“Do you know who this is, Marge? How could you let her come here? Don’t you know what she’s done?”
He slipped on a wet spot as he skidded into the kitchen, and made a sound, somewhere between a cry and a gasp as he took in the scene: Nora pinned against the sink, a woman holding a knife, the end pointed at her.
Marge stood nearby, hands outstretched as she spoke in a low, rushed voice to the woman.“Libby. Take a breath. Breathe with me.”
He eased his way toward her, his eyes glued to the knife in the woman’s hand.
“Breathe in, Libby.” Marge took a breath, demonstrating what she wanted the woman to do.
Nora’s eyes flashed sides ways, catching his movement. She bit down hard on her lower lip, shaking her head as if she wanted him to stay away.
Tough. He edged closer and closer, not looking away from the knife.
He began to put the pieces of the scene together. He recognized the woman. The teenager in the dining hall was her son. She, her husband, and son were regular volunteers here, though he hadn’t seen her husband as of late. With that realization, the pieces suddenly snapped into place. Her husband was a teacher at the high school. And he hadn’t been to the church since the shooting.
“Mom?”
The woman’s eyes cut to the boy who entered the kitchen, and she immediately dropped the knife. Cai rushed forward as Nora’s knees gave out, catching her before she hit the floor.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said.
Nora fisted his shirt, her hand scrabbling at the material, trying to latch on to him.
“Marge.” He met the pastor’s sad gaze, and she shook her head at him. This isn’t the time.
This bullshit had to stop. “She saved people’s lives,” he got out, his voice strained.
“Cai,” Nora whispered.
“No,” he said to both her and Marge. “You didn’t do anything, Nora. You were shot. You almost died saving those kids. People need to know that.”
“It was her brother,” the woman’s voice shook.
“She had nothing to do with it,” he restated. “Nothing.”
The woman’s son stood awkwardly, watching the action around him. His face was pale, and his lower lip trembled.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he told the boy.
Tears slipped down his face, and he wiped them away quickly. He walked to his mother, taking her hand and leading her out of the kitchen. “We need to go, Mom. The guy’s right.”
She babbled to the boy as Marge put an arm around her shoulders, helping the teenager lead her away. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mom. Let’s go home. Okay? I just want to go home.”
A trembling began in Nora’s body, shaking Cai in its intensity. Her teeth chattered, and he pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her as tight as he could.
“I’m here,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m here.”
Wetness grew on his shirt. Nora’s tears, though she didn’t make a sound. It tore out his heart.
“No, Honora,” he whispered, rocking her gently. “No, sweet girl.”
“They’ll never forget, Cai. And they shouldn’t. No one will ever forgive me.”
“You had nothing to do with it, Honora,” he said firmly.
She sniffled, letting go of his t-shirt and rubbing her eyes. “Honora?”
He smiled sadly. She was trying to get him off topic. “Honora is a beautiful name. I needed you to hear me. When I was younger—“ He stopped abruptly, realizing he was about to share a moment from his childhood. His pulse picked up, a whooshing sounded in his ears as his heart pounded, but he forced himself to go on. “When I was younger, when I was really in trouble, my mother would call me by my full time. Malachai Samuel. It always got my attention. I thought it might do the same.”
“Am I in trouble?” she asked in a small voice. She tried to impress teasing into her tone, but he could hear she really wondered.
“No. I mostly wanted to say it and get your attention. I wanted you to really listen to me. Not just hear me. Listen to what I say.”
She turned large brown eyes up to him. They were a honey-brown with sadness. “Honora Leslie. You did nothing wrong that day. You saved children’s lives. And there was nothing you could have done to stop your brother. Whatever road he went down, he went down alone.”
“You don’t know.”
“I do.” Something in his tone made her glance at him quickly. He swallowed. He almost stopped speaking because for the first time in his life, his father’s voice came out of his mouth. “I do. Please trust me, when I tell you. You are not responsible for his actions.”
She stared at him a moment.
Believe me, he willed her. Trust me.
Her eyes roamed his face, and a moment later she relaxed against him, letting out a deep breath.
“Nora, I am so sorry, sweetheart.” Pastor Marge barreled into the kitchen, carefully lowering her body onto the floor and pulling her from Cai, who reluctantly released her.
“Are you okay?”
He watched her closely, noticing how her eyes flicked to his before she answered. “I will be. Just sucks.”
He snorted.
“Her husband was the teacher who died?” she asked.
Marge nodded, letting Cai pull her back into his lap.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know, Nora. But you had nothing to do with it. I know what the police said. I know you, and I knew your foster brother. He was a wounded soul, dear.”
Cai stood, pulling her with him. “I’ll come by in the morning to finish with the tables, Pastor.”
Marge hefted herself up, accepting his hand when he offered it. “I have the men’s group coming in for coffee tomorrow. They’ll finish the tables and chairs. You get home. Rest.”
He led her to the back hall where they’d hung their jackets. Marge followed them, watching him helped Nora into her jacket before getting his on.
“I’m sorry, Pastor Marge. Cai. I won’t come back again.”
