Chapter 41

Nora had finished dressing for the theater when Lacey called. Her sister was slowly beginning to come around, thanks to Josiah, who had helped by getting to work immediately and being very good at what he did. "Don't you dare cancel on me," Nora said, skipping over any greeting.

"Are you kidding, after you made me buy twenty-five tickets? I'm getting my money's worth. Is Gus coming?"

"Um..." Nora had gotten a call she almost missed between basketball practice, a trip to the Stinking Iris, and her classes. It was from the treatment facility in Smithville. They had a bed. Everything after that had happened so fast. She'd gone to Gus's apartment and helped him pack. "Actually... we drove to Smithville yesterday and checked him in to a thirty-day program."

Lacey was silent. "But... wait. Did Mom—"

"Mom and Dad don't know. Gus told me to tell you not to worry, that he's got this."

"He doesn't have any money."

"I do. Not a lot, but I had what we needed to get him in."

"Nora!" Lacey gasped. "You can't. You don't have a job—"

"I've figured something out." Manuel Cervantes's offer for the rights to her story would be enough to pay for Gus and put a serious dent in her medical bills. She'd have to find a way to continue to pay for his treatment until she had that money in hand, but she'd figure out something. "I'll tell you later, but everything happened so quickly, we didn't have time to call."

"Gus agreed to go?"

"He agreed to try." Gus had been a wreck, crying and sweating on the hour drive to Smithville. At one point he begged her to turn around. He said he didn't know if he could quit drinking. But then he'd told her to keep going, that he'd try, and Nora cried for Gus all the way back to Austin.

"Wow, Nora. That's... amazing. I can't wait to hear this," Lacey said. "I'll see you in a bit."

Nora hung up. She reached into her closet shelf for a pair of sandals, and her hand brushed against the box of things that had been on the dining room table before her accident. It fell to the floor, scattering the detritus of the Before across the carpet.

Several envelopes and papers lay on the closet floor. She bent down to pick them up. Most were bills, some bank statements... but one envelope, made of thick cream stationery, caught her eye. On the envelope, she'd written simply, From Nora.

Her brain began to sizzle like fireworks. She slowly picked up the rest of the things and put them back in the box. But the envelope... she stared at it, the fireworks blazing, trying to form an image. She suddenly had a vision of herself standing on the beach at Surfside, and the last pieces of the puzzle of her memory of what happened that day began to snap into place.

She knew immediately she didn't want to remember it. She didn't want to recall how cold the water had been, or the terror she'd felt when water was going into her lungs and not coming out. But the memory came crashing back, just like that furious surf had rushed the beach. She'd been wild with hysteria as she'd felt herself sinking into the dark depths of the Gulf, understanding there was no turning back.

Nora stood there in her closet like she was standing on that beach, her eyes closed, and forced herself to open that door, to remember every detail. She could almost feel the cold and the weight of her body as the air had left her. She could still feel the pressing desire not to exist any longer.

It was a relief to know that her heart had moved on from that horrible day, had even tried to hide that day from her because it was so gruesome. But she was stronger now, and Nora never wanted to forget how far she'd sunk into her private anguish that she'd believed death was infinitely better than life. That she needed to deliberately walk into that water to end her pain and suffering once and for all.

She couldn't say how she'd gotten so despondent that she'd decided that was her only option—it was a long accumulation of despair, of feeling worthless, of whispers in her thoughts that she was already dead inside, so what was the point of living? She'd just wanted to stop feeling awful all the time and had lost any will to do anything about it. Existing was hard enough as it was. She'd always heard drowning was a peaceful way to die. She'd had a man from the resort take her to a beach where the warning signs were out for riptide currents. She thought she'd walk into the Gulf and the current would carry her out to a peaceful death, à la Hamlet's Ophelia, and she would no longer feel pain.

Nothing could be further from the truth. It was a truly terrifying experience to realize she wanted to live at the very moment she'd ended any possibility of it.

And then, for some reason, she'd been given a second chance.

Nora opened her eyes. She needed to always remember everything about that day so she could measure how far she'd come. She needed to remember how vicious despair could be if she let it in, and how illuminating and uplifting love could be if she practiced it every day—loving herself, loving her family, loving others, loving life.

She was a calla lily, pushing out of heavy wet sand, growing stronger and taller than she'd ever been. Nothing was going to stop her now.

Nora put the box back on the shelf and carried the envelope across the room and tossed it into the trash can. What was written on the note card in that envelope—the apology to her family, the incoherent explanation of why she'd made that choice—had been penned by the ghost of Nora, and none of it applied to her now. No matter how difficult things would get, those words, and that person, were not who she was anymore.

***

Two hours later, she stood on the sidewalk in front of the Triangle Theater awaiting her guests.

James was the first to arrive. He'd brought a date. "I hope you didn't oversell the musical," Nora muttered as his date got out of the other side of the Uber.

