Chapter 7

Jake. Jack. Maybe John?

Nora was trying to dredge up the corner store guy's name as she made her way to the police station to get a copy of the incident report.

She'd planned to tackle Grandpa's garden this afternoon, but for two days it had rained on and off. Instead, she'd gone to Goodwill and bought some pots and pans. She'd never owned more than an omelet pan. She'd tried to make arrangements with Chef Borgia to take the private lesson but learned he was on sabbatical to Italy this year. So she signed up for a class at the Saucepot Kitchen Classroom instead.

Then she'd tried to get hold of Lacey and got a single text back. Sorry, it's exam week. Super busy. Call u soon.

It seemed to Nora that her sister was avoiding her. And that hurt in a way Nora wasn't used to feeling—it burned. She didn't understand the reason for what felt like rejection. She attempted to get Gus on the phone too, but his phone rang and rang. She figured he was at work.

She continued her purge of the Before—she packaged up her flat iron, her Nespresso coffee maker with the ridiculously expensive pods, and her Amazon Alexa and took them to recycling.

She'd also scoured the internet for a mention of the robbery in the local papers. Despite the hostage situation, it hadn't made any sort of news at all, except for a single paragraph in the online edition of the Austin-American Statesman. The paragraph said only that the situation had been "resolved without incident." No mention of Darth Vader or hostages.

But there had to be a police report.

At the substation, the female officer standing behind the plexiglass chewed gum obnoxiously as Nora explained she was looking for information about a particular incident.

"You want a report, you gotta fill out a request online."

"Oh, I... I'm not really asking officially, just asking if anyone remembers. Really, I only need a name. I was hoping whoever responded to the robbery could help me."

The cop stared at her for a long moment like she thought she was being punked. "You think any of us remembers a single incident, much less someone's name? Can you at least give me a name of a responding officer?"

Nora shook her head.

The cop sighed wearily into a bubble of gum, let it pop, and drew it back into her mouth. "You're wasting my time."

Obviously, Nora realized. But the idea had sounded so reasonable in her head. "Sorry," she said. "I thought maybe since it was a hostage situation it would stand out. The thing is, it was harrowing, and I just want to find the person who was with me." She did not add that he was the one person in a very long time she'd felt she could really talk to.

The officer propped her elbows on the metal counter and leaned forward. "Do you know how many robberies and hostage situations and general situations we respond to in a year? No? How about a quarter? Or a month?" She paused, forcing Nora to give another humiliating shake of her head. "You can't even say what day it was. You even sound a little unsure about the month. You gotta know something,lady. They should have given you an incident report number. A phone number to call. Are you telling me they didn't give you anything?"

"I'm not saying that. But I've had a lot of stuff happen since then, and—"

"Yeah, we've all had a lot of stuff happen." She snorted. "Come back when you can remember the date."

Frustrated, Nora walked outside. She'd truly imagined that the cops were still talking about it. Remember that night at the corner store? Boy, was he a nut job.

The corner store! Why hadn't she thought of it before? Someone there would remember that horrible night.

***

Nora almost laughed with relief when she stepped inside the corner store and saw the same wiry guy behind the counter. His cat was perched high on a shelf behind him, its tail swishing lazily as it eyed Nora.

This, she decided, was a good omen. She grinned at the man behind the counter. "Hi! Remember me?"

The clerk stared at her blankly.

"From the night of the robbery."

"Which one?"

"Oh, wow... more than one? The, ah... the hostage situation?"

He propped a foot on the counter. "No, don't remember you."

Nora was slightly offended. She wasn't that unremarkable. "I'm trying to find the guy who was locked up with me and the other woman. Maybe you remember him? Tall? Wearing a scarf?"

He snorted. "Don't remember anyone."

Her impatience was ratcheting up. "Come on... we were here for hours."

He shrugged. "What do you want with him?"

"I want to say thank you." And a whole lot more that she didn't have to share with him. Mostly she wanted to say she was sorry for not calling. To explain how that night, and those hours with him, had meant more to her than she could put into words. How he'd made her feel alive again. And how she'd fallen into a dark hole afterward from which she couldn't escape.

Someone joined her at the counter, thereby forming a queue. The clerk motioned her out of the way. A man put a soggy sandwich and a Monster drink on the counter. There was a brief exchange about an Astros baseball game while the man paid. As he walked out the door, Nora stepped up to the counter again. "I thought maybe he was a regular."

"Who, that guy?" the clerk asked, looking at the back of the man who'd bought the sandwich.

What was his problem? "No... the guy from the hostage situation."

The clerk had the gall to look perturbed. "Look, lady, people come in and out. I don't pay attention; I just ring them up. I don't remember you. I don't remember him."

Okay, rude. Frustration percolated as Nora walked to the door. Why was she always the one to walk away empty-handed? Because she was a coward, afraid of confrontation. Well, she was different now. She paused at the door and looked back at the clerk. "You're such a prick."

She was as startled by her words as he was, judging by the way his mouth fell open. She never called anyone out. For anything.

But she had to admit, calling him out felt pretty damn good.

She didn't feel the sting of dejection until she was in her car and well down the road, when she began to wonder if this search for the corner store guy was a pipe dream. She remembered his beguiling smile and imagined him cheering her on. You can do it! Keep looking! I'm here!And yeah, that guy is such a prick!

She managed a small smile. Okay—giving up and letting dejection turn to despair was something she would have done in the Before. But this was the After, and Nora sat up a little straighter. It was hard as hell to reinvent herself, but she believed the corner store guy was worth it.

She'd keep looking. She'd go home and fill out the online request that would go into some police department bureaucratic black hole. And, ugh,there was always social media.

And as the light turned green, a thought whispered into Nora's head. There was a protest at the capitol that night. Start there.