by Becky Wade
“Okay.”
A necklace with several silver strands hung around Nora’s neck. When she moved, the beads made a soft clinking noise. The sound the beads made, like the woman who wore them, relaxed him. He didn’t have to work hard to have a conversation with Nora or to fill up the silences between them. Being in her company came easy.
He felt at home in the Mason County auditor’s office, a building he’d never visited before. It sure wasn’t because of the décor. He felt at home here because Nora was with him.
He furrowed his brow. The fact that he hadn’t known Nora very long made the effect she had on him surprising, but no less true.
He could be himself around her. He could be himself around her because she was exactly herself around him. She was genuine. Confident and slightly vulnerable at the same time. It was that piece, that vulnerable piece, that made her authentic, that led him to think she might make a good friend, that made him believe he could trust her.
“No luck at this site, either.” She angled toward him. “How do you feel about driving over to 3476 Regent Drive? We can check out the house Sherry lived in. It’s not the best time of day to catch neighbors at home, but we can try to knock on some doors anyway.”
“To see if any of the residents on the street remember Sherry or Deborah?”
“Exactly! Certainly.” She looked to be on the verge of laughter. “One hundred percent right. Correctamundo! Notice how good I can be at not shooting you down?”
Looking at the house Sherry Thompson had once lived in was like looking into the mysteries of the past. His past.
John stood on the sidewalk in front of number 3476 with Nora beside him, trying to get his head around the fact that his birth mother had lived in this house when he’d been born. This was where she’d lived. It was more than he’d ever known about his birth mother in a lifetime of wondering.
The bungalow-style house was positioned in the middle of a block of similar bungalows. All the houses looked well kept. This neighborhood appeared to be popular, probably due to its nearness to Shelton’s downtown and Oakland Bay.
3476 had a deep front porch supported by two thick columns at the front corners. Gray paint. White trim. In recent years, a modern addition had been added to the back. The original part, the part that Sherry would have lived in, was small. Even so, Deborah Thompson must have been at least a middle-class professional woman back in the day to have afforded the payments.
He imagined a shadow image of Sherry climbing out of a car parked on this driveway. Walking up these front steps. Opening this door.
He glanced at Nora. Her profile looked very white and clear against the colors of the street in the background.
“Ready?” she asked, face still forward toward the house.
How had she known he was looking at her? “Ready.” He took a step, lost his balance, and quickly righted himself.
“You okay?” she immediately asked.
He cursed inwardly. She’d seen. “Yeah.”
They walked up the path. “I respect that you’d like to keep this search as private as possible,” she said. “If someone’s home, we don’t need to go into detail about our reasons for asking for information on Deborah.”
“All right.”
“If a woman answers, I volunteer myself to do the talking.” She knocked on the door. “I’m less intimidating.”
“I’m intimidating?”
“You’re as intimidating as a Humvee. Wait, that’s not a very good analogy because you’re a Navy guy. You’re as intimidating as a submarine. What do you think about that analogy?”
“It’s just so-so.”
“I can do better. How about a torpedo? You’re as intimidating as a torpedo.”
The door opened to reveal a young woman with a baby on her hip.
“Hi, I’m Nora Bradford of the Library on the Green Museum in Merryweather. We’re researching two women who lived in this house thirty-three years ago.”
“Oh, really? Wow. That’s great.”
“I know.” Nora smiled widely. She had a way with people, he’d noticed. “Do you happen to know anything about either a Sherry or a Deborah Thompson?”
The woman slid her attention to him shyly before moving it back to Nora. “I’ve never heard those names. Sorry! I wish I could help. Did . . . did something happen with . . . these people?”
“No, this has to do with a genealogical search.”
“We’ve lived here for a couple of years. I’m afraid I only know a little bit about the family who lived here before us.” She continued talking to Nora, telling her that she thought the previous family had had three teenagers and then filling her in on the renovation work she and her husband had done before they moved in.
Behind her, the walls that had likely once divided the front areas of the house were mostly gone. He could see through the living and dining areas all the way back to a new kitchen. The only old things remaining from Sherry’s era were the baseboards, crown moldings, window casings, and floor.
Nora thanked the woman and handed over her card in case her husband had anything to add.
John and Nora then went door to door along Regent Street. At the majority of houses, no one answered. The only people they did catch at home were retirees and stay-at-home parents. They had the same conversation with each of them that they’d had with the young mom, but no one had lived on the street long enough to have known Sherry or Deborah.
“If we come back, we should come back at a time when more working people will be at home.” Nora lifted her gaze from her phone, where she’d been recording the address numbers of everyone on the block who hadn’t answered their knock. “Say, around seven on a weeknight. People are usually back from work or errands at seven, but the sun’s still up. We don’t want to knock on anyone’s door after sunset. That’s just creepy.”
“I wouldn’t want to be intimidating and creepy,” he said.
She laughed. He grinned in response. He liked to make her laugh.
She put away her phone and set her hands on her hips. “To be honest, it’s a bit of a long shot to think that we’ll come across anyone who remembers the Thompson ladies even if we do come back on a weeknight. I think our time might be better spent pursuing other avenues. Did you speak with the obstetrician listed on your birth certificate?”
