I go cold.
I go still.
And I understand why I’ve been pulling away. Why I’ve been making excuses. Why every time he gets too close, I find a reason to run.
Because he’s the alley.
He’s the shadow.
He’s the echo of that moment I’ve spent years trying to forget.
And no matter how many times I remind myself that he’s different—soft with Grandma, patient with Junie, annoyingly respectful even when I push him—my fear doesn’t listen.
Fear never does.
So I keep putting one foot in front of the other, I relax against the cold air, and I tell myself that I need to find the other Nora. The one who used to listen. The one who wanted to be herself and let others be themselves too. The one who didn’t judge.
51
Nora
It’s still early when I get there, but Cheryl answers the door instantly, like she’s been waiting. She steps aside to let me in. “You want coffee? Breakfast?”
“Just you,” I say, my voice small and tired.
We sit at her kitchen table, light from the window spilling over us, and I let it all come out in a rush. About Jericho, about Dad, about what I didn’t want to know.
She listens, the way she always has, but something is off now.
“What?” I ask.
She starts vigorously chewing on the inside of her cheek, averting her eyes to the wall, then to the floor, to the window. Anywhere but at me.
“What, Cheryl?”
She bites her flesh harder, and I fear she might draw blood.
“Cheryl,” I growl.
“I knew!” sheblurts out.
“You knew what?”
“I knew about Dad’s anger problems.” The muscles on her cheek start moving under her skin. “You were younger and didn’t see it.”
“By two years?” I ask sarcastically.
She stops chewing her poor cheek as her eyes become pained. “You and I, we had different parents, Nora.”
“What do you mean?”
“Our parents were young when they had me, and they made many mistakes. I was sort of‚” she cuts herself off, looking for the right word, “a training ground for them. They didn’t make the same mistakes with you.”
“Did he—” I suddenly can’t talk because my mouth is like dry cotton. “Did he ever hit you?”
The corners of her mouth point down as my only answer.
“Oh, Cheryl.”
