Page 54 of Ten Years and Then…
He shook his head. “Sure thing. Next time,”—if there was a next time—“I’ll insist that we stop for groceries on the way. This really is a pretty sad meal, isn’t it?”
Kim gestured towards the back door, and he followed her outside with his sad bowl of almost-stale cereal.
“It could be worse,” she said, sitting down on the steps that led to the trail to the lakeshore. “At least the company’s pretty good.” She tapped her bowl against his. “Oh, and cheers to you. Happy birthday!”
“Thanks Kim. It’s weird,” he said, staring out at the lake. It was perfectly still this morning, and silent. “I thought I’d feel—I don’t even know what. But it’s just another morning, and I’m still just me.”
“A person could do a lot worse than being just you”
He didn’t say anything for a while, and neither did she. They both just watched the serene lake. There weren’t even any birds this morning, or squirrels or whatever else lived out here. After a while, she tapped his shoulder, and when he didn’t immediately respond, she grabbed both shoulders and turned him to face her. “I know what I said when I got here. But do you want to talk about her? You can call it a birthday gift.”
He looked at her, and saw nothing except kindness—and maybe some sadness mixed with it in her eyes. “I don’t know. I—I still love her, Kim. She’s still here,” he put a hand over his heart. “I don’t think she’ll ever not be there, you know what I mean?”
“Like I said the other day, I’ve never felt that. But I can imagine what it’s like.” She hesitated for a moment and her voice caught before she went on. “I do imagine it. A lot. And sometimes I want to go downstairs to Nora’s room and scream at her because she did have it and she let it go.” Daniel didn’t answer. What could he say? He waited for Kim to go on. “Except—I guess this is what you want to know—I don’t think she has let it go, any more than you have. I don’t think she can.”
Daniel didn’t know how he felt about that. This whole year had pretty much sucked. There wasn’t a day that went by—sometimes not even an hour—where he wasn’t reminded of her. He’d see something she would have joked about, and he’d hear her laughter and then he’d turn around and expect to see her. And always—every time—be disappointed that she wasn’t there.
If she was feeling that, too—he didn’t want that for her. It was bad enough that he lived with the constant ache of her absence, she shouldn’t have to hurt every day, too.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, after a while. “If she’s going through what I’ve been … I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”
There was another silence, and after—he didn’t even know, maybe ten minutes?—Kim finally said, “If I talk to her—I’m not promising, just if—do you want me to tell her that you’re doing okay?”
“Yes.” It was a lie, but the truth wouldn’t do anything except hurt Nora even more than she already was. “Maybe if she thinks I’m okay, she’ll let herself feel better. It’s the least I can do, right?”
Kim leaned over, hugged him. “I don’t think you owe her anything, Daniel. But I’ll tell her. I promise.” He wished he could believe he didn’t owe her anything. It would be so much easier. But maybe he didn’t owe her everything. That, he could probably make himself believe.
He held on to Kim for a moment or two longer. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been missing simple human contact. Not sexual. Not romantic. Not anything except kind. Just touching someone else, and being touched, because they were another person who knew you were hurting and they wanted to make it better, even if it was just for a minute.
“Thanks, Kim. It—all of this, it means a lot.” He let her go, and grinned at her.
Chapter 17
Spring Break 1989 (Nora)—Providence, RI
Nora, March 13
Nora was already regretting this. She hadn’t stayed over at her mother’s condo in nearly two years, for many good reasons. She’d put all that aside when Mom asked her if she had any spring break plans.
She’d asked Mom if she was going to be in Providence, and if she wanted company for a few days. Naturally, she couldn’t just say “Yes, my daughter, whom I love, please come and stay with me,” like a reasonable person. Still, she had made it clear in her own convoluted and self-involved way that Nora could come and visit.
Mom hadn’t been there when Nora arrived, so she’d had to find the building manager and beg him to let her in. He’d made Nora show her driver’s license and sign a form before he’d unlock the door for her.
For a while, Nora just sat in the guest bedroom—it was her bedroom once upon a time. It had been redecorated at least twice that Nora knew of, since she went away to college. Right now it was all pastels—baby blue paint on the walls, delicate pink sheets and blanket on the bed, a light green chair in the corner and a lavender torchiere lamp with a soft white bulb installed. It didn’t look as if it gave enough light to read at night, not that anybody who stayed in this room probably did much reading.
It definitely wasn’t her style; it hadn’t really been anybody’s style since 1986 or so. She wondered if one of her mother’s boyfriends had sold her on this décor, or if it had been Mom’s own idea.
She sat in the awful green chair, lost in thought, until she heard her mother in the living room. “Nora, darling! Are you here?”
Nora had a sudden urge to open the window and see if she could climb down to the sidewalk. It was only four floors up, she might be able to get away without ever having to talk to Mom.
“I’m in here, Mom.” If she went out the window and fell, she’d break her leg and then she’d be trapped here with her mother for several weeks.
Karen Langley came in. Swept in, really; she liked to do that. Her hair was shorter than the last time Nora had seen her. And blonder. And the little lines under her eyes were gone. And was her nose different? Had Mom gotten plastic surgery?
“Why are you sitting in the dark like a sad, unloved flower?” Her mother turned the lamp on; it didn’t make much difference, and Mom shrugged. “We can buy another lamp. But come out with me into the light so I can see you properly.” Nora’s hand was grabbed, and she was hauled up and led into the living room, where her mother looked her up and down.
“You aren’t eating enough, and you need to use a proper face cream every day. You’re only young once, Nora, it would be a mistake to waste it.” Nora thought she might have heard something close to kindness there; probably as close as her mother could get. And even then it was all superficial.
