by Merry Jones
Dave huffed and shook out his shoulders. “Look. Nora, whatever you do, don’t say a word about this to anyone.”
“Of course not. I would never—”
“Not anyone.” He held her gaze for a long moment, then headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Nowhere.” He turned in a circle, took a couple of steps toward her, a couple away. Crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. Looked toward the hall, then back at Nora. “But I can’t stay still. I guess I’ll go to the study and make sure everything’s in order so she’s ready to go. Go on to sleep. I’ll be a while.”
After he left, the silence felt jagged. Nora went to the window. The trees were still, undisturbed on a windless night. No one was outside. The streetlight cast motionless shadows. The neighborhood looked calm. The only sound was the singing of crickets.
Tuesday, October 13, 1993
U
sually, Nora’s bus came about fifteen minutes before Tommy’s, but not always. When it was late, they had to wait on the same corner.
It wasn’t just them, of course. Other kids were there too. Pam from down the street and Roger from across the street. And a few high school kids, waiting for Tommy’s bus. She only knew one of them by name: Craig.
She focused on the view up the street, pretending not to see Craig, not sure if he’d remember her from the camp bus. But if he did remember her and said, ‘hi,’ she didn’t want Tommy to see her being friendly to the kid she’d seen tormenting him. And, to be honest, she didn’t want Craig to see that she was Tommy’s sister. Probably she was a terrible person. Probably she’d go to hell. But it was true; she was ashamed of her brother. Family comes first.
The morning was windy, the air nipping with a hint of autumn. Kids stood apart from each other, everybody in their own early-morning sphere of please-don’t-bother-me. A few faced down the street, watching the corner where the buses would appear. Nora was one of them. She couldn’t wait for the bus so she could get on and sit with Annie.
As usual, she had a list of things ready to talk to her about, things she needed Annie’s insights on before starting the day. Middle school was still pretty new. So many new faces. So much homework. So many hallways to navigate, full of kids Nora often thought she’d seen in her classes but wasn’t sure, couldn’t remember because they changed rooms for each subject. The worst part was that, apart from lunch, she didn’t have a single class with Annie. And at lunch, their table was a zoo with lots of kids vying for Annie’s attention, so they couldn’t really talk. The bus ride was their only chance during the day for time alone. It wasn’t enough, though. Nora often felt lost, still unsure what the rules were or how kids measured each other in this realm, and she yearned to look over and check out Annie’s reactions, to see if she should be friendly or aloof, stand straight or slouch, act attentive or bored. Unmoored, she held on, waiting for the bus rides to and from school to sit with Annie, get her bearings and feel anchored.
But the bus was nowhere—twenty minutes late now. She gazed down the street, willing it to appear. Tommy wandered over and stood right next to her. Oh God. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she edged away, just far enough to make it seem like they weren’t together. His cowlick stood at its usual attention. His hair clumped onto his forehead, wadded like black steel wool. His back slumped under the weight of his backpack.
“Where’s your bus?” Tommy asked.
“How should I know?” She shrugged.
“Might have broken down.”
“Hey, Bozo! You bothering that young lady?” Craig strutted over. “Because you’re out of your league.”
Tommy shrunk, hung his head.
“It’s fine.” Nora slid between them. “He’s fine.” She didn’t say he was her brother.
Craig skirted around her to get to Tommy. Tommy turned vivid red. His eyes darted from side to side as he backed away.
“You’re supposed to wait over by the street sign, away from normal people. How many times have I told you not to bother anyone?” Craig moved forward, and Tommy moved back as if in an ominous, tuneless cha-cha. “I warned you to keep out of my sight, you turd.” Craig’s lips curled into a smile, his eyes gleaming, hair fluttering in the wind.
“Leave him alone,” Nora spoke up. “He didn’t do anything.” But she didn’t mention, didn’t say out loud, that Tommy was her brother.
Some of the other kids knew, of course: Pam and Roger. They all lived in the same neighborhood. Most everyone at the bus stop knew who everyone else was, which house they lived in, who was family. Maybe Craig knew, too. Maybe she didn’t have to tell him.
