Thank fuck I’m not wielding my hammer when she says that.
“Nora was going to get married?” I don’t know why the idea bothers me so much. She’s not my lover or a girlfriend. Not even my friend. Why the hell is my heart beating in my ears then? And why do I suddenly hate this Dick so much? I don’t even know what for—dumping Nora or just existing in the first place.
“Oh, yes.” Moon interlocks her fingers on her knees. “They were high school sweethearts, with dreams to go to the big city together. All nine yards.” She waves her hand at something in the air. “Then he dumped her right before the prom—the first time,” she showsonewith her finger, “so she had to take Roman.”
“Who the fuck is Roman?” How many men names does this woman remember when she can’t remember mine?
“He’s the cook from the diner. He’s like a father to her.” Her voice turns sad. “Well, since her actual father passed away. And so tragic. So early.” With that, her eyes turn glassy, and her fragile hand moves to wipe a tear from her eye.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, feeling her and Nora’s pain like mine. My own father died when I was ten, and I saw my mother spiral into the chaos of her mind for some time before she emerged a new person. But something in Moon’s voice tells me it was more than just him passing away. There’s something bad behind it, but I’m not going to ask.
Moon’s eyes don’t come back from the memory she’srevisiting, so I place my hand on her shoulder for support, showing her I’m here. Because I don’t know what else to do.
Her cold hand covers mine with a gentle pat, like she’s the one soothing me. “It’s been a while,” she says with a sad smile. “We are okay. We moved on.” Her gaze drops to her small, interlocked hands on her lap. “I don’t think Nora has though. That poor girl saw too much.”
Scary scenarios about what might have happened run through my mind, but I don’t voice any of them.
“So, what about that Dick guy?” I remind her, trying to get her back from the place of mourning. I’d much rather prefer her angry and determined to talk shit about this guy than being sad over lost loved ones. Plus, I’m very interested in this story if I’m honest.
“Oh, he’s a dick.” Squinting her eyes at me, she adds, “Don’t tell Nora I said that.”
“Don’t worry,” I chuckle. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms.”
“Are you not?” Her eyes narrow into tiny slits. “Why is that?”
“We are just—” I shrug, not knowing how to explain it. “Well, just different I guess.”
“Are you?” she asks curiously and then, without waiting for my answer, continues. “What did you do?”
“Me? Why do you think I did something?” My voice comes out sharper than intended, and her steady gaze remains unflinching, homing in on my discomfort with the precision of a hawk. I shift beneath her scrutiny, feeling like she already knows more than I’ve told her.
“Just a hint. Humor me.” Her eyes glisten with unexpected cunning, and her grin makes me question my original assessment of her memory. I’ve underestimated her, that much is clear, and I wonder how much of her forgetfulness is simply an act designed to lull others into her trap.
Sighing, I decide to satisfy her curiosity. “I called hercrazy, and she flipped.” The words are meant to sound casual, but they carry more weight than I expect, clanging in the silence. I pause, unsure if I’m digging a deeper hole for myself with every admission.
“Did she yell at you?”
“No. She just shut down.” The memory of Nora’s silence, more punishing than any outburst, resurfaces, and I find myself wondering yet again why I care so damn much. Her already heavy shoulders sag even more beneath her jacket, and I don’t need her to say anything to know I’ve failed some kind of test.
“I see.” The disappointment in her voice is palpable, and it eats at me in a way I never thought possible.
“What? I didn’t mean it like that.” There’s an urgency in my tone, a need for her to understand that I’m not the villain in this story. Or at least not the one I’m afraid she thinks I am.
“Like what?”
Feeling uncomfortable, I roll my shoulders and try to brush off the tension. “Like an insult,” I clarify. “It was more like a figure of speech.” There’s apology woven into my words, even if I’m not sure who it’s meant for—her or myself or Nora.
“So you don’t think she’s crazy?” Her expression is one of genuine curiosity, and she leans forward, eager for my response. She clutches the sides of her oversized jacket, and I get the feeling that this is some kind of turning point, though I couldn’t say why.
“Oh, I’m sure of that.” This time, my voice is firmer, carrying a conviction that surprises me as much as it does her.
Her face brightens. “That she’s not crazy?”
“No, that she is.” I allow a small grin to escape, feeling the surprising warmth of relief. “But in the best way.” Then I add loud enough for only me to hear, “I don’t think I’d want her any other way.”
She rolls her lips, thinking, and a heavy silence settlesupon us. I want to pick up my hammer and make myself busy, but I’m afraid I’ll end up losing a finger or two by the time we’re done talking.
After what feels like ten minutes, but in reality is probably two, her eyes take on a twinkle. “I suppose you might be right. It runs in the family.” With a wink, she rises to her feet, and I rush to help her. “Go check out the diner. It’s been some time, and you haven’t been in there.”
