“You didn’t.” She knew he didn’t, even if she didn’t know all the details about his parents. She knew enough. She knew that whatever he saw in that photo represented everything painful to him about the way they’d been together, about the way they would’ve let him go.
He nodded toward the couch, where the battered book rested. “You can go ahead and put the photo back in there. I’ll take care of it later.”
Take care of it, she could tell, did not mean putting it somewhere safe. It had sort of aLet me tie cement to it and throw it in the lakeenergy.
But that wasn’t her business, so she did as he asked, not looking at the photograph again as she slid it between the pages, and then she went to where he stood, stepped into him, and put her arms around his waist.
At first, he responded like he’d been waiting for it, like he had an instinct for it—his own arms wrapping around her shoulders, his head lowering to rest against hers, the breath he’d been holding in his chest letting out slowly. She tightened her arms, wanting to hold him like that for as long as it took for him to feel better.
But not long after he’d settled against her, he straightened again, unwrapping his arms and reaching behind him to where she held him. Gently, he loosened her hold, clearing his throat.
“Door’s open,” he said quietly, stepping back from her.
She ignored the unease she felt at the way he said it, reminded herself that the secrecy had been her idea all along.
“I don’t care,” she said, which wasn’t quite what she’d been planning on telling him today, but she supposed it was on the way to it.
He didn’t respond, only resumed his quiet unpacking of supplies. Nora looked around, saw Marian was right—it was pretty tidy in here. Still, she said, “Want me to help? Maybe afterward, we could get out of here, go get something to eat, or—” She broke off, struck with an idea that she thought might make things better, given what that photograph must’ve brought up for him. “We could go to your place?”
They’d never done that, not in all these days since they’d started to hang out even beyond the building. It didn’t seem that Will had any particular hang-ups about it, and it wasn’t like Nora had been dying to see it or anything—it just hadn’t happened yet. But now felt like the perfect time. Distance plus privacy, which might be exactly what he needed.
“I think I might go in to the clinic later. If this isn’t going to take all day.”
He wasn’t looking at her when he said it, but almost as soon as he’d finished speaking he set down the spray bottle he was holding and rubbed a hand over his face, sighing heavily.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“It’s really okay. I’m sure it’s hard, getting surprised by something like that. Something that’s painful for you.”
He breathed out a quiet huff, a laugh that wasn’t at all a laugh.
“It’s not,” he said, a stubborn note to his voice that he went on to correct. “It shouldn’t be. It’s a nice picture.”
Nora swallowed, uncertain. He didn’t like to talk about his parents; she knew that from the few times they’d come up. But all of a sudden, she had the feeling that if hedidn’ttalk about them, she’d never be able to tell him what she’d started this day so optimistic about.
She’d never be able to choose him.
“Well, I know, but . . . I don’t know. What everyone said, when they saw it.” Her voice tipped up at the end, an unintentional inflection. She wasn’t asking him any kind of question, not really. She was just . . .confused.
“They didn’t say anything wrong. Theywereyoung. Theywerein love. I shouldn’t have said what I did, about the memorial thing. They weren’t bad people.”
Nora pursed her lips, frustrated. Not so much at him asforhim.
“I’m sure they weren’t,” she said, even though she actually wasn’t. “But they seem like they were pretty negligent. So I think it’s really fine if you’re still a little pissed about it.”
“I’m not, though,” he said, with such strained, insistent conviction. “I haven’t been, not for a long time. They were who they were, and I dealt with that years ago. I hardly thought of them, until . . .” He trailed off.
“Until Donny,” she finished for him, anger at her former neighbor flaring again. She couldn’t regret that Donny’s last wishes had brought Will back to this building and into her life, but she hated that the apartment he’d been left had made him feel all this pain.
“No,” he said, dropping his eyes to the counter. “Until you.”
She blinked in surprise, dread settling along the column of her spine. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He shook his bowed head, resting his hands on the counter, his arms spread wide. A familiar posture.
“You and me,” he said. “And what we’re doing here.”
“What are we doing here?”