Before she could decide, Craig darted, grabbing Tommy’s jacket, yanking it so hard and fast that Tommy fell to his knees. Craig pounced, pushing Tommy down and mounting him like a pony.
“Stop!” Nora said. Or meant to. Her mouth opened, but she had no air. She needed to move, to grab Craig and stop him, but her limbs froze, and she stood stunned and silent, doing nothing for her brother.
The other kids gathered around Craig and Tommy, watching. Saying nothing, doing nothing.
“You make me sick, you turd. Bothering that nice girl. You make me puke! Apologize to her. Now!” Craig smacked Tommy’s rear. “I didn’t hear you! Say you’re sorry!”
Tommy wriggled and bucked, trying to knock Craig off of him.
“Craig.” Nora found her voice. She stepped closer and put her hand on his shoulder. “He didn’t bother me. Let him be.”
But Craig didn’t let him be. As he climbed off Tommy, he hissed, “Stinking piece of shit.”
Tommy tried to get up, but Craig shoved him down again.
Nora turned to the other kids. Roger. Pam. The other, older kids whose names she didn’t know. All their faces had changed, become rapt and savage. Craig seemed spurred on by their attention, his shoulders bulged, jaw rippled, fists tightened. He loomed over Tommy like a coiled snake, poised to strike its prey.
Nora couldn’t breathe. Craig wasn’t going to stop. Tommy was breathing hard. She needed to do something besides repeat, “Craig, let him alone.” She might have thought of a way to intervene, but right then, as she was desperate to stop the confrontation, her school bus pulled up. She hadn’t heard it bluster and snort up the street, so she’d been surprised when the circle of onlookers split to reveal the bright yellow monster, idling with its doors flapping open.
Craig looked up, his fist hanging in the air, aimed at Tommy’s jaw.
The moment hushed. Nobody moved. Leaves stopped rustling because even the breeze held still.
“Everything okay out there?” Sally, the overweight bus driver, craned her neck to see what was going on, but the kids climbing onto the bus blocked her view. Nora didn’t follow them; she didn’t dare get on the bus and leave Tommy undefended.
Family comes first.
Who knew what would happen, how far Craig would go? Even with the bus driver watching, he was leaning over Tommy, lip curled and sneering, aching to hurt him.
“Craig? What are you doing?” someone shouted from the bus.
It was a girl’s voice. Nora wheeled around. Annie leaned her head out a window, scowling. “Don’t be a bully. Let him up and come over here.”
Craig’s eyes softened, his sneer eased into a grin. “Hey, Annie! How’s it goin’?” He hurried to Annie’s window, stood chatting and laughing.
Wait. Craig knew Annie? Annie knew Craig?
Nora helped Tommy to his feet. His nose was bleeding, so she gave him a tissue. He didn’t answer when she asked if he was all right, didn’t even look at her. Leaves and dry grass clung to his clothes. He recoiled when she tried to brush him off.
Sally called out, “Anyone else getting on? Last call.”
Nora spun around and hurried to the bus, leaving Tommy alone. But it wasn’t her fault he’d been hurt. And she had no choice; she had to go to school. She ran up the steps, rushing to ask Annie about Craig, ho
w she knew him, why she was friends with him, how much she’d seen of the scuffle with Tommy, how much she knew about the kid he’d been pounding. Weirdo. Creep. Freak. She ought to tell Annie about Tommy being her brother. The longer she waited, the harder it became to fess up. Besides, Annie had stuck up for Tommy even without knowing who he was. She might not care that he was Nora’s brother. And it would be a relief not to keep the secret anymore. Annie was her friend, no matter what.
She was halfway up the aisle before she noticed the red-headed girl. Nora stopped, stung as if sucker punched. For the first time that school year, Annie hadn’t saved her a seat.
Monday, August 13, 2018, 8 a.m.
