The Invisibles (24 page)

“Because?” Grace sat forward in the backseat.

“I guess because I had a bad experience with it,” she said. “A long time ago.”

“You mean with Theo?” Ozzie asked.

Nora felt her face flush hot. “
No,
not with Theo. With someone else. And that's really all I want to say right now. Okay? I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be dismissive or go back into my shell or anything, but can we please change the subject?” She drew a hand over the front of her eyes as if might erase the shame that was rising behind them. “Please?”

“Of course we can.” Grace squeezed her shoulder. “I appreciate you saying anything at all, Norster. I know how hard it is for you to talk.” She sat back in her seat, but not before catching Nora's eyes in the mirror. She winked.

“It's hard for me talk about things, too,” Monica said. “If I hadn't been here this weekend when I got the call from the detective, I probably wouldn't have told another living soul what I'd done.”

“I only opened up about Gary because you did first,” Ozzie admitted, looking at Monica. “If you'd asked me before I came out
here whether or not I was going to tell you girls the truth about my marriage, I would have laughed in your face.”

“I knew you knew some of the gory details about me,” Grace said softly. “But I hadn't planned on saying anything else. Not until Monica spoke up first.”

It was funny how that worked, Nora thought as the car raced on. How they borrowed strength from one another, leaning on it for a while until the next one needed it. It might have been the only thing from those Invisible days that hadn't changed.

It might have been the only thing that wouldn't change, the last, single thread that held them all together.

T
here's a Burger King up ahead at the next exit,” Ozzie said a few minutes later. “Anyone hungry?”

“Starving!” Grace said.

“I could eat,” Nora agreed. “And pee.”

“Me too.” Monica grimaced. “I've had to go for over an hour now, but I didn't want to say anything.”

“Why not?” Grace asked.

Monica shrugged. “I'm always afraid public restrooms aren't going to be a single room. I hate it when there's someone in the next stall.”

“You still have bathroom hang-ups!” Ozzie said, slapping the backseat. “Don't you guys remember? She couldn't go if she thought we were being too quiet in our rooms. She always thought we were listening!”

Nora smiled as Ozzie laughed out loud. She'd forgotten that part about Monica, but now as she thought about it, she remembered how Monica would turn on the water in the tub to drown
out any noise she might make, how she would emerge red-faced, mortified by the fact that the girls knew what she'd been doing.

“God Almighty.” Monica smiled faintly at Ozzie as they pulled into the Burger King parking lot. “You've got a memory like an elephant.”

F
or a little while, after they'd eaten their burgers and slurped the last of their milkshakes, the women slipped into a silent, sated state, leaving Nora alone with her thoughts. She had already put over two hundred miles behind her and the distance was wearying. She could feel her eyelids getting heavy even though she'd had an extra-large Coke, and her arms felt waterlogged. The pot had worn off long ago, although remnants of it combined with the overload of everyone's personal information had left her emotionally exhausted. The sides of the highway were bleak and dusty, but farther back, a wash of red and yellow trees lit up the landscape, and small flocks of sparrows dipped and sailed over the tops of them. For as much as she loved the moon and its phases, daylight never failed to disappoint Nora. Each morning, as the light seeped back into the world during one of her walks with Alice Walker, she felt the same assurance rise inside her chest, as if something dark had split open and revealed something new to her. Life pushing through, despite all the odds. Now she felt the same way, except with an intensity that made her tremble.

A first line from
A Tale of Two Cities
came to her:
“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the Spring of Hope, it was the Winter of Despair.”

Here, today, was all of these things, she thought.

And more.

O
ne by one, the women dozed off as it began to rain, the landscape darkening under a thick clot of clouds. Nora stared through the slosh of the windshield wipers, admiring the just-washed colors of the trees, and wondered what Alice Walker was doing. Maybe Trudy had just gotten back from taking her for an afternoon walk. She hoped so. Alice Walker was used to getting up early for their daily treks to the birch grove and over the railroad tracks, but she doubted if Trudy or Marion would have managed to rouse themselves at such an hour. Still, if Alice Walker didn't get out at least once a day, she would start to howl.

