Nora (11 page)

He was sitting at the table drinking a glass of chocolate milk. His dark eyes looked black in the overhead light.

When I sat down across from him, he looked at me, through me.

“Things are rough, Nora,” he said. “I'm doing my best, and that's not good enough. Our world, yours and Patsy's and mine, fell apart when your mother died. But together I thought we could put it together again. It doesn't seem as if we're doing a very good job of it, though.”

He shrugged and polished off his milk.

“You're a good child. I'm proud of you and of Patsy. Your mother is, too. I know that. How could she not be?”

I went over and sat on his lap. It was very uncomfortable sitting there. I was too tall, my neck was too long, there was no place to tuck my head. I was not a little girl. My legs dangled, and my sharp knees stuck out like two pieces of old bone. I was too big to be sitting on my father's lap. Still, I didn't know how to get off without embarrassing him and me, so I stayed there, not knowing what to say.

“It'll work out, Nora,” Daddy said after a long silence. “We'll work it out together, the three of us.”

I had a crick in my neck from bending my head at an odd angle. I got up from Daddy's lap at last and said, “I'd better go take a bath, Daddy.”

“Yes,” he said, “I guess you had better. Good night, darling. Thank you.”

Thank me for what? I wondered as I climbed the stairs. What was he thanking me for? What had I done?

Twenty-one

When I went to the library the next day, I planned on checking the computer for ghost books when I thought I heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, Nora. I didn't know you came here.” It was Chuck Whipple and his brother, the one I'd met at the dinner theater.

“Sure, I come here all the time,” I said.

“So. You're a reader,” Chuck's brother said. “You look like a reader.”

“Thanks,” I said idiotically. Was that good or bad? I didn't even have my glasses on. Probably he meant I looked intellectual. I've been told I look intellectual several times. I never know how to take it. Is it a compliment or a put-down?

“Where's your girlfriend?” I said to Chuck's brother. Just for something to say. I should know by now that the things you say just for something to say are better left unsaid. Far better to keep your trap shut and give it the old Mona Lisa treatment, an enigmatic smile. That confuses them and gives you the upper hand. I read that somewhere and find it to be true.

Chuck's brother looked startled, then he blushed and said, “She left. Went home.”

“Do they let you take out movies for nothing or do you have to pay?” Chuck asked me.

“Oh, they don't cost anything, but you have to take good care of them and make sure they're rewound right,” I said. “You can have them for two days. There's a list of all the ones they have over there, on that big table.”

“Thanks,” Chuck said. He and his brother wandered off.

Hey, come back, I imagined myself calling to him. I want to kiss you. Last time I saw you, I was going to give you a major kiss, one you wouldn't forget in a hurry. Then Patsy showed up and ruined everything.

I said nothing, of course, and fooled around, looking at some books and newspapers, stalling. Keeping an eye on Chuck. Maybe I'd sound Chuck out about ghosts, see what his reaction was. See if he laughed or took the idea seriously.

When I saw Chuck and his brother leave, I waited a minute, then I left, too. Chuck was waiting outside for me.

“Where's your brother?” I said.

“Oh, he went on ahead,” Chuck said. “He's in a bad mood. He had a huge fight with my folks because they wouldn't let him and his girl bunk in the same room. My mother said it was her house and he'd have to abide by the rules or leave. So then he called her a hypocrite and my father, who usually stays neutral in these things, got sore and said by God, it was his house, too, and what my mother says goes. Then Lauren got all uptight and hopped on the next bus to Maine, where she lives. Then my brother got sore at me when you asked him where his girlfriend was because he thought that meant I'd told you the whole story.”

“Oh, boy,” I said. “Families.”

“You said it,” Chuck said.

We walked a ways before I said, “I was looking for some books on ghosts in the library.”

“Yeah?” Chuck said, “Any luck?”

“Not really,” I said. “You see, I've kind of got a thing about ghosts. A couple of times I felt as if my mother was there. Her spirit, anyway.” I laughed, but not because I thought it was amusing. “Have you ever had any experience, ghostwise?” I asked Chuck.