N
ora hadn’t slept, being haunted by Barbara, her bruises and fear, trying to figure out ways to help her. First thing Monday morning, she called, but Barbara didn’t answer. She tried again after half an hour. Still no answer. Probably, she had an early appointment at the day spa, getting a facial, a pedicure. Another Brazilian wax. Probably, she’d muted her phone. But Nora worried. Had Paul become violent again? Had he beaten her so badly that she couldn’t talk? Not in the middle of a campaign.
Nora reassured herself that Barbara was fine as she got the girls ready for camp. She scrambled eggs, searched for lost sneakers and forced curly hair into pigtails, all the while repeating to herself that she shouldn’t worry, that Barbara was all right. She’d been all right yesterday, and what could have happened since yesterday? Nothing. But Nora called again while packing lunches, and again ten minutes later, hanging up before voicemail picked up. Barbara was at the salon and her nails were wet, that was why she couldn’t answer. Nothing was wrong.
The camp bus honked. Nora kissed the girls and ushered them outside. She watched from the door as Sophie skipped away, pigtails bouncing, and Ellie dragged her feet on the walkway.
As soon as the bus pulled away, she called again. Got no
answer.
In fact, Barbara didn’t answer all morning.
She called Patty and tried to sound casual, asking if she’d heard from Barbara.
“Why? We just saw her yesterday.”
She called Alex, then Katie. Neither had talked to Barbara.
Nora told herself that she was upset over nothing. But the fretting continued even as she went to the gym for a spinning class. It was still there when she came home and ate granola and yogurt, as she showered, and threw a load of laundry into the washer. It lingered, like ominous background music, as she went to the market and got steaks to grill for the next day’s dinner. And through it all, she called Barbara every half hour.
She hadn’t heard anything from Barbara when the girls came home from camp, thirsty, hot, tired, and cranky. Nora set them up in the playroom with lemonade and crayons, suggesting that they relax and draw something for Daddy.
While they colored, Nora eyed her phone, resisting the urge to call yet again. She shifted the laundry load, emptied camp bags, listened to voicemails from Sheila, Alex, Katie, and telemarketers, but not from Barbara. She sat on the playroom sofa with her eyes closed, trying to sense her friend’s whereabouts as if she were a psychic. Was she near water? A parking lot? A garbage dump?
She told herself to stop obsessing. Barbara was fine.
When the pictures were finished, Nora hung Sophie’s pony and Ellie’s flowers on the refrigerator for Dave. Hands got washed. Ellie folded napkins. Sophie helped roll ground beef into meatballs. Nora called Barbara again, got no answer.
Maybe Barbara’s phone was broken. Or her battery died. Maybe she’d dropped it in the bathtub. She’d ask Dave what was going on. He’d know. Why wasn’t he home yet?
Sophie finished making meatballs. Nora helped her wash grease off her hands, listened for Dave’s car in the drive, his key in the lock. The spaghetti was boiling and the meatballs bubbling in sauce when Nora’s phone rang. Ellie was setting out forks and knives. She didn’t look up, just said, “Daddy’s not coming home.”
Sophie said, “Big surprise.”
Nora dried her hands and grabbed the phone. Saw Dave’s name on the screen.
“Nora—Hey, look. I’m sorry. Things have come to a head real fast.”
“What do you mean? Where are you?” She turned the burner down. Red sauce popped and spurted onto the stovetop, spattering in small clots.
Dave talked fast. “Go ahead and eat without me.”
“Why? What’s going on?” And then she remembered. “I can’t reach Barbara. Are you with her?”
“Don’t worry. We’ll talk later. Everything’s coming
together.”
She took that as a yes. A horn honked in the background. So, Dave was in the car with Barbara.
“Kiss the girls for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” His voice was stiff. Guarded.
Back? From where?
“Mom.” Sophie tapped her arm. Nora put up a hand, telling Sophie to wait a minute.
“But why are you—”
“It’s happening,” Dave interrupted. “Imminently. Faster than expected. We’re locking in the final details. They’re going this week.”
This week?
“Got to run. Don’t wait up.”
Sophie tugged at Nora’s T-shirt. “Can I talk to Daddy?”
Nora asked if he had a minute for Sophie, but Dave had already hung up.
