Cynthia is on the board of the Austin Ballet and she was telling me about the upcoming programs."

There was a moment of silence before Cynthia dutifully picked up the baton. "It's going to be a deliciousyear," she said and began to talk about the planned performances.

Nora's skin was crawling with anxiety and alarm about what her father had done. But there was something more, a feeling or a thought that wanted to be set free. Part of a memory squeezing her throat, making it difficult to breathe.

And yet it was also strengthening her resolve that her father would not railroad her into this lawsuit.

She looked at Lacey, who was staring back at her, wide-eyed.

Nora needed to get her box and get the hell out of here. She needed to breathe, to go back to her apartment where she could be anyone but a November.