Chapter 33

Nora had hoped for vindication in the box of papers James had grabbed from her office, or maybe for a job lead she hadn't thought of. But there was nothing useful other than the paper copy of her contacts.

She went over the list several times, wondering how exactly she was going to call these people to ask them to hire her. The very idea filled her with fear, as if she was exposing some major flaw in her character—an inability to abide her father and a weakness in litigation. She wished she could talk to Dr.Cass—she was always so encouraging, pointing out things Nora maybe hadn't considered. But her rate was three hundred dollars an hour, and there was no way Nora could afford that right now.

She told herself to put on her big girl panties, ate several cookies for sugary carb courage, and then started making calls.

Most of them rolled to voice mail. Those who answered listened to the spiel she'd prepared about looking for a new opportunity, a chance to spread her wings, blah, blah, blah. They said, sure, if something came up, they'd give her a call.

Fisher Franks, an attorney she knew with the Loewe firm, answered on the first ring. He was a rancher-turned-lawyer, a good ol' boy with a decidedly Texas swagger. After she'd given her spiel, he asked her about her accident. "I hear you had some sort of weird surfing accident."

Nora was taken aback. "I did."

"And you almost drowned?"

"Um... yes."

"I've never surfed that part of the coast."

He'd probably never surfed at all on a cold, wet, and wintry day just to push himself to the limit to see what he could feel. Well, Nora had. She'd been so numbed by bouts of depression, she'd wanted to feel anything.

"Anyway, why would you want to leave your dad's firm? You won't get a better deal anywhere else."

"I need a change of pace."

"Interesting," he drawled, clearly not believing a word she'd said. "I don't know of anything off the top of my head, but I'll let you know if anything opens up."

"I'd appreciate it." Nora was gripping her phone so tightly it was a wonder it didn't break. She said goodbye and clicked off, then tossed her phone across the room as if it had burned her.

She got up and went to the window and stared out. Surfside Beach came roaring back to her mind's eye. The cold and the wind. The spray in her face. The water so dark and choppy. She could see herself on the beach... but then what?

It wouldn't come. She shook her head and turned back to her task.

***

After the better part of two days spent calling people on her contact list with nothing to show for it, Nora texted Gus to remind him about the painting class later in the week and to tell him she'd found a rehab ranch in Smithville, men only, and potentially affordable. Gus apparently listened to her message because later that afternoon he texted her a thumbs-up.

Tonight she was cooking for Lacey. She stopped on the way to Lacey's house to get the ingredients for the chicken dish and garlic sauce that she planned to make. Surely she could bake chicken without screwing it up. She picked up a cake mix and those ingredients too. If all else went to hell, at least there would be cake. Now, that was something she knew how to do—no one who'd ever suffered from depression avoided carbs. Nora knew better than most—her mother had kept a running tally of her carb intake in the Before.

Lacey wasn't home when Nora arrived, so she let herself in. The kitchen was still cluttered with boxes, dishes, pots, pans, and lots of paper for packing, and even a dried flower wreath. Nora pushed it all aside to make the cake.

Lacey arrived a half hour after Nora, looking exhausted, and headed for the fridge.

"What's new?" Nora asked as Lacey poured a healthy glass of white wine.

"The same," she said wearily and filled Nora in on the latest round of fighting with Hannah. She said it was truly over, and they were selling the house.

"But you worked so hard on it," Nora said.

"Yeah," Lacey said sadly. "You're lucky you've never had any long-term relationships. Because when they end, it sucks."

It wasn't that Nora hadn't wanted relationships—she just wasn't any good at them. The few times she managed to get out of her own head and date, something inevitably would get in the way: work, her family, her depression, her anxiety.

"Speaking of which, I really hope you find Jack," Lacey said. "Did you see the comment suggesting you buy a billboard on I-35?"

"If I had the money, I'd try it."

The cake came out of the oven, and as Nora iced it, she told Lacey about the art class with Gus and that she'd found a potential treatment facility.

Lacey groaned. "Treatment again? Why bother? Gus is going to drink himself to death."

"Lacey!"