Humming softly, Ellie unfolded his napkin and put his
silverware back in the drawer.
Monday, August 13, 2018, 10:40 p.m.
N
ora gazed out the window at the night. The wind had died down, the stifling humidity was no doubt rising. Crickets screeched. Moonlight flickered starkly through the heavy leaves of trees. But inside, the air was light, gentle, scented like bubble bath. Sophie lay asleep on her back with limbs splayed, her hair sprawling in a curly halo. Ellie curled herself into a tight ball, a fetal position. In sleep, both their faces were soft and
angelic.
Nora wandered out of their room. Where was Dave? She descended the stairs, escaped to the kitchen, and reheated a cup of the morning’s coffee. Maybe she should call him. It was her right, after all, to know what he was doing and whether he was okay. But she didn’t call. She trusted him, didn’t want to be “that wife” checking up on her husband. So she waited, keeping busy to make time pass. She straightened up the playroom, ran a load of laundry. She checked the clock, stared at her phone, scolded it for not ringing. Picked it up and absently scrolled through mail, opening nothing.
Where were they? What were they doing? It’s happening faster than we thought. She and the boys will go this week. Probably they were moving clothes or buying furniture for a new place. Or signing a lease.
At this hour?
Yes, at this hour. Dave wouldn’t lie to her.
She ought to go to bed. Read, watch television, doze off. When she woke up in the morning, Dave would be there, beside her. It was a good plan. Except that, as she started up the stairs, the doorbell rang.
Dave. He must have lost his key. She hurried to the door but stopped, her hand on the knob. What if it wasn’t Dave? What if something terrible had happened and a stranger—a police detective—was outside, coming to inform her.
Oh God.
She braced herself against the doorpost. Took a breath. Opened the door.
It wasn’t a detective. “You’re home.”
Nora’s mouth opened, but she made no sound.
“Sorry to alarm you.” Paul cleared his throat. “I’m not sure you remember me. We’ve met, but it’s been a while. Paul Ellis.” He extended his hand. “Barbara’s my better half.”
Nora’s hand rose, weightless, to shake. His grip was practiced and firm. His smile was tight.
“Of course I remember you.” She smiled just as tightly. What was he doing there? What did he want?
“Sorry to intrude at this late hour. But I’m looking for my wife. I haven’t been able to reach her. I would have c
alled but, though I know where you live, I don’t have your cell number. Actually, would you mind sharing it with me? For situations like this…”
Paul certainly wasted no time on amenities. His brashness surprised her. Did he always behave this way, practically ordering others around, demanding what he wanted? And was she really supposed to give a man who beat his wife her phone number? Uh, no.
“Of course.” Nora recited her number, reversing two digits.
“Excuse my abruptness,” Paul continued while he punched the wrong number into his phone, “but where is she?” He peered over Nora’s shoulder into the house. “Is she here? Inside?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Barbara? Here?” Nora’s face burned. Why was she blushing? She took a step back.
“Yes. Her note said she was spending the evening with you. Something about a girls’ night.”
Wait, she’d left him a note using Nora as her cover? Well, hell. Why hadn’t Barbara or Dave clued her in? Now she’d blown it.
Paul watched her. Tall, fair-haired and elegant, his features were perfectly symmetrical except for that one eyebrow that was still raised. No one would suspect him of violence.
Nora’s smile was still pasted across her face when Paul reached for her arm and guided her into her own home. As he closed the door, Nora glimpsed a couple walking their dog around the cul-de-sac. She had the urge to call out to them but stifled it, not sure what to say.
Monday, August 13, 2018, 10:45 p.m.
I
ncongruous with his hand-tailored slacks and unchewed, imported Italian loafers, Paul smelled like Old Spice. The smell brought Nora the image of high school, her first boyfriend, Bobby Baxter, and his beat-up old Jeep Wrangler. She recalled the awkward impossibility of making out even semi-comfortably in that car, and the thrill of being with Bobby, co-captain of the football team. And, even as their steamy breath fogged the windshield, the nagging certainty that Bobby would never have been with her if Tommy’d still been alive.