Chapter 4

Nora slept so deeply that her brain decided to turn the craziness of her NDE up a notch and take her through some bizarre dreams, replete with talking dolphins that dragged her farther and farther from shore, and then a skydive where her parachute wouldn't open with an ocean below her. And there was the corner store guy, wordlessly and valiantly trying to make a raft from his hand-knitted scarf.

Then she dreamed she was wearing the same beautiful blue dress she'd worn in death. She was trying to return to Grandpa's garden but somehow ended up on a boat that Ruth Bader Ginsburg was steering. When the boat started taking on water, she woke with a gasp, practically bolting upright.

Nope—no boat. She was in her apartment. These were the same walls, the same sounds of traffic outside, the same loudly ticking wall clock in her bathroom. The only difference was her. She could feel herself bloom into this new space in her head as bright sunlight streamed through her window. She felt happy. She felt at peace with herself. And she had an enthusiasm for daylight she'd never felt in the Before. Quite the contrast from the groggy dread of the day she used to feel.

She got up and hobbled into the kitchen on her bum ankle, brewed some coffee, and pulled the cake out of the fridge. She took a fork and ate directly from the box like a heathen. As she mindlessly shoved cake into her mouth, her gaze fell on a tourist brochure, the sort typically available in hotel lobbies, tacked to a small bulletin board next to her fridge. It was for the Laguna Gloria art museum, listing the exhibits Grandpa had urged her to visit there.

It suddenly hit her, the cause of the weird dichotomy she was feeling—she was firmly living in the After in her head, but her body and her life were firmly entrenched in the Before. Everything about her apartment encapsulated the snow globe she'd lived in most of her adult life: work and family, family and work, and nothing in between. Be a good daughter. Be a November. Doesn't matter how you feel. Doesn't matter what you want. What matters is that you are a November.

But Nora remembered she'd always wanted more for herself. She'd wanted to know how to cook, for one. Her mother had employed personal chefs all her life, but when Nora watched a cooking show or was at a friend's house where a mom was making dinner, it had always appealed to her. She wanted to know how to do that.

She'd wanted to pursue art and to be an athlete. She'd wanted to be Lacey's best friend and be supportive of Gus. She'd wanted a different job and to help Grandpa in his garden. And she'd wanted—desperately wanted—to call the corner store guy.

She'd done exactly zero of those things. Zero! What had stopped her? That she'd been in a funk? Numb to herself? Swimming through the doldrums? Dispirited, pessimistic, heartsore, gloomy, and blue?

"Also known as depressed," she muttered. Fine—she could admit it now. Her motivation had been hindered by periodic bouts of clinical depression. Days of feeling like her body was filled with lead and suffocating under the weight of it. Days when depression gripped her in a vise and wouldn't allow her to generate the slightest bit of energy. She'd lacked confidence in almost everything she did because everything she did felt wrong. She'd felt empty and useless and like an abject failure. Thirty-one-year-olds were supposed to handle their business, but her life had felt completely out of her control.

And then somehow, in the aftermath of a terrible accident, her confidence had been unearthed. It was raw and unused, but it was there. She could feel it in her heart. She believed she could do all the things. Right now.

But how did she go about transforming from the person she'd been into the person she felt she was at her core? That kid who'd followed Grandpa around, who'd wanted to try everything, to beeverything. What she needed was a manual for shedding the skin of the woman who hadn't managed to try or to be anything but what other people wanted of her. She needed a checklist.

"A bucket list," she said aloud. Lots of people made them, lists of things they wanted to do before they died. Except in her case, the list was of things she wanted to accomplish after she'd died. Because she'd died. "A reverse bucket list!" She dropped her fork into the box. Yes! There was nothing stopping her—she'd make a reverse bucket list and uncover the person at her core.

One summer when she was eight or nine years old, she had written a play. It was a retelling of Robin Hood, where Robin Hood was a girl. She'd forced Lacey and Gus to perform in it, and with the help of tables set on their sides to become a forest, and jackets and towels repurposed as costumes, they had staged the entire production for Grandma and Grandpa. When it was over (probably at long last), her grandparents had applauded and cheered, and Nora, Lacey, and Gus had taken their bows. Grandpa had wrapped one arm around Nora's shoulders and said, "You're a natural, kid. You've got what it takes."

Thatwas what she was trying to reach—she'd lost what was natural about her. But she had to believe she still had what it took to get it back.

First, she had to annihilate the stifling Before in this apartment and create the After to match what she felt inside.

Nora limped back to her room. She looked around, not sure what she was after. She went to her walk-in closet and stared at the clothes there, at the designer bags arranged along one shelf. Bags that cost more than one month's rent. She didn't like them—some were impractical, many too showy. It was a habit her mother had instilled in her as a teen—the bag made the woman. And if you have money, you show it.