"Am I wrong? Sorry, but I had to get off that roller coaster. Treatment never works for him."

A heat crept into Nora's cheeks. They'd all leaned on Lacey too much. That's what happened to smart, capable women—everyone needed them. "Anyway, it's a ranch near Smithville. Men only."

"How much?"

Nora sighed. "Thousands." She set the finished cake aside.

"Dad won't pay, you know. He and Mom have written Gus off."

"I know." It hurt Nora's heart that they'd given up on him.

"And I won't pay. I took money out of my savings the last time. And you don't have a job. I don't know what Gus's financial situation is, but given where he's living and that he can't hold down a job, I'm guessing he doesn't have anything."

"Right... but I'll figure something out," Nora said.

Lacey snorted. "Yep. Good luck with that."

Tears burned the back of Nora's eyes as she prepped the ingredients for the garlic sauce. Gus needed her more than ever.

"So, for real," Lacey said. "Have you thought about going back to the firm?"

Nora looked up, stunned. "Are you kidding? I finally have the balls to leave and you want me to go back?"

Lacey shrugged. "Dad is never going to let you go, Nora. Who will be his son? I think it puts you in a position to bargain."

Nora's gut twisted with revulsion. "I don't want to bargain. And it won't matter—I'll never be Nathan."

"But you're the next best thing, and he's not going to let you screw that up. He's got this perverse sense of legacy."

"That's just it—I'm not the next best thing. I'm not the prettiest, or the smartest, or the most accomplished, or funny or droll or anything. I'm average, and that won't work for him. Anyway, why is it so important to him to have a son?"

"Who knows," Lacey said through a yawn.

It should have been you,the ghost of Nora whispered. She tried to ignore her.

"How's the job search going, anyway?" Lacey asked.

Nora's first instinct was to unload on her sister, but that wasn't why she was here—that was the exact opposite reason of why she was here. "No one is biting. But I took a case pro bono. It's a geriatric thespian group. They own a small theater and got behind on taxes, and there's a lien. You'll never guess who holds the lien."

"Who?"

"Brad Sachs."

"Seriously?" Lacey laughed with surprise. "What a coincidence." She polished off the last of her wine. "What are we having?"

"Chicken in garlic sauce. Grandma would be proud, right? Remember all the hours she and I watched those tapes of Julia Child?"

"I'm so glad she taught you how to bake, because that cake smells delicious." Lacey grinned. "It reminds me of the cupcakes you stole in the Cayman Islands."

The comment pricked Nora. "I didn't steal them."

All of them—Gus and his parents, Lacey and Nora, Mom and Dad, and even Grandma and Grandpa—had vacationed at a swank resort in the Caymans when Cancún became too pedestrian for her mother. They'd worn sun hats, and Grandma stuck paper flowers in the ribbons around the crowns of the hats. "It's a fiesta," Grandpa had said.

"That was the best trip until you met that guy on the beach," Lacey said.

"Winston," Nora said. Winston was sixteen, local, and sold water and snacks on the beach. He had dark skin, a mass of dark curly hair, light brown eyes, and a luscious smile. He could cast off a boat as confidently as he walked on sand. Nora had developed a massive crush on him. "He taught me how to gut a fish."

"Gross," Lacey said.

"But useful," Nora countered.

She'd spent as much time with Winston on the beach as she could, following him around, laughing at his jokes. There had been a molten kiss under the pier. She could still recall how his hand felt against her skin, sliding up under her shirt. His body, warm and firm like the sand, fragrant like the island.

"He was cute," Lacey said. "Then Dad found out."

The memory of that confrontation stabbed so hard at Nora that she was tempted to press a hand to her rib cage to contain the invisible bleeding. Dad's rage was potent—he'd grabbed her by the ponytail and yanked her backward as she'd tried to flee the suite. "Who the hell do you think you are?" He'dbanished her, and Lacey and Gus by association, from the sunset dinner cruise. He'd left them behind in their luxury suite with no food as punishment and commanded Lacey and Gus to call immediately if she tried to leave the hotel. But they were hungry, so Nora had snuck into the concierge suite and brought back cupcakes and orange juice.

