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I don't even stop to think before I'm running out the door and straight across the yard. I pound on Jude's front door once, twice, three times before it swings open.

Jude looks at me, startled.

“Nora?”

“Are you making lasagna?”

The question comes out so fast even I don't recognize my own voice.

He frowns. “What?”

“Lasagna.”

I step past him before he can answer.

“I'm sorry.”

I walk straight into his kitchen, but there are no pots on the stove, no sauce simmering anywhere.

No smell.

I stand in the middle of his kitchen, staring at the empty stove as embarrassment slowly creeps in beneath the grief.

Of course he isn't making lasagna.

What the hell am I doing?

Jude doesn't say a word. He just watches me.

“What happened?”

His voice is quiet.

I shake my head. “I...”

I look around one last time.

“It doesn't matter.”

He doesn't believe me, I can see it in his face, but he doesn't push.

I walk back across the yard alone.

When I step inside my own house...

The smell is gone.

***

Later that day, I’m cleaning the bathroom when my phone vibrates on the counter.

Mom.

For what has to be the hundredth time since I left.

I let it ring until it goes to voicemail.

They wanted me gone.