“We had a dog named Colonel,” Chuck said. “He got killed by a truck. My dad dug a pretty deep grave out back and we buried Colonel in it. It was very sad. We all cried. Colonel was a big dog. We buried him deep so the other animals couldn't dig him up. We all said a prayer.”

“I'm sorry,” I said, as if Chuck was talking about a person who had died.

“So after that,” Chuck continued, “I saw Colonel running down the road. Sometimes he raced alongside the school bus, the way he'd always done. When I got off the bus, I called and called, but he didn't come. Then, once, I looked out my window at night and I saw him running in the moonlight. So I put on my jacket and boots—there was snow on the ground—and went out to see if I could find him. But I never did.”

“How could you be sure it was Colonel?” I said. “Maybe it was just a dog. Did he leave paw prints?”

Chuck shrugged. “I didn't notice. He wore his red collar with the tags dangling. No other dog I knew had a red collar.”

“You mean you could actually
see
him running,
see
his collar?” I laughed again, but I felt embarrassed. It never occurred to me that animals could be ghosts. But why not?

“Sure,” Chuck said. “Clear as day. Did you ever see your mother?”

I shook my head. “I felt her presence, even heard her laugh. Maybe I will see her sometime.”

“Do you
want
to see her?” Chuck asked me.

“Well, I'm not sure. I sort of do and I sort of don't. I mean, I might be scared.”

“I don't think you'd be scared,” Chuck said, matter of factly. “I wasn't scared when I saw Colonel. I just felt happy.”

“No offense,” I said, “but I'm talking about my mother here, not my dog.”

“I didn't mean to say they were the same thing,” Chuck said. “All I meant was, if you actually
saw
your mother, I think it might make you feel better. That's all.”

If I saw her, I thought but did not say, not trusting my voice to remain steady, I would want to see her the way she was before she got sick. Not after. Oh no, not after, I couldn't bear to see her that way.

“Sometime, when you're lying awake, you can't sleep,” Chuck said, “try to picture the way your mother would look, the clothes she'd be wearing. Did she have special clothes you liked? Or how she smelled. Colonel smelled like a musty old dog blanket he always slept on.”

“My mother smelled of her favorite perfume. Shalimar,” I said. “And I would like her to be wearing her taffeta dress. It was a beautiful, very noisy dress. You know the sound taffeta makes? It rustles, kind of snaps and crackles, so you could hear her coming before you saw her.”

Chuck shook his head. “I never heard of a noisy dress,” he said, “but it sounds okay.”

“Or maybe she'd have on her old khaki shorts and her sweatshirt,” I went on, intrigued by the idea of what my mother would be wearing when and if I saw her.

“And probably her sneakers. The ones with holes in the toes.”

“Yeah, I know about those.” We looked at Chuck's feet. Both his sneakers had holes in the toes.

We laughed as if he'd said something hilarious. He put his hand on my shoulder. I felt it resting there and thought in amazement, Why, I'm happy. Right this minute, I'm totally happy.

It was the first time since Mother had died. I hoped she would understand and not mind.

Twenty-two

Friday was a school holiday on account of all our teachers had to go to a teachers' convention in Hartford. It was raining cats and dogs, so I decided to clean out my bureau drawers.

Patsy was flat out on the floor doing her leg lifts to firm her thighs. “Man, this is hard work,” she panted. “Wonder how Jane Fonda hung in there so long.”

“She was making money,” I said. “And you're not.”

Patsy sat up. “Why don't we rent a video camera and you can take shots of me doing leg lifts plus a couple one-arm push-ups, and we could sell it to a TV station that would pay me megabucks. That sounds cool.”

The telephone rang, and I stepped over Patsy and went into Daddy's room to answer.

“Hi, Nora, it's Chuck,” Chuck said. “I want to ask you something.”

“Oh, hi, Chuck,” I said, surprised. As if he was the last person in the world I expected to call.

In a flash Patsy was at my side, hand out, fingers snapping. Like the other time.