If she were home now, she would be on the couch probably, having just returned from the grocery store. Alice Walker would be nestled up against her, and Nora, who would have showered and gotten into sweats and fuzzy socks, would be reading, maybe finishing up the Sunday crossword from the
New York Times
, or flipping through the Book Review, which was her favorite part. The afternoon light would be coming through the living room window at a slant, warming the hardwood floor, touching the tips of her small ficus tree in the corner. Every so often she would look up from the paper and study the patterns on the floor, leaf-shaped movements dancing to and fro like small hands. After a while, she'd get up, go to the refrigerator. Maybe take out some cream cheese, toast a bagel, drizzle a little honey over the top of it. A glass of root beer too; and a few gummy fish from the bag she kept in the bread drawer. Then back to the couch, where she'd turn on the TV, find a
Law & Order
marathon, drift in and out
of sleep in between episodes, while Alice Walker readjusted her position, trying to get comfortable.

It wasn't such a bad life,
she thought.

It couldn't be.

If it was, she wouldn't be missing it the way she was.

Next to her Ozzie snored, a long, rumbling sound that careened off into a high-pitched whine. Grace, who was curled up like a cat in the backseat, her thin legs tucked under her, muttered under her breath, while Monica, whose head was flung back on the seat rest, sat perfectly still. Nora's eyes got heavier, and after another few moments, she reached across the seat and shook Ozzie awake. Ozzie recoiled at her touch, a rattlesnake ready to strike.

“Hey,” Nora whispered. “It's just me. I have to stop or I'm going to fall asleep at the wheel. Can you take over?”

“Yeah.” Ozzie's eyes, momentarily disoriented, focused once more. “Yeah, of course. Where the hell are we? What time is it? Did I fall asleep?”

“You slept for a while.” Nora jerked her thumb toward Monica. “She conked out. And Grace, too. It's almost four-thirty. We've got another seven or eight hours or so, I think. We're in Pennsylvania.”

Ozzie rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Okay, pull over. I got it.”

Nora stopped the car and let herself out, sliding to the ground. The backs of her knees were stiff, and something in her back cracked. The headlights of the car were clotted with dead insects and the windshield was covered with a thick film of dust.

“Mmmm . . .” Ozzie said, rolling her head between her shoulders. “My head feels like a bag of rattlesnakes, but I'm glad I got a little shut-eye. Thanks.”

As if on cue, Grace lifted her head from the backseat and yawned. “Where are we?” she asked. “Did we get to Manhattan?”

“Not yet.” Ozzie eased the car back onto the highway. “I'm driving. Nora has to rest for a while.”

Nora sprawled out on the enormous leather seat next to Ozzie, the top of her head touching Ozzie's thigh, and closed her eyes. She could feel the muscles in her back and then her neck relax, as if she had been clenching them for hours.

The wheels spun and then squealed a bit as Ozzie lurched the car forward.

Monica sat up like a shot at the noise and looked around. “We're there?” she cried. “Already?”

“No, doll.” Ozzie reached over the seat and patted Monica's arm. “Just switching drivers. We still have about seven more hours.”

Monica rested her head against the window. She stared through the glass, not moving. “Oh my God, I still can't believe this is happening. I'm so sorry to drag all of you into all this.”

“You don't have to be sorry,” Ozzie said. “And you didn't drag any of us into it. We wanted to come, remember? I just hope that when we get there, you can fix things, Mons. I really do.”

Monica's teeth pulled at her lower lip. “Yeah, me too.”

“Any word from your attorney?” asked Ozzie.

“No.” Monica sounded stoic. “I left him another message a while back.”

“And? Nothing yet?”

“I don't know. I didn't check.”

“Well, check!”

“My phone's out of juice.”

“Well, plug it in!” Ozzie sounded irate. “We're driving a fucking Escalade here, Monica! This goddamned thing has everything in it except a toilet. It must have—”

“I left my charger at Grace's.” Monica looked away as Ozzie stared at her in the rearview mirror, openmouthed.

“I have one!” Grace leaned over and dragged a duffel bag across the back. “Actually, I might have two. Henry's always worried I'll lose one.”

“What are you doing here, Monica?” Ozzie was looking at her dangerously.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Monica asked.