Not in Nora's After. She would start by creating the version of herself that lived in her head. The Nora she liked, who didn't care about designer bags. The Nora she desperately wanted to be. She would wear flowy clothes instead of dark suits because she liked clothes with room and comfort and color. She would get rid of those purses. She would cut her hair so she couldn't wear a severe bun anymore and get some running shoes and eat cake straight from the box. She would be friendly and vivacious and great at parties, and she would always know the right thing to say. That was the woman she believed the little girl Nora meant to be when she grew up—the bohemian adventurer with a passion for sports and surrounded by friends. Not the dull, listless, buttoned-up Nora she'd become.

She could still be that woman, couldn't she? Sure she could. She'd just have to work at it. She'd have to dig, as Dr.Cass liked to say. Start from scratch if she had to.

She dug through her boring clothes looking for something that didn't wholly represent the Before and came upon the blue dress she wore in Grandpa's garden.

She pulled it out of her closet and tried it on. It hung loosely on her, but she admired herself in the mirror, recalling how she'd felt wearing it.

But then she noticed the dark stain on the hem, and a memory slipped into her thoughts like a tiny garden snake. It was suddenly five years ago, at the party her parents had thrown her for passing the Texas bar exam.

The party was everything she could have imagined. Towering vases of pink dahlias and chrysanthemums in the center of every cloth-covered table. An open bar and two serving stations where staff in white coats shaved off healthy portions of roast beef and heaped scalloped potatoes on plates. Two additional self-serve buffets, one piled with shrimp cocktail and caviar canapes, and the other holding slices of cake, key lime pie, and crème br?lée.

"This is crazy," Lacey had said. "This looks like the bar mitzvah Dad would have given his Jewish son if he were Jewish and had a son. Don't be surprised if they lift you in a chair later."

"If they do, I'm up for it." Nora had been giggly from the champagne and excitement. She'd never been the belle of the ball and had been happy to bask in the sparkle of all the congratulations and good wishes. It felt good. She could get used to this.

The place was packed; her father had invited the firm's partners and senior leadership. Half of Austin's movers and shakers were there, including the dean of her law school and the provost, both of whom were beyond grateful for Dad's generous donations.

Lacey had come with a stunning brunette. She and Dad had fought about her date before the party—Dad didn't want her to bring "that woman," and Lacey, who was very good at sticking to her guns, said she wouldn't come if she couldn't bring whomever she pleased. She'd won the battle that night.

Waiters wended through the crowd, handing out drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Gus was there, hovering near the appetizer table, a sweaty glass in his hand that matched the sweat on his brow. He beamed at Nora. "You did it, Nora," he said. "You're such a badass."

She had done it. She was proud of herself. But the smell of alcohol on Gus's breath had left her with the dull feeling that disaster was lurking. "Slow down," she'd whispered. "We haven't even had dinner yet."

"Oh, this is my last one." They both knew it wasn't. Gus had what her parents called "an issue."

Grandma and Grandpa were there too. Grandpa wore a tuxedo he'd pulled from his closet, a 1970s special with a ruffled shirt and a leisure suit vibe. Grandma wore a navy mother-of-the-bride two-piece gown, with a top that provided ample coverage and a skirt with an elastic waist. Grandpa had gone around the room, introducing himself to people. "That's my granddaughter," he'd say, pointing at Nora and rising up on his toes with pride. Grandma and Grandpa had the best time of anyone, garnering lots of applause by doing a "boogie" they used to do back in the day.

Nora had known most of the November and Sons law partners since she was a girl, when her mother would force her and Lacey to wear dresses and put bows in their hair and parade them through the office. They'd asked her what kind of law she wanted to practice. Environmental law, she'd said, because if she was going to practice law, she had visions of saving the rainforests and stopping the polar ice cap melt.

When it was time for the supper, her father directed her to a big table at the head of the room. She laughed and said it looked like she'd just gotten married. She reached her hand out for Gus, but her father stopped her. Gus and Lacey's date were not invited to sit at the head table. Nora remembered the helpless look she and Lacey exchanged. They knew better than to argue—Dad had the attitude of a general, and it was better to go along to get along.

Gus said it was fine and wandered back to the bar, bumping into two chairs on his way.

Supper was served, but Nora had lost her appetite—a ball of nerves had taken root in the pit of her stomach, a common feeling when her father was around. And then, before the plates were cleared, her father stood up, inviting everyone to lift their glasses. "A toast to my daughter Nora, who required only two attempts to pass the bar."

Everyone chuckled and applauded politely. Nora instantly felt queasy with anticipation.

Her father looked at her and said, "I am proud of you." The week before, he'd said she'd humiliated him by failing the first time.