“He wants to speak to me,” I said. But she grabbed the phone from me and started talking to Chuck. I was so mad I had spots in front of my eyes. I could feel the blood pounding in my head. I looked at myself in the mirror on the closet door. Two big spots of red in my cheeks looked as if they'd been painted on. I felt thorny and mean and ready to fight for my rights. A new feeling for me and not unpleasant.

I went down to the kitchen to get a big plastic bag to hold all the old T-shirts and shorts and stuff that I planned on chucking. Interesting choice of word. Patsy was at my heels. She turned on the radio and started rocking and bopping to the music that blared suddenly. I turned the radio off and said, “That was very rude, you know. Chuck wanted to ask me something and you grabbed the receiver before he had a chance. That's the second time you did that. It better be the last!”

“Why didn't you tell me to buzz off?” Patsy said. “Anyway, he was just being polite. He's a very polite dude, in case you didn't notice.”

She flipped the radio back on. I promptly turned it off.

“What's with you?” she said. “Go get your own boyfriend. We don't have to share everything, you know, just because we're sisters.”

“I'm the oldest,” I said, idiotically, as if that made any difference.

“Yeah, that and thirty-five cents'll get you a Mars Bar,” Patsy said, sticking her face right up to mine.

In your face. I hate that expression, but this time it fit. Patsy was in my face.

As if I'd planned it, I reached out and raked my fingernails, which were pretty long, along her arm. We stood there, watching, as blood spurted and tiny narrow red lines, like little railroad tracks, traveled down her bare skin.

“What'd you do
that
for?” Patsy cried. “You're crazy, Nora. I'm telling Daddy!”

“Give up that telling Daddy routine,” I said calmly. I wet a wad of paper towel. “Here,” I said. “Wash it off. I don't think you'll need stitches. Be brave. Chin up, kid.” In a voice that seemed to come from someone else, I said, “You had it coming and you know it.”

I went upstairs and filled the plastic bag until it bulged. I planned on taking it down to the bin at the A&P when it stopped raining. The same bin we'd put The Tooth's stuff in.

The telephone rang again. No one answered. It rang about ten times. Patsy must have gone out. Either that or she was bleeding to death. I went into Daddy's room and picked it up.

“Hey, Nora,” Chuck said. “Patsy said you'd call me back.”

“She must've forgotten,” I said.

“What I wanted to ask you was if you could go to Radio City Music Hall with my parents and me.”

I caught my breath. Was it a real date if his parents were along?

“My father has always wanted to go and my mother loves the Rockettes,” Chuck told me. “They said I could ask a friend, so I'm asking you. We're taking the train into the city.”

“When?” I said.

“A week from Saturday,” Chuck said. I could tell he was excited. So was I. I know it's not cool to get excited, but I do, a lot.

“I'll have to ask my father, Chuck,” I said. “I'll call you back. Daddy won't be home until late, so I'll let you know tomorrow. Is that okay?”

Maybe he'd ask someone else if Daddy said I couldn't go. I didn't even want to think about it.

“Sure, that's fine,” he said.

So much for sharing.

Dee called to say she had a terrible cold and could she take a rain check on dinner.

“Sure,” I said.

The minute I hung up, Patsy was at my side. She held out her arm, making a long face. I didn't tell her what Chuck had wanted.

“Say you're sorry,” she said.

“You
say
you're
sorry for being such a brat,” I said.

Patsy surprised me by saying, “Okay, I'm sorry.”

“I accept your apology,” I said.

Long after I heard Daddy come home and the endless day had ended, I lay in bed, thinking about going to Radio City with Chuck. (I had decided it was a real date even if his parents came with us.)

Pale moonlight came in the window. The rain had stopped.

I hugged myself and thought of Mother. I kept my eyes open, staring into the dark, hoping she might come. I was getting slightly loony on the subject, but ever since Chuck had told me about seeing his dog, the idea that I might actually
see
her had never left me.

I waited quite a long time, but nothing happened.

Twenty-three

Patsy was in a foul mood and had been ever since I told her Chuck had asked me to go to Radio City with his parents. She kept flipping out her retainer and grinning at me at the same time, and it was making me very nervous.

“What do they want to go to Radio City for?” she asked me. “That's totally uncool to go there.”