His first thought was selfish. What about our date? But he shouldn’t have worried. Marge puffed up, stepping closer. “Now you listen to me. I told you it wasn’t your fault, and I meant it. I want to see you back here whenever you want to come. And if it’s next Wednesday, that would be wonderful, and if it’s another three years, well then, that’s fine, too.”
A surge of gratitude grew in Cai for Marge, and the way she laid it out for Nora in a way absolving her of guilt. Both for what’d happened here tonight, and for whatever she decided. He waited, watching different emotions sweep over her face.
“If you don’t mind, then…” She let out a breath. “I’d like to come back. I sort of have a standing date for Wednesdays.”
He glanced down at the ground quickly, embarrassed by how widely he was smiling.
“Good.” Marge clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. “Very good.”
Reprieve
For some reason, the next days proved so busy neither Nora nor Cai had a chance to tell the rest of the guys what happened at the parish hall.
Apollo worked out fanatically, and when he wasn’t working out, he did homework like a man possessed. Ryan was the same way, leaving to go to class or the library right after she awoke. Their obsessive studying made her feel guilty, thinking they’d fallen so far behind their grades were suffering.
“It’s not you,” Matisse told her one morning, watching her crack her knuckles after Ryan and Apollo kissed her goodbye. “It’s midterms.”
A weight lifted off her shoulders, and she dropped her head to the card table temporarily serving as kitchen table and banged it. “Midterms. Duh.”
He yawned, pouring the boiling water from the tea kettle into his french press. “Not you at all, chere. Apollo and Ryan are more organized than anyone you’ll meet. But this is their senior year, and Ryan’s trying to work his way off the waitlist.”
He stirred the coffee grounds before sitting
next to her. He leaned his long form back in the chair, folding his arms behind his head. He closed his eyes, his dark eyelashes resting against his pale skin.
Where were you last night? she wanted to ask. Each successive night since the parish hall incident, Matisse went out. He came in at the same time, right after dawn, exhausted but strangely pumped.
He opened his eyes, catching her staring at him. He leaned forward, kissing her gently on the mouth. “Nothing for you to worry about, just meeting some old friends who are in town for a short time.”
“When do they leave?” She clapped her hand over her mouth, but he laughed. “Sorry.”
Standing up to go back to his coffee and press the plunger down, he shook his head. He poured himself a cup and sipped it while leaning against the counter. “It’s fine.” He smiled at her. “I should have explained. The guys know. We’ve been together so long.”
She nodded. She wanted their kind of understanding, but it came from sharing things, and right now, she wasn’t.“A woman threatened me with a knife at the parish hall the other night.” The words tumbled over each other.
He swallowed his coffee and put down the mug. “Cai didn’t say.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you. But… her husband was the teacher who died at the school. I don’t think she even realized she was holding it.”
“What happened?” His long form loped toward her.
“She dropped it. Left. Her son was there, he’s a kid. I didn’t recognize him.”
She glanced up at him. His dark eyes blazed, making his pale skin even paler. He took a deep breath and then another before speaking. “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“You’ve got to tell the others.”
“I know. I just hate to worry them. I don’t want any of you worrying. Can I tell them later? When are midterms are done?”
He reached for his phone, giving Nora a look like he didn’t agree with her reasoning. “Last day is Friday the 30th. So… tomorrow. You tell them tomorrow. That’s not so bad.”
“Tomorrow’s my birthday,” she realized.
“What? It is?” He pulled her up and hugged her. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one. You’re so young.”
Unwillingly, she thought about the students at the high school. Pete, a boy she’d interacted with moments before the shooting began, would never see his twenty-first birthday. And Mr. Hanscomb, the teacher who died, would never see his son’s twenty-first.
“I see where your mind has gone.” He pulled her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t go there. Be grateful you’re alive.” He kissed her gently, his tongue touching her lips lightly before withdrawing. “I am.”
She sighed, slowly opening her eyes. “I am. It makes me all the more aware of how lucky I am. And I’d honestly forgotten about my birthday. I never celebrate it.”
“Never?”
She thought back. “Okay. That’s not entirely true. Usually I spoil myself on my birthday and buy myself something I don’t absolutely need.”
He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to answer, but when she didn’t he prodded. “Such as?”
“A book. Nutella. Fizzy lemonade.”
“Fizzy lemonade?”
She nodded.
He walked back to the counter for his coffee, taking a sip before taking out his phone and typing away. “I’m letting everyone know you have something you need to tell us, and tomorrow is your birthday, and we are taking you out for dinner.”
“Oh no. Matisse, don’t. I don’t want people to go to any trouble.”
“What was it you told me once? Fermez la bouche? Do that.” His phone immediately began to chime back at him. “See?” He turned it around to face Nora, though she couldn’t make out what replies they sent. “They’re all excited. Apollo even emoji’d.”
She giggled, surprised when footsteps thundered up the stairs from the basement. “It’s your birthday?” Seok asked almost before the door shut behind him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
He scooped her into his arms and hugged her, kissing her all over her face. “Happy Birthday.”
