CHAPTER THIRTY

It was late on Tuesday evening by the time they finished briefing unit chief Carmen Garcia. “That’s some nice work,” she said, looking at Jessica. “You okay if I call over there and thank the Bu leadership for all of this?”

Benny spoke before Jessica could answer. “Sure, and would be nice if you made it clear that our rookie here has been driving the FBI bus.”

“Uh, actually,” Jessica said, “I appreciate that, Benny, I really do, but one of my instructors at Quantico told us about the ‘tall-poppy syndrome,’ where the tall ones get cut down first. Think the idea comes from Australia, but we have the same thing in the Bu, he said. Do the work, but don’t stick your head up, especially early.”

Benny shrugged. “What a fucked-up organization.”

“Got it,” Carmen said. “No tall poppies. But I’m still gonna call. So what’s next, squad?”

Nora took that one. “Next big item is the Conor interview. We got some more stuff coming in from the tech companies on both him and Gina, but we have enough to go at him. We’re thinking Monday. That’ll give me a chance to get a warrant for his phone and a grand-jury subpoena to hand him if he tells us to go screw.”

Carmen nodded and looked at the tired team. “Makes sense. So let me issue a direct order. It’s Thanksgiving, so go home. Hug somebody, eat lots of good stuff, drink responsibly, sleep. Get away from this case for a few days. It’ll make you better.”

“I guess I don’t work for you,” Jessica answered, “but I’m gonna follow that order anyway. Flight early tomorrow to San Fran to see my family. Back Sunday.”

“And you two?” Carmen asked, nodding her head at Nora and Benny on the couch.

“The great feast of Hoboken awaits,” Nora answered. “And, it’s good that you’re seated to hear the news that Mr. Rough here is actually going to spend Thanksgiving with his family.”

Carmen made a face of mock surprise.

“You two are hilarious,” Benny said. “Dinner with my two boys, them and theirs. I’m bringing whiskey, wine, and presents for the granddaughter. Been a while, and that’s on me, but I’m lookin’ forward to it. Bunny would want me to figure out this grandfather thing, and I guess it’s better late than never.”

They knew who he meant. “Bunny” was Benny’s nickname for his wife, Moira. He was the only person she let call her that, and he started doing it in the eighth grade at St. Cecilia, when he began his quest to convince her, as he said, “to marry way, way down.” She had relented and they’d raised two sons in Brooklyn. Of course, Benny also liked to say, “She raised two sons while I was out on surveillance.” And when a stroke killed her without warning and Benny was dealing with a broken heart, their boys drifted away from him.

The room was awkwardly silent as the three women weighed and then passed on follow-up questions, deciding on smiles and nods of support.

Nora broke the silence, “What about you, Carmen?”

“It’s just gonna be a quiet holiday for the three of us this year. Thankful for no traveling. Okay, team,” Carmen said, standing, “eat, drink, and be merry. See you Monday. Hit me on my cell if you need anything.”

“Got it,” Nora said as she got off the couch. “I hope you and Marguerite and Eli have a wonderful Turkey Day.” Then pointing at the ceiling, she added, “You still don’t see a need to brief up there?”

“Not yet,” Carmen said. “We’re close, but let’s wait to make that call until after you’ve seen the whites of Conor’s eyes.”

“Got it. Happy Thanksgiving.”

On Park Avenue in Hoboken, Sophie’s paper turkey creation was still taped to the fridge, although it was drooping quite a bit. Nora quietly pulled a yogurt and a beer from the fridge and sat on a stool at the counter. She heard her mother’s slippers gently slapping into the kitchen.

“Hey baby-girl, another late night for justice, huh?”

“Yeah, Ma, but I’m here for the whole long weekend.”

“That’s wonderful, Nora. Sophie will be over the moon.” She paused, then added, “You know Nick’s gonna be here tomorrow night and Friday.”

“Sure, like every year,” Nora said. “We each get at least two days here at Thanksgiving, no matter whose week it is.”

“Yeah, course. I only bring it up because he’s gonna have Vicki with him.”

When Nora didn’t reply, Teresa added, “So there’s that.”

Nora chuckled. “Ma! You’re killing me. Can we talk about it tomorrow? I promise I’ll feel all the feels when we’re making pies. But tonight, I’m just too tired. And my bug is gonna jump on me at dawn.”

“Sure, sure,” Teresa said. “Tomorrow, we feel.” She came around the counter and hugged her daughter, wrapping her arms around her from behind. “But you do have to feel, at some point.”

“Great, Mom. Sleep tight.”

“And you. Sweet dreams.”

Sophie was still in her pajamas, perched on a stool at one end of the counter, headphones on, watching Frozen on an iPad for the thousandth time. She couldn’t hear herself chewing on her toaster waffle. The rest of the counter was covered in pie-making paraphernalia—a mound of freshly peeled green apples waiting to be cut into eighths, rhubarb stalks about to be chopped, moist crust laid on wax paper, mixing bowl at the ready. Nora’s mother reached for the remote control with a flour-covered hand and increased the volume on the little TV by the coffeemaker. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade now shouted at them.

