Thursday, August 23, 2018, 12:15 a.m.

“A

fterward, I replayed our final conversation again and again. There were blatant clues that something was off. But I made excuses and pretended that I hadn’t known. That I couldn’t have prevented it even if I had tried. In the end, I made a choice. I did nothing.” Nora bit her lip. Why had she told Dave? What had made her think it was a good idea, after a quarter century of silence, to say the words out loud? No one, in all this time, had suspected the truth. No one had blamed her. Until now.

“My God, Nora.” That was all Dave said.

At first, Nora couldn’t look at him. She kept her gaze trained on her drink, then her wedding ring. The ring and the drink were almost the same color in this light, both shades of rosy gold. Oh God. What had she done? Why had she told him? Would he think less of her? See her as self-serving and cold-hearted, even stop loving her?

Dave finished his drink. Poured another and refilled hers. Drank some more. Did he need alcohol before he could even look at her?

Nora’s face burned. Her heart flew into her throat. Damn. She shouldn’t have told him. What she’d done was far worse than what Dave had done. Tommy had been a kid, not a fiend like Paul. Some secrets should never, not ever, be revealed.

Seconds tick-tick-ticked. Or was it her pulse? The walls, the liquor cabinet, even the too-expensive light fixture that Dave had said would make a statement and bring the whole room together, all of them lost their edges and blended together, smooshing like clumps of Silly Putty.

Tommy had risen from the grave, and would get his revenge by destroying her marriage, her life. A lump grew in Nora’s throat. She watched Dave, the motionless muscles of his face. He stood. Where was he going? Was he leaving her? Because of what she’d done?

She made for the front door. She’d run before he got the chance, even though she hadn’t considered where.

Dave grabbed her wrist, stopping her. “Nora, stop. Where are you going?” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheeks, even though they were salty and wet, and her lips ever so gently. “Sit. You’re not going anywhere.” He guided her back into her chair, then kneeled in front of her and stroked her cheek, smearing tears until she met his eyes. “How have you lived with this all by yourself?”

Nora tried to turn away.

“Look at me.” He guided her chin upward until their eyes met.

She could sense Tommy watching in the distance, his face battered and eyes blackened. She concentrated on Dave, tried to ignore Tommy.

“You were a kid. What were you, twelve years old? You were struggling to fit in with your peers, trying to figure out who you were. You couldn’t have realized the gravity of your actions, let alone what their outcome might be. You certainly didn’t intend for your brother to be hurt, never mind to die.”

How could Dave be so sure? Nora knew better. “I wanted to be free of him, to get even with—”

“Enough. The self-blame stops now, tonight. You were a child. You were not responsible for Tommy’s pictures. Or his cross-dressing. Or any of his other issues. And above all, not for his death. A lot of factors converged—”

“Don’t be a lawyer. That last night, I let him go up to the attic alone. If not for me, he’d be alive.”

Dave’s capillaries snaked around his irises, exhaustion, or something darker, shadowing his brow. He pulled her close, holding her too long and too tightly. Even when he released her, he clasped her hands, not letting go.

“So, like I said,” she said, “I know what it feels like to take a life.”

“No, you don’t. Tommy committed suicide. You didn’t kill him, Nora. Listen to me. You. Did. Not. Kill. Tommy.”

Nora nodded. No use arguing the point. Dave hadn’t been there. He hadn’t known how desperate she’d been back then. He would never accept that she’d been fully aware, even at age twelve, of the gravity of her choices. She’d known that posting those pictures all over the school might be as lethal to Tommy as a gunshot, but she hadn’t fought to stop Craig and his friends, hadn’t really even tried. She’d known when Tommy called her by her actual name, not something like shithead or pisser. She’d recognized the futility in Tommy’s voice—Bye, Nora—but she’d left him to his despair. She’d known and had deliberately and purposefully done nothing.

Dave leaned close, his eyes teary. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’m glad—No—I’m honored and moved that you’ve finally trusted me enough to tell me.” He planted a kiss on her mouth, gentle and feathery, the way he’d kissed her after she’d labored through childbirth.

Nora wanted to cover her face, run up to bed, and pull the covers over her head. She wanted Dave to stop staring at her. God. Was this what openness felt like? Naked, with every flaw and scar exposed? She couldn’t bear feeling so bare. Why was she punning? Obviously, she needed to make light of the situation, make it seem less significant. But Dave was still watching her. How long would this last? When would Dave be himself again and stop gaping at her in rapt amazement?

“So.” She put on a cheerful smile, began talking in the soft authoritative tone she used with the children. “Now, we know each other’s darkest secret. We’re even. Balanced. We each have one killing.”

“Except you didn’t kill Tommy—”

“But that’s all we get.” She ignored his distinction. “One apiece. From now on, we live right. We raise our kids. We stay honest and open with each other. And we move on. Okay?” Her smile made her face ache, but she held it.

Dawn was only a few hours away when they climbed under the covers. They made love silently, tenderly. Afterward, Dave’s breath deepened in seconds, but even with the late hour and the quantity of rye in her system, Nora stayed awake. You did not kill him, Nora. You did not kill Tommy. Was that possibly true? More likely, it was what Dave needed to believe.