“You do realize that you have a right to try to get out of this, don't you? That you don't have to punish yourself any more than the law already will? For whatever mistake you made?”

Nora sat up. It was going to be impossible to sleep. And as exhausted as she was, she didn't want to sleep. Not really. Who knew, after Manhattan, where they would all go, where any of them would end up? What if she never saw any of these women again? What if, after everything came to a close, it would be the end for them? The real end this time?

“I'm not trying to punish myself.” Monica sounded uncertain. “I'm on it.”

“Doesn't sound like you're on it.”

“I'm
on
it, Ozzie.”

“You sure?” Ozzie asked.

“Positive.”

“Okay.” Ozzie sat back again. “If you say so. Sorry for waking you up, Norster.”

“It's all right.” Nora shrugged. “I've got a lifetime to sleep.” She
slung an arm over the seat and watched Grace, who was looking at a baby picture of Georgia inside her wallet. “When was that taken?”

“Few weeks after she was born.” Grace seemed lost in thought. “I was in the hospital. Henry took her to JCPenney.”

“It's so cute.” Monica leaned over. “God, she's adorable. Like a little pea in a pod.”

“Yeah.” Grace closed her wallet abruptly and dropped it back inside her purse.

The same pained expression she'd had earlier when Henry had mentioned the baby crossed her face again. Did she really not want to have anything to do with the child? Nora wondered. Or was it something that would pass, a long, terrible mood that she would snap out of eventually?

Monica was watching Grace carefully, too. “You know, I lost one of the pictures I used to have of my mother.” Her voice was wistful.

“Oh, no!” Nora said. “The ones your grandmother gave you?”

Monica nodded. “I can't tell you how long I've spent looking for it. It's like it just disappeared. I don't know if I lost it at Turning Winds or later, when I came to the city. It still makes me crazy when I think about it. Thank God I still have the other one.”

Nora didn't have any pictures of Mama. Not one. She wondered sometimes if the absence of them, which, in a way, denied Mama's very existence, meant that something was wrong with her. But then she would close her eyes and look at the litany of images Mama had left behind. They were more than enough.

Ozzie turned on the radio, pressing the buttons at random. She fiddled with the tuner, skipping station after station until
the sudden unmistakable sound of Cyndi Lauper's “Time After Time” filled the car.

“Oh!” Monica sat back, mouthing the words. “Remember this song?”

“One of our favorites,” Grace said, smiling at the memory. Nora wondered if any of them were thinking about the same day she was thinking of now: the four of them crammed in Ozzie's car as the same mournful lyrics drifted through the side speakers. It was the day after graduation; the heat was a slick, oppressive weight on the skin. Cicadas buzzed relentlessly outside, as if protesting the high temperatures, and birds perched motionless in the heavy green of the trees. They were sitting at the Willow Grove bus stop, where, in less than half an hour, Monica would board and leave for New York City, where she had just been hired as a full-time nanny for a wealthy family on Park Avenue. Grace would get on one of the Greyhounds a half hour later, headed for art school in Georgia. And after Ozzie had hugged Nora goodbye, she would get on the third and last bus in line, headed for a horse farm in Montana, where she had found work as a ranch hand.

Nora knew that the tears sliding down each of their cheeks that afternoon were real—just as hers were—but she hated them anyway. She hated them equally and without guilt, a small, black snake coiled in the deepest recesses of her belly. She could not, no matter how hard she tried, shake the feeling that she was being left behind in the worst possible way, that she was being abandoned all over again by people who were supposed to love her. Worse, they were leaving her with a secret—a secret she alone knew about, a secret she knew she would take to her grave—the weight of which made things nearly unbearable, like being forced
to walk around underwater with a tire around her neck. She knew it was none of their faults; they had graduated, and this was the most logical next step. No one could help the fact that she wanted to stay. Life went on, and they were going with it. But still she blamed them, waiting in vain for one of them to turn and say, “Just come with me, Nora. Come with me, and we'll figure it out together,” or “You know, maybe I'll stay. Just for another year. Just 'til you're feeling okay again.”

But none of them had.

And Nora, in her own inimitable way, had stayed silent, too.