Nora and Liz (28 page)

Helen Whipple tossed her head. “I will not,” she said, turning sharply toward the cemetery gate where her husband had been waiting patiently along with Louise’s and Maryann’s, “honor that idea with any kind of reply."

“All right?” Liz whispered to Nora later, arranging plates of sandwiches to take from the kitchen to the carefully cleaned and aired parlor and adjoining dining room. Ralph was enthroned in a large wing chair in the parlor amid the relatives who’d been at the graveside service.

“I think so,” Nora said, her face flushed from bending over the stove, heating more water for coffee and tea.

“Shouldn’t you go in and socialize? I’ve got the knack of how things work. I can take over.”

“No, it’s okay. I think I’d rather be in here.”

“Nora, there you are!” came a loud male voice, and the blond cousin burst in, waving a wine glass. Ignoring Liz, he put an arm around Nora and led her to the table.

“Andrew!” Nora protested, squirming in his grip. “Please! I’ve got to get the coffee.”

“People can live for a few more minutes without coffee,” Andrew said as Liz poured hot water into the pot. “And see? They won’t even have to, thanks to your friend Miss Hardy.”

“Liz, please,” said Liz, though she wasn’t sure what to make of this rather blustery take-charge man out of Nora’s past; she wasn’t sure if he could be trusted. But trusted with what, she wondered, watching him covertly as she poured.

“Now Nora,” Andrew said, “Gail and I insist that you and Ralph come and live with us. Sell this old dump—it really must be awful living here with no electricity or anything—and come share our space. We have got,” he said, his face breaking into a jovial smile, “a house with five bedrooms, can you imagine? And almost as many bathrooms, and extra rooms like a family room and a couple of studies.”

“Why?” Nora asked.

“Why?”

“Why such a big house?”

“Well, partly for the kids, who in any case are gone most of the time now, but also as an investment, except we’ve decided not to sell it for a while. If we hold onto it and wait till we’re doddering, we’ll get a better tax break. It’s our first home, you see; we had an apartment till Kevin was born.”

“Oh,” said Nora. But Liz could tell she had no idea what he was talking about.

“Anyway,” said Andrew, “we want you and Ralph to come and stay for as long as you like. Permanently would be fine.”

Nora shook her head. “No, I—we don’t want to move. And Father is…”

“But you must move, Nora dear,” interrupted the woman with the long hair who had sat next to Andrew in church; she had just come in and was standing near the table. She must be Gail, Andrew’s wife, Liz reasoned, when she glanced up from separating sandwiches into neat piles.

“You can’t possibly stay here,” Gail went on. “Why, it would be downright criminal! How you’ve managed to take care of two old people in these terrible primitive conditions…”

“People lived this way not so long ago,” Nora said sweetly and wearily, as Liz knew she would. “It’s not hard when you’re used to it.”

“But,” said Gail, “there’s simply no need for you to be used to it any more, is there, Andy?”

“Absolutely none. So that’s settled then. As soon as things die down here, we’ll put this old place on the market and move you and Ralph out to…”

Nora stood up, shaking off Andrew’s hand. For a moment she glanced wildly at Liz, and Liz stepped forward; Nora’s eyes looked trapped. But then they blazed and she said calmly, “Thank you very much. I know you’re being kind. But Father would never leave, and I don’t want to either. This is my home. This is where I grew up and where my mother lived, and I won’t leave it.”

You go, girl,
Liz said to herself, feeling an admiring smile creep over her features. But admiration gave way to alarm as she picked up the sandwich plates and after nodding supportively to Nora as she passed, she wondered, Does she truly mean she’ll never leave?

***

“What do you really want to do?” Liz asked Nora much later when everyone had left and after Ralph, who had become maudlin and belligerent again, had been given his evening pill and was finally sleeping.

Nora let herself tiredly down into her chair at the kitchen table and wrapped her hands gratefully around the cup of tea Liz had brewed for her. “Do?”

“You know,” Liz said, trying to sound casual, sitting down and sipping her own tea just as gratefully. “About the future?”

Nora closed her eyes. “Nothing,” she said after a long pause. “Right now I just want to sleep. I want to wake up and have Mama still be here and I want to give Father his bath and Mama hers and make them breakfast and put Mama back in bed and Father in his chair. And then I want to have a quiet cup of tea alone with Thomas. I want to weed the garden or bake bread or pick berries or make jam. And I want to work on my poetry and do some proofreading and make lunch. I want everything to be the same.” She smiled wistfully at Liz.

Liz tried to ignore the tightness in her throat and in her stomach, and concentrated on her firm belief that aside from what she herself hoped for the future, it would be dangerous for Nora to remain with Ralph. “I guess all that could happen,” she said slowly, “except for the parts about your mother, assuming your father can be controlled by the new pills. Is that what you really want?”

“Right now, yes, I think so.” Nora regarded Liz for a moment and then reached for her hand. “Liz, dear Liz, have I hurt you? Should I be adding that I want to go to your cabin and work in your garden and sit at your table and look out at the lake and—and lie next to you for a little while?”

Liz forced a smile. “I suppose that is what I wanted you to say, yes. But I also…” Abruptly, decisively, she stood. “Oh, hell, Nora, I’m worried about you, about what will happen to you when I go back to New York if you’re here alone with that crazy old man. I know he’s your father and I know on some level you love him, but you heard Dr.
Herschwell
say he thinks he’s seriously ill. I know they’re going to do some sort of evaluation of him, but suppose some night before that the pills don’t work or he refuses to take them and he—I don’t know.”

