33

NORAH

Present Day

FOR NORAH, 322 Predicament Avenue would never be the same. It wouldn’t hold the nostalgia it had before, and yet it was enveloped in something entirely unexpected.

She sat beside Ralph, both of them on the back steps of the porch overlooking the cemetery. The old graveyard with all the people no one remembered anymore, and with Isabelle Addington and Naomi Richman. Someday no one would be left to remember them either. To remember any of them really. But Norah had today. Today was still alive, still a part of her. In spite of the grief and the agony of betrayal, Norah sensed a new beginning on the horizon.

“It will be hard,” she stated.

Ralph knew what she was talking about without her having to explain. There were more new lines in his aged face, a deeper stoop to his shoulders. There was a guilt he should have known, should have suspected.

“Yes, it’ll be hard for a while,” he agreed. Then, after a pause, he added, “Maybe for the rest of my life.”

“Do you think . . . ?” Norah couldn’t say it aloud. Couldn’t express herself in a way she felt would make sense.

“What?” Ralph gave her a sideways look. The familiar overall strap dropped over his shoulder, and Norah fought the urge to straighten it.

“Do you think any of us could’ve stopped it? Could’ve done something for Otto, for Naomi, even for LeRoy that would’ve maybe shaped their lives into taking a different path?”

Ralph snorted. “Doubtful. Don’t mean to sound bitter, but my brother’s got a messed-up head, and it looks like he hid the fact his whole life. We can’t prepare for that. No way.”

“But I mean—”

“Can you change what’s comin’ in life?” Ralph looked at her directly, stating her thoughts more bluntly than she felt she should.

Norah simply nodded.

Ralph shook his head and pointed at the graves before them. “Those folks lived life and then died—who knows what they saw and had to suffer through? We can’t be afraid to live just ’cause we’re afraid of dyin’. Seems to me we’d be better off seekin’ out the truth of it.”

Norah frowned. “The truth of what?”

“The truth of what comes after,” Ralph said with a shrug. “People say Isabelle Addington haunts this place, but I ain’t never seen her. You ain’t never seen her. Every time we thought we saw her, it was that gal Lyla. Poor kid. So alone in the world, ain’t no one cared she went missin’. So you see, people see things, but do they really? My momma once said that if you have hope in the hereafter, then the now ain’t scary no more.”

“But how do we have that hope?” Norah felt like she was being blasphemous even asking such a thing. There were so many beliefs these days, so many theories and philosophies, yet if she dared not ask if God was real and why He allowed evil to exist in the world, then how could she ever know the truth? How could she stop being afraid when truth had no standard and no foundation, but instead was whatever a person made up to make themself feel better?

Ralph wiped his nose on his sleeve, sniffing, whether because of emotion or a runny nose, Norah wasn’t sure. He eyed her for a moment before offering a reply to her question. “Sometimes, Norah, it’s as simple as believin’ what was said and what’s never been proven to be wrong.”

“What’s that?” Norah whispered.

Ralph gave her a pat on the knee. “That we’re all a bunch of screwups. God ain’t.”

“He let Naomi die,” Norah challenged without regret.

Ralph nodded. “Yup. He did. But He left you to live. So live, Norah. Believe there haven’t been mistakes, only a busted-up old world in need of hope.” He shoved off his knees and stood, hefting a sigh and nodding toward the graveyard. “I got work to do.”

Norah watched him shuffle away. There were no easy answers and yet, in a way, the answers had been there all along. Live. Hope. Believe. Surrender. They were difficult words. Impossible most of the time.

But hope was something 322 Predicament Avenue hadn’t had living in it for years. Maybe it was time to let hope move in.

Harper grinned at Norah and rolled her eyes. “I had one bad night, and you all think I’m made of glass.”

“No,” Sebastian retorted from the doorway. “I’m just realizin’ that my little lass needs some TLC.”

“I’m nineteen, Dad,” Harper laughed.

Norah could sense the shift between father and daughter. There hadn’t been any miraculous come-to-Jesus moments or mind-blowing emotional reunions. It just seemed that night Lyla had terrified Harper in her room and Sebastian had been faced not only with the fragility of his daughter but also his future grandchild . . . grandchild?—Norah reined in her thoughts—well, it seemed Sebastian had experienced some sort of revelation that it was time he be an involved father. That wasted time was a form of death he didn’t want to face and really didn’t need to face. Death of a relationship, at least in this case with Harper, was avoidable.

“Fine,” Harper said, “I’ll stay in bed the rest of the evening and night, but tomorrow I’m up. Okay? The doctor didn’t order bed rest for nine months. He only advised rest for a day or two. And it’s been four.” She leveled a stern glare on her dad.

Norah bit back a smile.

“Good,” Sebastian conceded, then raised a finger. “But you aren’t goin’ anywhere unless you check with me.”

“Okay, okay,” Harper said, rolling her eyes again.

Sebastian gave Norah a look she couldn’t quite interpret. “I’ll be out back.” He left, leaving Norah and Harper to stare at each other, holding their breaths and then laughing the moment they were sure he was out of earshot.

“Oh my gosh!” Harper’s eyes were wide. “I always wanted Dad to be more involved, but I might regret this.”

“You won’t.” Norah smiled and adjusted a blanket for something to do, then motioned to the music box on Harper’s nightstand. “I’m not sure if you want that or not. I know it was creepy when you first heard it, but—”

“But it was Naomi’s,” Harper finished. She reached out and touched Norah’s hand. “I’m honored you want me to have it. I’m honored LeRoy Anderson is letting you keep one of his family heirlooms.”