“He called me and told me he wished he could help, but he doesn’t remember anything about Sherry or my delivery.”
“What about the hospital where you were born?”
“Presbyterian won’t release my birth records to me.”
“Okay. Well, we know from the adoption agency’s information sheet on Sherry that she was a teacher and a Christian.”
“What are you thinking?”
“That we might be able to find old yearbooks or directories from local schools. We can check with churches in the area to see if they have or had members named Sherry or Deborah Thompson.”
He nodded. “I’m booked tomorrow. Wednesday?”
They set up a time, said their good-byes, and got into their separate cars. She drove a PT Cruiser painted as bright a blue as her hair was red.
From behind the wheel of his black Suburban, John watched Nora’s car turn, then disappear from sight. He could feel his enthusiasm for the day draining from him. Compared to the time he’d just spent treasure-hunting with Nora, the rest of the things he had planned for the afternoon and evening stretched before him like gray fog.
Irritated with himself, he turned the key in the ignition, wrapped a hand around the gear shift—then stopped. He dropped his hand and stared blankly at his dashboard.
Between his health and his search for Sherry, he already had more on his plate than he could deal with without feeling depressed because his meeting with Nora had ended. What was going on with him?
Yes, he felt comfortable with Nora. Yes, her personality and her sense of humor fit together with his more serious personality and his own sense of humor. The two of them were dest
ined to be . . . friends. It wasn’t like he was into Nora in a romantic way.
A lot of his buddies had female friends. His best friends had all been guys up until now, but that didn’t mean it was too late for him to add a female friend or two. He could have female friends in addition to his girlfriend.
Over the years, he’d had several girlfriends, and his experience had taught him that Allie was the best kind of girlfriend for him. The independent kind.
Allie was an event planner. They’d met last fall in Tacoma when he’d given a speech at a Christian conference she’d been running. He’d asked her out and they’d been dating ever since, for six months now.
Allie didn’t need to see him constantly. She had a successful career and a life of her own. Allie was beautiful, nice to everyone, full of common sense. She hadn’t pressured him to make things exclusive, although it had gone that way after a couple of months. She didn’t expect him to say I love you and hadn’t pushed an I love you onto him, either.
When he’d told Allie about his condition, she’d hugged him for two minutes straight and kissed the side of his neck and told him that she’d be at his side every step of the way and that it would be all right and that he could count on her.
She could count on him, too. Not once in his life had he cheated on a girlfriend. Not even when his high school girlfriend had been a senior and he’d been a college freshman and he’d been at a party in Flagstaff with that gorgeous dark-haired sorority girl who’d wanted him. Not even then.
He knew how to act appropriately with women who weren’t his girlfriend. He understood where the line was, and he’d committed to never stepping over it. Allie could trust him around anyone. That went double for the librarian.
Yet his dark mood remained. The day continued to stretch like gray fog. His car engine continued to idle.
His phone rang.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey, yourself,” Allie replied. “Want to come over tonight? I’m in the mood to make you dinner.”
Let’s drive to Seattle tomorrow, Willow texted Nora later that day. Those three cute outfits I put together for you from your closet aren’t going to last long.
Nora paused the episode of Northamptonshire she’d been watching. She hadn’t really been paying attention, anyway. She’d mostly been remembering all the things John had said earlier today and how he’d looked while saying them.
No other man had ever cast such a powerful spell over her. Harrison had certainly never thrown her into this sort of a crush/daze. The crush part was pure happiness. The daze part came from the acute pain of knowing John wasn’t, and couldn’t be, hers. He couldn’t be hers! So quit pining over him, Nora!
There’s no hurry, she replied to Willow. I can wear my normal stuff until we have a chance to go shopping this weekend or next week. Though, to be strictly honest, she couldn’t muster much passion for her “normal stuff.”
John had given her goose bumps more than once today, but he’d never given the slightest indication that he’d noticed any change in her clothing. That fact hadn’t diminished her pride in her new look, which was telling. She’d really liked how she’d felt today. She hadn’t needed a man’s compliment to validate it.
No! You’re not allowed to wear your old clothes! Willow responded. Shopping for new things is a matter of some urgency.
Nora laughed. Pencil skirts are a matter of some urgency? Accepting Willow’s help had so far proven to be more fun and less humiliating than she’d feared.
Some of the tops you have need to be altered. Some of the rest will serve you well if styled differently. But to make any of them work, you really need pencil skirts, trousers, and skinny jeans. Plus, a sundress or two.
Skinny jeans? What’s the world coming to?
In this world, the world that Adolphus Brook DOESN’T live in, women your age wear skinny jeans. We can knock out Phase 2 and Phase 3 of the Enhancing of Nora Bradford in Seattle tomorrow.
Lord help me, Nora thought. She wasn’t brave enough to ask what Phase 2 and Phase 3 involved.