“I forgot, Seok,” she laughed, turning her face away from his crazy kisses. He responded by kissing whatever side of her face was closest to him. She giggled, trying to push him away with both hands against his chest. “I’m sorry. Seok!” she screeched as he gave her a wet, sucking kiss on her neck. “I’m sorry!”
“Have you learned your lesson?”
She pulled her head back, pretending to think about it. “I don’t know…”
He immediately put his lips on her neck again, this time nibbling and making her squeal. “I learned! I learned!”
He gave her one more nibble/kiss before pulling away. He smiled down at her, relaxed and happy. “So where are we going?”
“I know,” Matisse supplied. "It even has a table to fit all of us."
"Low, man. That's just low."
Seok had made a beautiful kitchen table for his house, which was ruined when the boys got into a fight after realizing they all had feelings for Nora.
She stood up, reaching for him and pulling him into her arms. "I know whatever you make will be beautiful. Do you want some help?"
He pulled back. "You want to help?"
"Sure." She nodded. "I can sand, or paint, or nail things." She demonstrated her skill with a hammer. He chuckled, hugging her tighter and rubbing his chin back and forth on her head.
"Okay, nae sereang. Come into my lair."
She laughed again as he dragged her to the basement door.
Matisse crossed his arms, watching them. "I think I've seen horror movies begin this way."
She grabbed the door frame, pretending along with him. "Matisse!" she fake-cried. "Help! Aidez-moi!"
He gave her a small wave and she stuck out her tongue, clomping down the steps after Seok. She breathed in deeply as they walked down. She couldn't identify what it was that smelled good, but she wanted to bottle it and label it, "safety." She must have kept sniffing because he chuckled. "It's paint, and pine, dust, and glue."
"I like it."
He looked at her to see if she was joking probably, but she was genuine. "I like it, too."
She hugged him, burying her face in his shirt and breathing in. "I don't smell it on you though."
"Ah," he said awkwardly. "No. I guess you don't."
She stepped back, feeling a little awkward. "Sorry."
"It's fine. Just surprised me." He bent down to kiss her cheek.
His workshop was very organized. A tall, red metal toolbox stood nearby next to a waist level worktable running the length of one of the basement walls. Spaced along the room were tools she couldn't identify. She peered closer. Except for circular saw, she knew that one.
And a jigsaw, that's a thing too, right?
Houses as old as this one usually had stone foundations, and a dirt floor. But this basement had drywall, and new windows. The floor was grey concrete. “This basement is in good shape.”
It was warm, and the air was dry. She jumped when the furnace clicked on, and he laughed.
"Scared of basements?"
She shook her head. "No. It just surprised me."
She walked around the shop. He'd hung a number of tools on a peg board, along with pictures of different styles of chairs and tables. "Are one of these going to be ours?"
He crossed his arms, watching her investigate. "No. Those are ones I would like to make at some point, but ours is over here."
He gestured with his chin toward a board held in place by clamps. She walked over. The last kitchen table had been heavy and huge. This one was as heavy, but instead of being long and rectangular, it was circular. She ran her hand over the top, noticing the way he’d glued the boards together.
"It's really big." She knelt down, peering across the top. "It must weigh a ton. Is this the wood from the last table?"
"Some of it," he replied. "I us
ed what could be salvaged, but some of it wasn't worth saving. I found a few old boards and planed them down, and glued those together to make it bigger. I want it to fit all of us."
She liked it, especially the shape. "This way I'll be able to see all your faces while we eat."
"That's what I thought, as well." He smiled hugely.
She clapped her hands together. A few kerchiefs were on the worktable, so she grabbed one. She attempted to tie it around her head, but her hair was too thick, so she made due wrapping it like a headband around her head. "I'm ready."
He watched her, smiling the entire time. It made such a switch from when she first met him and he seemed so distant. He was silent for a moment before he seemed to shake himself aware.
"Um." He spied what he needed, picked up a tool and brought it over to her. "This is a sander."
She took it from him, turning it upside down and running her hand over the bottom where a rough piece of sandpaper was attached.
"I want you to sand the top of the table, in the direction of the grain."
Confused, she studied the table before glancing back at him.
"See the lines on the boards?" He ran his fingertips down the center of the boards, pointing out the texture. "When you sand, sand along those lines." He demonstrated with his hand. "Like this." He started at one end of the board, his long-fingered hand smoothing across the wood. "Got it?"
She nodded, examining the sander for the “on”switch, but was interrupted.
"Wait." He walked quickly to his peg board, and got what looked like a pair of giant earmuffs and glasses. He slid the glasses over her face and placed the muffs carefully over her ears before speaking again.
"What?"
He laughed, and took off the muffs. "Hearing and eye protection. Safety first.”
She smiled, waiting for him to fit them back on before she turned on the sander and moved to one end of the table. The machine sprung to life in her hands, vibrating so hard it seemed like it would travel by itself down the boards. She struggled to hold onto it, finally gripping it in a way to give her more control.
She realized she didn't have to force it the way she wanted it to go, but with a nudge, could guide it. She reached the end of the board and switched it off, sweeping her hand across the place she sanded. She swiped the board next to it, trying to compare the texture.
Finding Nora: A Reverse Harem Romance (The Searchers Book 2) Page 11