Norah swallowed a lump in her throat. “Yeah. I’ve a lot to make up for with LeRoy. He’s lived for thirteen years unable to grieve ’cause we all blamed him. He still wouldn’t be my choice for Naomi”—she eyed the music box—“but I can’t help but feel he came from a good family. Whoever that man Anderson was, and however he was tied to Isabelle Addington.”

“Dad said he can’t find a thing in the papers with any more clues as to what happened,” Harper said. “So maybe they did all get destroyed in natural disasters like the papers concluded. Or else Dad can only assume they never found out.”

Norah nodded. “It’s sad.”

“But!” Harper’s eyes lit up. “Dad did find an article about Floyd Opperman! Seems Betty and Ron Daily were wrong. He wasn’t sent to an institution. After his mother died, he was too much for his brother to care for, but apparently he ended up getting a permanent position as a worker in the carriage house on the manor’s property.”

“The James manor?” Norah drew back, surprised. “That place is the epicenter of historical homes and tours in Shepherd.”

“I know. It was a small blip in an article, stating that Floyd Opperman had been celebrating his tenth year on staff at the manor and had become a beloved member of the family.”

Norah smiled. “Good. Something about a man like that being institutionalized bothered me to no end.”

Harper grinned back, a perky glint in her eyes. “See, Norah? Sometimes God brings us a happy ending—they’re just small and so we need to look harder for them.”

Sebastian held sentry at his station where the coffeemaker brewed. He looked up sheepishly. “I know. It’s past five, but I’m needin’ some, so don’t be judgin’ me.”

“No judgment.” Norah held up her hands. She was tired. She wasn’t sure where she stood with Sebastian. He seemed . . . normal. At least he was back to his casual self instead of brooding and acting as if she’d ruined everything. But he hadn’t said anything about it to her either, and Norah was afraid he never would. It seemed to be his way. Just move on. But that didn’t always work. Look at Harper and the years she’d ached for more of his attention—that being heart-to-heart talks and the presence of an engaged father in her life.

“Want some?” He lifted the full coffeepot.

Norah shook her head. She watched him pour coffee into a mug and then replace the pot on its hot pad. He turned toward her, his dark eyes piercing into hers as he held the mug like a shield in front of him.

“So I’m a fool, Norah Richman.”

She blinked in surprise.

He sipped the coffee, then nudged his glasses up his nose. He had a nice nose. He had a nice face. She’d noticed, but she’d avoided dwelling on it. Dwelling on the fact that anytime Sebastian Blaine walked into the room, her insides threatened to melt like a lit wax candle.

“I’ve been speakin’ in my head all the things I want to say to you. I don’t know as I’ve made any progress.”

“Like what?” Norah maneuvered a chair out from the table so she could sit down.

But Sebastian was quicker. He set down his mug of coffee and was beside her before she could sit. His presence was magnetic enough that she stayed standing, only she swayed a bit, and Sebastian reached out to steady her.

His eyes were pools of liquid, warm and inviting like coffee, and . . . dangerous in a way.

“You’ve been important to Harper. An’ I want to thank you for bein’ there when I wasn’t.”

“I—”

“Don’t say it was nothin’ ’cause it wasn’t. She was afraid to come to me, an’ I can’t say as I blame her. I’ve been in an’ out of her life all her life. She needs a home. An’ I was scared to let that be me.”

Norah mustered a small smile. Part of her was jealous of Harper. Oh, heck, all of her was jealous of Harper. She’d like her home to include Sebastian too. Somehow. Someway. She wasn’t ready for her houseguest and his daughter to check out of 322 Predicament Avenue, yet she wasn’t foolish enough to think they’d progressed to the stage in their relationship where she’d feel comfortable asking them to stay.

“I’d like to stay—for a while anyway. I’d like to have some time with Harper, an’ . . .” Sebastian’s words were such a close echo to Norah’s thoughts, she stared at him, horrified she’d actually spoken them aloud. He hurried to continue. “I’ll pay the room an’ board for Harper an’ I. But I think it’d be good for us to stay here. Fresh start an’ all.” He paused, then seemed to realize Norah was drowning in his coffee-colored eyes, and his grin turned slightly cocky and lopsided. “An’ I think it’d be good for you too.”

“Me?” Norah tilted her head.

“Aye. Think about it. Have you ever realized you’ve no one here who can brew a good pot of coffee?”

“Oh.” She felt dumb.

Sebastian tilted her chin up with his thumb. “An’ have you imagined what your days would be like without me around?”

She had. Norah looked away, embarrassed.

Sebastian moved with her, commanding her gaze. He winked. “An’ just think about it, lass. If I’m here, I can chase away all your ghosts.”

She didn’t mean to miss the comedy in his words, but the phrase caught at her soul and at her innermost fears, and she couldn’t help but ask seriously, “All my ghosts?”

He leaned in and dragged his mouth across her cheek to her ear and whispered, “All your ghosts. All your specters. All your ghouls. Until only I’m left to haunt you.”

His mouth trailed back along her jaw, and Norah let him. She closed her eyes as he kissed her. A breathy kiss, the kind that made her want more and wonder what a deeper one would feel like.

“Whaddya say?” Sebastian asked, pulling back.

“Haunt me then.” Norah mimicked his accent.

“Aye, lass.” He pulled her closer.

Norah realized then that hope, true hope, came in many different forms. She was just fine with this one.