“Turns on me?” Nora asked evenly. “Accuses me of poisoning him? Tries to poison me?” She shrugged. “Any of those things could happen. But I’m stronger than he is, I think, and I do the cooking, and I…”

“That’s just it!” Liz exploded. “You do everything! You have virtually no life except drudgery. ” She stopped, seeing Nora’s eyes flash, realizing she’d gone too far.

“You too?” Nora said accusingly. “You too? I thought you understood. I thought you knew.” She turned away, her shoulders slumping.

Cautiously, Liz went to her, stood behind her without touching. “I know that you love the farm,” she said, “and your garden, and your quiet life. And I’m very, very aware that I’ve disrupted it.” She paused, then found herself almost pleading, and hoped she was pleading as much for Nora’s sake as for her own. “But there’s—oh, Nora, there’s so much out there in the world outside the farm, outside Clarkston, so much that you’re missing!”

“Did it ever occur to you,” asked Nora without turning, “that right now I might not be interested in what’s outside?” She turned. “Is a nun interested in what’s outside?”

“No,” Liz said, startled. “But you’re not…”

“That’s right, I’m not a nun. But you don’t have to be a nun to like solitude, to need it, to crave it. ”

“I know that, Nora, but…”

“It comforts me, sustains me,” Nora whispered. “It always has. And now…”

“Then,” Liz interrupted stiffly, “I guess you won’t need me, Nora, will you?”

Silence.

“Will you?”

When there was still no answer, Liz gathered up the sweater she’d brought in case the evening was chilly, felt in her pants pocket for her keys, picked up her overnight bag, and went out the door.

“I’m sorry,” Nora moaned, covering her face with her hands. “Oh, God, Liz, I’m sorry! It’s all changed so fast, my life, my world, my—myself. I didn’t mean…”

But Liz was already in her car.

Fighting tears, Liz drove back to Piney Haven, one hand on the steering wheel, the other occasionally dabbing at her eyes. She tried not to think, and when that proved impossible, she tried to tell herself Nora was upset, that she’d feel differently tomorrow.

But I don’t know that, she realized. And I really don’t know Nora either.

I don’t know her at all, maybe. Maybe I’ve been wrong about her, about how she feels.

Maybe I was wrong about Megan, too. And myself. Maybe no one knows anyone.

She pulled the car into its parking place in front of the cabin and sat there motionless in the dark, thinking, I’ll leave tomorrow. Or,
damnit
, as soon as the police are sure I didn’t kill Corinne—for Detective Morris had suggested, looking embarrassed, that “it might be a good idea” for her to stay in Clarkston till then, even though there was no real evidence against her. I’ll drive back to New York, stay with someone till the sublet’s up. I’ll forget Nora and this whole summer; I’ll sell the cabin, if Jeff agrees. Maybe Nora was just an interlude, a summer romance.

An almost romance; it never really…

In the distance, the telephone cut into her thoughts.

Thinking it might be Nora, could be Nora, must be Nora, Liz clambered out of the car and ran into the cabin, snatching up the receiver and barking, “Hello?” breathlessly, desperately into it.

“Well, hi, sis! Did you ever think about getting a machine for the cabin? I’ve been trying to get you all day and half the night. You okay?”

“Jeff. I—it’s a long story. What’s up?”

“Up? Nothing. Just wanted to confirm next weekend. We’ll be leaving early in the morning so we can do a little New England tour
before
we see you as well as afterward. I wanted to make sure it was still okay with you for us to come.”

“Come?” Liz asked stupidly, momentarily bewildered. Then she remembered and, groaning inwardly, said, “Oh, right. Um, sure. Yeah, sure. It’s fine.” Of course it is, she told herself; Nora’s not going to be in the picture, so why wouldn’t it be? Except that means I can’t go back to New York till later.

“Great.” Jeff paused a moment, then asked again, “You okay?”

Liz felt her eyes fill with tears. “Yes,” she said. “No.”

“Want to talk?”

“No.” She felt her voice falter and realized she was about to sob. “No, Jeff, I—I’ve got to go. See you next weekend. Goodbye.” Quickly, before he could reply, she hung up.

Almost immediately the phone rang again.

“Listen,” Jeff said, “I don’t believe you’re okay and I’m worried. What’s going on? Girl trouble?”

“Right,” Liz said tiredly, her tears abruptly staunched.

“Anything I can do? Advice? Tirades about the fickleness of women? Poisoned chocolates? Anything?”

Liz winced at “poisoned chocolates,” then had an absurd desire to laugh. “You’re a sweetheart,” she said. “But no. I’ll be okay.”

“Any gay bars in Clarkston?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You could always go into Providence. Find yourself a nice easy cutie,
h’m
?”

Liz laughed weakly. “
Jeffie
, how often do I have to tell you it doesn’t work that way for dykes? At least not for this dyke. Not enough testosterone or something.”

“That’s probably just as well. Wouldn’t work for this guy either. Sis, I’m sorry. I’m glad we’ll be there in a few days to distract you.
Wait’ll
you see Gus. He’s talking a blue streak now, and he’s all excited about seeing you.”

“Oh, come on, he hardly knows me! He can’t possibly remember me.”

“But he does. We’ve been talking you up. He wants to swim and go out in a boat and have breakfast outside and listen to frogs, all the stuff we used to do, remember? I didn’t tell him he’d have to pick blueberries, though.”

Liz leaned her head against the wall. “Good,” she said wearily. “But maybe he’d like picking them even though we didn’t.”

“Yeah, maybe. You’re right. I bet he might want to.” He paused. “Better?”

“Um-hm. Thanks.”