Post from Nora to the Devotees of Adolphus Brook Facebook Group:
Hi, all! Just in case some of you didn’t see the announcement in the Fans of Northamptonshire group, I wanted to let you know that American viewers of the show will be engaging in a Twitter campaign for the next two weeks, aimed at thanking the companies who sponsor the show on PBS. This is in addition to the current email and letter campaign to the producers on Adolphus’s behalf, but I think you’ll all agree that we can’t pass up this chance to come alongside the rest of Northamptonshire’s enthusiasts to support and encourage those who make TV’s best show possible!
Be sure to tag the show using their Twitter handle, @Northamptonshire in your tweets. We’ll all be using the hashtags #IHeartNorthamptonshire and #grateful.
Before I go . . . did anyone else notice the look that Adolphus gave Lucy on last night’s episode? When she handed him the book he’d requested, he peered at her under his lashes. It was brief, but (I hope?) meaningful. I almost missed it the first time. But after rewinding it four times, I can definitively say that there was significant eye contact between them in that moment! And I can optimistically say that the eye contact between them may have contained some tenderness.
CHAPTER
Seven
Phase 1 of Willow’s Enhancing of Nora Bradford? Wardrobe.
Phase 2 turned out to be eyebrow sculpting. Whenever Nora had seen people at the mall reclining in chairs and getting their eyebrows “threaded,” the treatment had appeared peaceful. When you were the one in the chair, however, it hurt. Nothing peaceful about it. She’d been limp with relief when it was finally finished and she was handed a mirror.
At first, Nora had been concerned about the reddish areas above and below her eyebrows. The redness had quickly faded, however, and as it had faded, her appreciation for her newly sculpted brows had grown. Her eyebrows hadn’t been shoddy before. But the wizened gentleman had taken her from looking like a person with a pleasant face to a person with a fashionable face.
Phase 3? Makeup. Willow had ushered Nora to the MAC counter at Nordstrom in downtown Seattle. The staff there had instantly recognized Willow and, of course, been agog over her. The consultant who’d done Nora’s makeup had collaborated over every part of the process with Willow as if the two of them were trusted co-workers and Nora was their joint project.
Nora was once again handed a mirror when the job was complete. Her fears that she’d end up resembling a geisha had come to naught. The consultant had highlighted her best features while camouflaging her flaws. The natural, sheer colors they’d picked for her eye shadow, blush, and lipstick complemented her light complexion and fiery hair.
Nora mulled over her makeover from the passenger seat of Willow’s Range Rover as her sister drove them back toward Merryweather. She was now a woman with updated clothing, eyebrows, and makeup. It surprised her how much these superficial improvements meant. As their shopping day had progressed, she’d caught herself standing straighter, walking more purposefully, finding plenty to like when she caught sight of herself in mirrors and shop windows.
Was it unchristian of her to be enjoying her spruce-up as much as she was? The Lord looked at the heart, after all. He didn’t care a bit about what she looked like. Duly noted. Inarguable. Yet, she didn’t think the Lord would begrudge her some new outfits and improved eyebrows.
Glossy water slid by far below them as Willow steered across the Tacoma Narrows Bridge.
Her reaction to her updated appearance made Nora suspect that her self-image may have been decimated by The Dreaded Harrison’s betrayal more than she’d realized until now. She’d never thought much about how their breakup might have colored her feelings toward herself. She’d thought a great deal about how it had wrecked her relationship with Harrison. She’d thought quite a bit, too, about how it had dented her relationship with God.
Up until Harrison had broken her heart, her faith in God
had been clear-cut. So much so that not even her early-childhood trauma had shaken it. She’d been unable to imagine why anyone wouldn’t trust God. Childlike faith had seemed to come with nothing but upsides. While Harrison had loved her and wanted to marry her, it had been easy to affirm that yes, God’s will was best. Absolutely!
Then one day Harrison hadn’t loved her or wanted to marry her anymore. He’d chosen someone else over her. The pain of that had been so excruciating that Nora had lost hold of her certainty in God’s will.
She still loved God. Undoubtedly she did. However, life and Harrison had weathered her. In the months that followed her broken engagement, her childlike faith had been replaced by something more adult, more jaded, and a whole lot less naïve. After Harrison, it no longer seemed safe or wise to depend on God to provide the sort of happy ending He’d never guaranteed her in Scripture anyway. It had seemed proactive to take more responsibility for her own life.
She could trust herself. That, she knew. So she’d decided to make her own happy ending. Forging ahead, she’d worked hard and pursued success doggedly, fueled in part by a deep desire to save face and prove her worth. She’d dug her nails into her dignity and refused to let anyone see how much Harrison’s dismissal had shredded her on the inside.
At least that was what she’d thought she’d been doing. Despite her determined efforts not to, she may have been inadvertently wearing Harrison’s rejection and her defiant “I’m the smart one and that’s enough for me” message around town like a scarlet letter thanks to her appearance. Which was too embarrassing to contemplate.
Nora swallowed and rubbed her fingertip along the car door’s armrest. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Over the last three years, she’d told everyone—most of all herself—how content she was in her singleness. But was that really true? Down deep? At gut level? Or had that mantra mostly been motivated by that same insecure need to save face and prove her worth?
Shame burned her stomach like acid because she didn’t like the truth.