“I’m going to grab a couple more cookies,” Duncan says. As I follow him over to the table, I find myself looking at everyone and wondering.
He has just picked up an Oreo when a woman’s voice raps out, “Hey—you put that back!”
He drops the cookie as if it’s on fire.
But it’s just Nora. She’s standing across from us, grinning. “I already called dibs on it,” she says.
I’m not used to old people joking around. Most of the senior citizens who shop at my Fred Meyer store are as bland as pastel sweaters.
“Finders keepers, Nora.” Duncan retrieves the cookie. It’s gone in two bites. He turns back to me. “Where are you from?”
Another answer pops out of my mouth. “Seattle.” Not thinking things through is working for me. I’ve been to Seattle on the train a couple of times, so I can fake it.
“Cool. What neighborhood?”
What neighborhood, what neighborhood? “Pretty close to the Space Needle.” Except a view of the Space Needle is probably expensive, so I add, “Not that you can see it from my apartment.”
Luckily, my answer seems to satisfy him. “So why’d you come down here?”
“The cost of living is a lot cheaper.” That part’s not a lie. “I’m taking a year off to save for college.” My patchwork of answers is getting thin, but Duncan doesn’t seem to notice.
Nora saves me by saying, “Ready to take me home, Olivia?”
“Sure. Just let me go to the bathroom first.” I turn to Duncan. “It was nice talking to you.”
“Maybe I’ll stop by next time I’m over at Nora’s.”
“Okay.” I feel a little thrill. He grins at me and then goes over to talk to Frank.
Nora puts her arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “Oh, so you’ve decided to stay? I’m so glad. It will be wonderful being neighbors.”
“Yeah,” I say, stepping back. I’m not used to being touched. “I’ll be right back.”
As I’m going into the bathroom, Sam is coming out. Her face is flushed and blotchy, as if she’s been crying. The bathroom is otherwise empty. Right after I slide the bolt in the far corner stall, two women come in.
“Everyone was asking me about the holes in your face.” I recognize Carly’s voice. And it’s not hard to guess who she’s talking to as they go into the stalls.
“It’s my face,” the girl retorts. “Not yours, not theirs. Mine.”
Carly’s voice is tight. “You could have honored your uncle by at least taking off that ridiculous chain.”
“From what I remember of Uncle Terry, he would have thought I was badass.”
“Lauren!”
“It’s not like I showed up pregnant or something. And besides, that’s why people are here. So they can gossip. So what does it matter what I wear or what color my hair is? It doesn’t hurt Uncle Terry, and it gave them something to talk about.”
“It matters because it affects people’s opinions of you,” my aunt says.
“If they can’t look past a six-inch-long sterling-silver chain, then I don’t care what they think.”
They both flush at the same time, and then I hear the sounds of hands being washed and the main door opening and closing. After that it’s quiet, so I flush and come out.
But Lauren’s still there. Her eyes look wet. She bites her lip and turns away.
There’s no use pretending I didn’t hear them arguing. “I like your hair,” I say. It’s the truth, too. “I like that shade of purple.”
Her expression softens. “Thanks. You know moms. They’re never happy.” Her voice turns singsong. “‘What did you do to your hair? When’s the last time you ate something healthy? Who’s that boy I saw you talking to?’” She rolls her eyes.
“Yeah,” I echo. “Moms.” I nod and then leave.
When I come out, Nora’s sitting in a chair, her head hanging low. She brightens when she sees me. I loop her big black purse over my shoulder and help her to her feet.
“I’m so glad you’re going to be next door,” she declares. “You’ll love that house.”
“I’ll call the rental company today.”
We both fall silent as we walk out the big doors.
“So,” she finally says. “Duncan.”
“What about Duncan?” Just saying his name makes my heart beat a little faster.
“That’s what I wanted to ask you.” Nora raises one eyebrow.
“I just met him.” I try to tamp down my smile. “He seems nice.”
“Nice,” she echoes. “That’s like when the best thing you can say about a girl is that she sews all her own clothes.”
“But I don’t know him.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Nora says, but it sounds as though she’s really disagreeing with me.
Back at her house, I park and help her out. As she goes up her walk, I stand in front of the rental sign and dial the number for Lee Realty.
The phone rings three times before a woman answers. I take a breath, but then I realize it’s just a recording. After the beep, I say, “My name is Olivia Reinhart, and I’d like to talk to you about renting the property at 1707 Terrace Drive.” I end with my cell phone number.
If the rental company isn’t open on a Saturday afternoon, it’s surely not going to be open tomorrow. Now what? Maybe I can find a quiet road and lock the car doors and sleep there the next two nights. I don’t want to waste money on a motel.
Nora speaks, and I realize she hasn’t gone inside. “Can’t get hold of them?”
“The office is closed.”
“Then you should stay with me until Monday.”
I shake my head. “That’s okay. I’ll find a motel or something.”
“Nonsense. I have a guest room, and you’ll be my guest.” She turns as if it’s already decided. Without looking to see if I’m following, she goes inside. After a moment, I follow her.
Until today, I didn’t even remember Nora. And if you had asked me what the inside of Nora’s house looked like, I would have said I had no idea. It turns out I do and I don’t.
It’s like I’m in one of those snow globes. Somebody’s picked me up and shaken all my memories loose. Now they float around me, flickering in the corners of my eyes.
Just inside the door sits a blue flowered couch topped with a nest of afghans. An old wingback chair, upholstered in gold brocade, stands at a right angle to it. I don’t need to look to know its feet are carved wooden talons gripping balls.
Nora’s house is crammed with books, colored bottles, baskets, and hanging plants. The walls are covered with things in frames: photos, little paintings, shells, and a tiny ivory elephant, as well as an old silver-backed brush, a carved walnut on a miniature hook, and a brass clock that ticks in the hot stillness. Everything’s a little dusty, a little chipped. Stuffed with so many knickknacks, Nora’s house should be suffocating, but instead it’s like a mosaic, all the pieces coming together in a pleasing whole.
While I’m taking it all in, Nora sits down in a dining room chair and toes off her shoes, then gets up and puts them in a closet. Moving slowly, she walks to the couch. When she sits, it’s more like a well-cushioned fall. She pulls fake UGG sheepskin-lined boots over her socks and then arranges the afghans over her lap.
It’s got to be at least ninety degrees in here. But I remember what she said about her heart, how cold her hands were.
I take the brocade chair. “I was wondering, if Terry’s buried at that cemetery, is Naomi there, too?” I want to visit my mother’s grave.
“Naomi and Sharon are in Odd Fellows. The other cemetery.”
“Medford has more than one?” The city seems so small.
“Odd Fellows was here first. It’s just around the corner. Sharon always liked it better. People have picnics there, and it’s where every teenager learns to drive.” Nora’s eyes crinkle when she smiles. “You can’t kill anyone in a cemetery. They’re already dead.”
The word dead leads me right back to my parents. “Who do you think really did it?” I ask her. “Everyone there seemed to know you. You must have some ideas.”
“People in this town hold their secrets pretty close.”
“You don’t think it was a stranger, then?”
Nora looks at me for a long moment. “No.” But she doesn’t say anything more.
We watch the news together. For dinner, she has me heat up canned tomato soup and warm frozen rolls in the oven. She says she used to like to bake but doesn’t have the energy anymore. I remember, I want to say, but I keep the words stoppered tight.
We watch a documentary about birds of paradise. They’re like no birds I’ve ever seen, with crazy-colored feathers, beaks, and even feet. When the show ends at nine, Nora goes to bed, and so do I. I’m sure I’ll be awake for hours, but my eyelids are so heavy they close by themselves.