She suddenly recalled it all—the shame, the guilt, the uncertainty. The terrible feeling of needing to warn Winston but not knowing how to reach him. The humiliation of being locked away like a leper. How her insides had felt ripped to shreds when she realized she would not see Winston again, and then the torture of imagining what he would think of her when she disappeared.

"Are you all right?" Lacey asked. "Do you need me to push your head between your knees?"

Nora shook her head. "I'm good." She wasn't hyperventilating, but she could feel herself gearing up for it. That was the problem with anxiety—sometimes it crept in before you knew it was there. She rubbed her forehead. "Why was Dad so mad? That's what happens when you're seventeen and on vacation—you meet a cute boy, you develop a crush, and it's over when you get on the plane. It's not like I came home pregnant."

Lacey snorted. "Why is Dad ever anything? He's a racist and a misogynist, and I'm like ninety-ninepercent sure he's an adulterer. And a narcissist, we mustn't forget that."

Nothing about dear old Dad surprised Nora, but to hear Lacey put it all together was sort of startling in its obvious truth.

"Do I have time to shower?" Lacey asked.

"Yep," Nora said. "I'm going to make the sauce and then cook the chicken."

"Great, I'm starving," Lacey said. She topped off her wine and left the kitchen.

Nora got out a pan to make the sauce and checked Bernice's recipe. She put the required amount of oil into the pan and turned on the gas burner, then went back to her phone on the counter to read the next steps. But she got distracted by the memory of how Grandpa had come to her rescue that awful summer in the Caymans. He claimed he and Grandma wanted to go home and took her with them. But Nora knew her father had sent her away. While the rest of the family remained in the Caymans for the next ten days, Nora was curled on the window seat in Grandma's kitchen on the farm, mourning Winston.

An acrid smell filled her nose. Nora glanced over her shoulder—the dish towel she'd tossed down had caught the flame under her pan. Nora dove for it, knocking it away from the flame, and accidentally sent the pan flying. Sizzling oil landed on her hand as the pan clattered to the tile floor. She shrieked at the resulting burn on her hand and looked for something to put on it—but the towel had landed on the dried flower wreath, which caught fire. "Lacey!" she shouted and frantically looked for a fire extinguisher as the flames spread to the stack of papers.

Not finding one, she grabbed her phone and called 911.

Later, when the firefighters had gone, Nora and her bandaged hand stood next to Lacey in her bathrobe, her hair still wet. Nora felt physically ill at what she'd done, at what could have happened. She kept swallowing down waves of nausea.

Lacey looked at the fire damage to the counter and the wall in her renovated kitchen, then at Nora. "What the hell?"

"The towel—"

"No, I mean, what the actual hell,Nora? I have to sell a house that I love, and now I have to deal with this?" She gestured wildly at the damage. "I don't have money to fix this."

"I'm so sorry," Nora tried.

"Sorry," Lacey repeated darkly, her voice dripping with derision. "You're always so sorry!"

The adrenaline Nora had experienced while the firefighters had put out the fire turned into nausea. "I'll fix it—"

"No, you won't," Lacey said, seething. "I'm the one who will fix it. I'm always the one who has to fix it." She looked around the kitchen again. "I can't deal with you right now."

Nora stared at her. Her sister sounded exhausted and resigned. "Lacey, I—"

"Seriously, Nora. I can't deal with you, okay? It's always something with you! I don't want to see you. I don't want to talk to you. I need a break. Can you just... go home now?" She picked up the cake, yanked open a drawer and grabbed a fork, and marched out of the kitchen with both.

"I'll fix it!" Nora shouted after her. But her gut was already churning with pessimism. Why did she think that after thirty-one years of being a loser, she could fix anything? How had she let herself buy the notion that she was different? She wasn't different—she was still the same old Nora, disappointing everyone.

Gone was all the euphoric certainty of life she'd felt after her NDE. Gone was all hope. She couldn't cut it, she couldn't fix it, she couldn't seem to do anything right but take up space.

Nice work, Nora November.