"He lovesmusicals. And he's dying to get a glimpse of you. You're famous now. By the way, I gave my cousin your number. He needs an attorney to help with a workman's comp claim." He waggled his brows at her.

"James! I don't know what I'm doing about work yet."

"Don't be absurd. And you need to make some money, honey, if you're going to employ the best legal assistant in town."

The next guests to arrive were Nick, in the company of two members from his exclusive gardening club, senior citizens wearing matching bucket hats embroidered with a stinking iris. "You didn't tell me you got a hat if you join the gardening club," she complained, admiring them.

Nick looked at the women. "These ladies belong to the Mighty Girls' Gardening Group. I had in mind the Green Thumb Club for you. The kids' group. They get a discount on gloves too."

Okay, well... all gardeners had to start somewhere.

Tanya came with Josiah. But no Willow. "She could not be convinced," Tanya said apologetically.

Nora laughed. "I understand. Senior citizen musical theater is not for everyone."

A group of people walked up from the street. Many of them were dressed in dirty clothes, but a couple of them had tried to clean up. They lived in a homeless encampment a couple of blocks away. Nora had bought the entire premium seat section—thirty dollars a seat. And then she'd walked the tickets down the street to the camp. These tickets hadn't sold, and she didn't want the seats to be empty for Catherine and her friends. Some people at the homeless camp were skeptical. But then she mentioned the air-conditioning.

She'd add the tickets to her growing list of things that she needed to figure out how to pay for.

Last, and almost late, a town car pulled up to the curb. Nora's mother was the first one out. She looked up. "I thought you said it was a theater."

"It is, Mom."

Next was Lacey, who popped out, put her hands to her back and stretched, then looked at Nora and rolled her eyes. Good luck,she mouthed.

And then came Nora's father. In all honesty, she hadn't expected him to show. And after one look at him, she wished he hadn't. His jaw was clenched, his gaze hard. He looked agitated as he took in the dilapidated building. For a moment, Nora felt sorry for him. It must be hard work to be a dick all day, every day.

"Thank you for coming," she said. "I know this isn't the sort of philanthropy our family is accustomed to, but sometimes help can take the form of moral support."

Her father slowly turned his head from his study of the theater and pinned her with a dark look. Oh, but that was one that would have slayed her in the Before, making her want to fade into the wallpaper. "Okay!" she said cheerfully. "This way." She led them into the theater.

Their seats, admittedly, were not great. The better seats had gone to friends and family of the cast. Nora's mother was so confused by the needlepointed seat covers that she ended up sitting on her scarf, apparently convinced the yarn was covering something heinous.

Nora's seat was behind a giant column so she could see only half the stage. The place wasn't yet full, but people were trickling in.

"Hey, here's a fun fact—the actress who plays Blanche was a friend of Grandpa's," she said.

"That's nice," her mother said absently.

When the curtain finally came up, it stuck, and Walter had to run out and untangle a cord. Eventually it came all the way up and the cast trickled out onstage for the opening number.

For an amateur show with no stage crew save Walter, it was not half bad. Catherine's talent really shone. The musical numbers were entertaining, though maybe not for the reasons the cast had hoped but because they were drowned out by Annabeth's heavy hand on the piano. The dancing was... interesting.

Since Nora could see only part of the stage, much of the performance felt as if someone were delivering lines from the wings. In the end, the musical was surprisingly campy and fun. The cast didn't take themselves too seriously... well, except for Catherine.

When it was over, before the curtain call, David November stood from his seat. "Call a car," he said to his wife and began to make his way out of the theater.

"Now you've gone and done it," Lacey whispered. "But it was fun."

"Move, Lacey," their mother said.

Nora caught her mother's arm before she could escape. "I'm just going to congratulate Catherine first and then I'll head over."

Her mother glanced at the stage, where some of the cast was still milling about, and then at her husband's retreating back. "Don't be late and make this any worse. Our guests should be arriving for dinner in a half hour."

Nora said she'd be there, then made her way to the stage. Catherine had an armful of grocery store flowers. She smiled brilliantly. "Nora! You must come up to my apartment—we're having a party."

Nora would have liked nothing better than to ditch her family and go to the party, but she'd made her deal with the devil. "Thanks, but I have a prior commitment. Catherine, you were phenomenal. Grandpa would have loved it so much."

Catherine graciously inclined her head. Someone called Catherine's name, and Nora, conscious of time, waved to her. "I'll talk to you soon."

"If you change your mind, come round," Catherine called after her. "We'll be up until ten or eleven." She then walked grandly to the other end of the stage to speak to a few more admirers, most of them from the homeless camp.

Nora walked outside as her parents and Lacey were getting into a town car. Her father glanced at her across the top of the car, his gaze unreadable before he dipped inside.

Nora felt the buzz begin to build in anticipation of another dinner in Rob Roy. But the buzz felt different this time. Not like it would drown her—but like it could light up the evening sky.