“I’m not. I’m sorry. What I meant was, you needed someone strong and fearless. A rock. And I chickened out. I couldn’t handle seeing the impenetrable fortress that is Norah George Bishop fall. It’s no excuse. I have no excuse. Believe me, I’ve spent the last decade trying to figure out why I ran away—why I took the easy way out. And all I keep coming back to is that I was a coward.”
Norah fully expected to be perturbed by Chase’s words. But the sincerity behind them was heartbreaking, and she knew how hard it was for Chase to admit she was wrong. Norah had been waiting forever for an apology like this from Chase. Over the years, that fantasy had shifted more from pitiful groveling to a kind, selfless plea for forgiveness. This was much more the latter, and the layer of anger Norah had been cloaked in for so long seemed to begin its long thaw.
“You were a coward. And you did run out on me when I needed you the most. You didn’t even come to Davey’s memorial.”
Now Chase’s eyes filled with tears, spilling out onto her khaki shorts in a way Norah had not allowed herself. Even in the poorly lit jeep, Norah could see this. Chase sniffled a little, and not in the dramatic way that children sniffle when they want their parents to see they’re pouting. It wasn’t easy for Chase to cry.
“I know. And I regret that absence every fucking day.”
Norah turned to look out the window, the memory of her last night with Chase billowing into her brain like smoke, and she couldn’t make it stop.
Chase hadn’t been there when Norah came home that night. Davey’s service was scheduled for two days later, and she stillhad a million things to do to get ready—confirm with the florist, make arrangements with the funeral home, be sure the military guard knew the when and where. Overwhelmed wasn’t the half of it. She was beside herself, and having to make endless phone calls about yellow versus white flowers and which kind of cold cuts to serve at the reception, all between explosive bursts of crying she thought might kill her too, seemed undoable. She counted down the minutes until Chase would be home to ease some of what felt like her spiral into the depths of hell. But Chase didn’t come home. At least, not until 11:34 p.m. that night. A sharp-as-day image of the time on the microwave clock was forever etched in Norah’s brain.
“Where have you been?” Norah asked, her tone not accusatory, just sad.
Chase didn’t answer right away. She dropped her bag by the door and walked straight to the fridge, where she fished out a bottle of beer and a brick of cheddar cheese. Every day for the last two years, they had kissed each other hello. Today, of all days, should not have been the time that ritual ceased.
“Out.” Chase cut into the cheese and ate several pieces, followed by a long guzzling of the beer.
“That’s it? Out? I needed you here today. I’ve spent nearly the whole day on the phone trying to get things perfect for Davey’s service. It’s been…awful.”
Norah felt herself begin to cry again, the ever-familiar waterworks just waiting to restart. Chase’s face pinched in pain, and Norah knew that no matter how cold she was being, Chase still cared about the torture she was enduring. But for the life of her, Norah couldn’t imagine what was wrong with her.
“Look. I’m going to head to my parents’ for a week or two. I need to clear my head. I’m sorry I won’t be at the service.”
Norah’s head spun in what she swore must have been full circles. Nothing in the present moment made any sense. This was the woman she’d spent every day with for nearly two years. Herbest friend. The love of her life. And she was just leaving? Norah was so baffled, she couldn’t find words. Not one. Not even “fuck you.” Or “go to hell.” Or “I love you.” She could say literally nothing. And by the time she began to form any version of a coherent thought again, Chase had finished chugging the beer and was gone again.
Three days later, Norah received a phone call from Chase, lasting one minute and thirty-two seconds, saying she wasn’t coming home. Norah remembered, because she’d checked the call-log on her phone, unsure how their entire relationship could come down to a span less than the length of a pop song. Five days after that, a letter came to the apartment from Georgetown’s ID Residency Program addressed to Chase Durgin.
The flashback, which felt more real to Norah than the moment at hand, caused a resurgence of her anger as strong as she could remember.
“Norah, say something. Please.”
She could feel Chase’s eyes on her but refused to look anywhere but straight ahead. Suddenly, the open jeep felt as suffocating as a tomb. Norah had to get out of there. Without any kind of plan, she pushed open the door and jumped out, moving to the front of the vehicle, where she climbed on top of the hood and sat, staring up into the expansive sky. The clouds must have broken, because the stars were out now, suddenly clear and breathtaking apparitions from somewhere impossibly far away. Some of Norah’s anger melted, just as Chase opened her door and hesitantly approached.
“Is it okay?” Chase asked, as timidly as Norah had ever heard her.
Norah nodded gently, and Chase climbed onto the hood, taking a seat next to her. What had happened between them hadbeen lifetimes ago. Holding on to that kind of resentment was dangerous, like a tumor. Norah had moved on from Chase and from their life together—hadn’t she? It was time to try her hand at forgiveness.
“I want to explain one more thing,” Chase said. Norah let her continue. “My mom had terribly uncontrolled bipolar disorder when I was growing up. She refused to take her meds most of the time, and when I was barely in middle school, she’d go through these horrible bouts of depression. She’d lock herself in her room for days and not eat. She’d cry all night and sleep all day. My dad just drank it away, spent most of his time down the street at the townie bar. And even as a kid, I felt like it was on me to fix her. I somehow thought her sadness was my fault, I guess.”
Chase’s voice trailed off, and she hugged her knees to her chest. Norah had never heard this story before. In fact, Chase rarely talked about her mother. Some of the pieces of the mystery of what happened so many years ago began to fall together.
“You never told me your mom was sick.”
“I know. Because when I was fourteen, I walked in on her in her bedroom after she’d taken a handful of her lithium and chased it with a bottle of gin. We almost lost her that day. It’s not something I ever wanted to talk about. Even with you.”
Chase kept her head low, and Norah reached out and slowly stroked down Chase’s spine.
“I’m sorry. That must have been awful,” Norah finally said.
“Don’t be. I’m telling you this only because it’s why I acted like such a piece of shit back then. I saw you, so depressed and broken, and thought of my mom and how I couldn’t fix her. I thought about how my dad would come home from the bar and tell me it was my fault she was like this. And I just…couldn’t.”
“But Chase, that was mental illness. I was grieving my dead brother.”
“I know that now, at thirty-nine. But at twenty-five I was just a dumb kid. I couldn’t understand the difference.”
Any trace of anger Norah had left devolved into a deep sadness—sadness for Chase and the past Norah had no idea existed, and sadness for the loss they both shared that could have been avoided. She placed a hand on Chase’s bare knee, allowing herself to enjoy the feeling of her skin against Chase’s and all the electricity that came with it.