Her father turned back to the guests. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that the future of November and Sons is set."

Nora's stomach dropped. What the hell? She'd been very clear that she was not going to work at the family firm. He'd insisted she be a lawyer—fine, she was a lawyer. But she wanted something different from personal injury law. She wanted something different from law.She wanted to be a journalist, out in the world. A war correspondent, a travel writer, but, as usual, she compromised her desires for the sake of peace.

"To Nora, my eventual successor. And November and Sons' newest senior attorney."

An anemic smattering of applause followed. Nora's mother frantically gestured at her to stand up. Reluctantly, Nora did, but her brain had been knocked off its merry-go-round. She felt like she'd been smacked, stunned into voicelessness. Who took a lawyer fresh off the bar exam and made her a senior attorney?

One of the partners, Richard Seinz, asked that very question in shorthand: "What?"

"Under my tutelage, of course," her father said, as if that explained everything. As if it was no big deal.

But it was a big deal, and there was a rumbling in the crowd, the swell of a few voices going from a whisper to a hot protest. Nora pressed a hand to her stomach. It was beginning to churn with the humiliation she sensed was coming. "Dad... I'm going into environmental law, remember?"

He held up a finger. "You and I will talk later."

"Wait a minute, David." Richard was on his feet. He'd been with November and Sons longer than anyone. His face was turning an unhealthy shade of purple. "We haven't talked about this."

"Listen, everyone, it's just a title. Of course she'll need experience, and I will see that she gets it. Come on, Rich, do you honestly believe I'm going to pass November and Sons on to anyone other than my own flesh and blood? My father and I started that firm, and when he died, I made it what it is today. It's a legacy I intend for my family to keep. I need her to learn from me, to get up to speed as quickly as possible."

"But, Dad, I—"

"Not now, Nora," he said sharply, as if she were a child interrupting his important speech. And like a child, she felt herself shrink into a dark corner of her soul.

Richard started to say something else, but a sudden crash startled everyone. Nora's heart fell when she spotted Gus on the floor, the shrimp cocktail on top of him. He was trying to get up, but his feet kept slipping in the mess. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I must have bumped into the table."

"Get him out of here," her father growled.

Nora did. Her father called after her—clearly he'd meant a bouncer—but she had to get out of there too. Her chest was burning with shame and fury, and she was breathing too hard, only a step away from a paper bag and her head between her knees. It was supposed to have been her night. Her moment to bask in the glory of having completed three grueling years of law school and finally passing the hideous bar exam. She'd realized too late that none of this was to celebrate her—it had all been about a power grab she didn't fully understand.

Gus had gained his feet by the time she reached him. He towered over everyone, his mop of dark brown hair unkempt, his shirt open at the collar. Cocktail sauce was everywhere—on him, on the floor, on her dress.

His bottom lip began to quiver. "I'm sorry, Nora."

"It's okay, Gus." It wasn't okay, but what could she say?

"It just hit me. I was doing fine, and then it hit me," he said pleadingly.

Funny, she thought, standing in her bedroom now—the same thing had happened to her. She was doing fine, and then life—and death—had just hit her.

Nora looked at the stain on the hem of her blue dress. She'd been living in the November snow globe for so long that she'd become desensitized to how suffocating it was. But then she'd almost died, the globe had shattered, and now all the things she'd wanted to be were vying for her attention. She wanted to be happy. To be the Nora who wasn't beaten down by the fear of failure and the need to keep the peace.

She clawed the dress off her body and threw it aside with the force of the memory of the ghost of her from another life. But that ghost was at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. That Nora had left some baggage, sure, some brain junk she didn't know what to do with yet, but this Nora, the new Nora, was not going back to hell.

She went back to the kitchen and found pen and paper.

Reverse Bucket List (in no particular order):

She studied her list. For a reverse bucket list, it seemed somewhat... lame? Maybe she ought to have loftier goals, like seeing the Seven Wonders of the World or building schools in underprivileged communities.Maybe the loftier stuff would come later, but for now, these were eight unanswered desires she'd lost along the way that she could feel pressing against her edges, changing the shape of her.

She looked at the cheap bank calendar on her bulletin board. She had two weeks, max, before she was expected back at work. Dread blossomed in her. She sincerely believed that where drowning hadn't killed her, her job might. She wasn't cut out for the work. She didn't have the guts or the drive to score a kill. She didn't have the fortitude to stand up to her father's withering criticism. She was nothing but a disappointment and a failure every day. She wished she could quit right this moment, but she didn't have a lot of money saved, and medical bills and past-due notices were filling up her mailbox. The smart thing would be to get another job before she quit.

She had only a couple of weeks to put the wheels in motion to change her life. It felt to her as if everything, including her sanity, was riding on it.

She needed to get started.