“Ma, she can’t hear anything with those headphones on,” Nora said.

“I know, I know,” her mother replied, not changing the volume. “So tell me how you’re feeling about this Nick-Vicki thing.”

Nora shook her head. “Really, I gotta feel before I get a second cup of coffee? And can I at least joke about the name thing? We gonna call him ‘Nicki’ now?”

Teresa shook her head. “No jokes. We said we’d talk about it this morning. So talk.”

Nora sighed. “The most important thing is that Sophie’s okay with it, and she seems good. She likes Vicki and is really excited about the wedding and the flower-girl thing. But honestly, I feel weird about it. Vicki seems nice, and it’s really not about me and him. I don’t care if he has somebody; in fact, it’s good that he has somebody. It’s not jealousy, at least not in the normal sense. But I actually think I’m jealous that he has somebody and I don’t. Ma, I worry I’m gonna be alone forever.”

Teresa put down her spoon and faced Nora, grabbing her face with two hands. “Hey, hey. First, you’ll never be alone. You have me and, most of all”—she nodded to Sophie—“you have that amazing little human . . .”

“I know that, Mom,” Nora said, gently grasping her mother’s hands and sliding them off her face, leaving white streaks. “It’s not that. I just worry I’ll never have a partner, like you did, like Nick will. Somebody to lie in bed with at the end of a day, somebody to scratch my back, tell me I’m full of it, make me laugh. You know what I mean. You had that.”

Teresa smiled tightly. “I did, and it was the joy of my life. That’s the second thing I was gonna say. When your father died, I lost a piece of myself that I’ll never get back, because he was what you just said. He was my partner—in everything. And as much as I loved you kids, as much as you were the center of my life—of our life—he brought a joy that nobody else could, and I miss it every day.”

They were both crying now. “I want that for you, Nora. You deserve to have that in your life, and you’ll make someone else’s life so full. I really think you should make time to focus on that, on trying to find that person. I hear about these apps—where Nick met Vicki, you know.”

Nora cut her off. “Ma, stop. I can’t get advice about dating apps from you. Please. Too creepy. But I get what you’re saying.”

“Good,” Teresa said, returning to pie-making. They were quiet for a few moments, the kitchen filled with the sound of someone loudly lip-syncing from a Sesame Street float in front of the landmark Macy’s. Then Nora spoke without looking up from the crust she was pressing into the glass pie pan.

“One of my problems, Ma, is that I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”

“What does that mean?” her mother asked.

Nora took two deep breaths before answering. “When I was in high school, it was me and Nick, me and Nick, all the time. I liked him, but I never felt what I always thought I was supposed to feel, and I figured that was it. Seen too many movies, right? But when I got to Fairfield, I met a girl from another school. She was cool, smart, fun, and really pretty too. The more I got to know her, the more I started to feel the things I didn’t with Nick. It was really confusing. She kissed me kinda casually once and I felt so much it actually scared me.

“I’m not sure I even realized what I was feeling until she ghosted me—stopped calling, emailing, just gone. It crushed me. I think I was falling in love with this girl. I’m not sure she felt it, but I sure did, especially as I look back at it. I’ve never had anything else like that, college, law school, ever. And, yeah, I had Sophie with Nick—which I’m so glad about, best thing that ever happened to me—but even the ‘having’—if you get me—didn’t feel good the way I thought it would. I never thought of myself as gay or bi, but I guess I am, and I still feel confused, all these years later. If I’m honest with myself, I think maybe I should be looking at women on those apps of yours.”

Without warning, Teresa pulled her into a hug and then pushed her away, leaving her hands on Nora’s shoulders. Shaking her gently, she said, “You know God made you perfect, right?”

“Thanks, Ma, although I’m not sure who made me besides you and Dad. And I don’t think Father Frank would agree with you, and all the homilies I’ve heard over the years make this harder for me.”

Nora sniffled loudly before continuing. “I’ll figure it out. But not now. Now I got you and Sophie and this case, but when things settle down a bit, I promise I’ll figure it out. I will find my person.”

Teresa grimaced. “Well, times are changing and Jesus said we should love and not judge, so I think Father Frank will be just fine and I’ll help him get there if he needs it. In the meantime,” she began, “I’ve read great things about this Bumble app—”

Nora cut her off. “Ma, no,” she said sharply. “I’m serious. Stop.”

Immediately regretting the flash of anger, she added, “But for you, that might be just the thing. Finally meet that nice Italian man your parents always thought you should be with. Yeah, I should have thought of this earlier. We should start working on your profile. Piña coladas, getting caught in the rain, not into yoga. That kinda thing.”

“Okay, okay,” her mother laughed. “No more with the apps. I surrender.”

Nora turned serious. “And, you know I couldn’t do any of this—single motherhood, job, any of it—without you in my life. I’d be lost without you.”

“And me you, baby-girl.”

“Now can we turn the fricking parade down? If Al Roker yells at me again I’m gonna scream.”

Teresa laughed and reached her floured hand for the remote.