Nora

by Constance C. Greene

  “It’s time you and me had a talk,” Patsy said as we cleaned up the supper dishes. “You’re holding out on me, Nora. I feel it in my bones. I’m your sister, aren’t I? Sisters don’t have secrets from each other. It’s against the laws of sisterhood.”

  “Sure they do,” I said. “If we told each other everything, we’d hate each other. You’d beat up on me if I told you everything, and I might knock your retainer down your throat if you told me everything. There has to be something private in our lives.”

  A sudden thought gripped me. “But there is something special, Patsy, something that happened to me Saturday night when you were in bed.”

  “Chuck Whipple made a date with you,” Patsy said, eyes narrow and glittering. “He snuck back here to see me and you waylaid him and …”

  “No. It’s something much more important than that,” I said. I had made up my mind to tell her and Baba at the same time.

  “I bet it’s about Mother,” Patsy said.

  “I’m not telling till Baba wakes up from her nap,” I said. “Then I’ll tell you both.”

  “Damn, damn, damn,” Patsy cried. “I know you saw her!”

  Patsy’s face got beet red and she stamped her foot.

  “Grow up!” I said. “Just get a grip and stop acting like a spoiled brat. This is grownup stuff we’re talking here. I don’t want any more nonsense from you! This is serious. If you can’t act responsible and get your head together, forget it. I’ll deal with it myself!”

  Patsy’s open mouth snapped shut. She shuddered and said meekly, “You’re right, Nora. I’m sorry. I’ll be good,” as if she was a small child again.

  I had not expected Patsy to behave in this fashion. I was in shock. I was also, I realized with a pang, in control.

  Nineteen

  One thing about Baba, she’s a good listener. She never interrupted once. Patsy did, a few times. Finally, after the third time, I just stopped talking and she got the idea and shut up. I told them everything, about me sitting in the dark, hearing the couch cushions sigh and having my hand taken and feeling a terrible cold creep up my arm. Even as I said these things, I thought, This is truly bizarre. They won’t believe me.

  “She was there,” I said. “I know she was.”

  “How long ago, Nora?” Patsy wanted to know.

  “The night I woke you up and asked you what the other reason was that Daddy wanted to marry The Tooth,” I said.

  “You dog,” Patsy said. “I wish you’d told me right then. You should’ve told me. If it’d been me, I would’ve told you.”

  Baba only nodded now and then and made little clicking sounds a few times, but she didn’t say a word.

  She never once said, “Oh, you must have imagined it, Nora.” Never once. She only said when I’d finished, “Oh, how I wish I’d been there. How wonderful for you, Nora. Poor old Sam. I wish he’d been able to recognize that your mother had come back. It might make him feel better. He’s on the horns of a dilemma. He knows you dislike Mrs. Ames and he wouldn’t make you unhappy for anything in the world, but it is his life. Why not let him marry and be happy? Happier, I should say. She’s not a monster, is she? Your mother would want him to be happy. We know that much. So why not let him get on with his life? You two are getting older by the minute. Before you know it, you’ll be off and running in the world. I’m not crazy about her either, but I say let Sam marry her and we’ll make the best of it.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Patsy told Baba indignantly. “You don’t live in this house and we do. I don’t care if Daddy gets married, I only want him to marry someone nice, someone we like. Someone who likes us.”

  “Look at it this way,” Baba said. “Imagine one of you bringing home a young man and telling your father this is the person you wanted to marry. And your father saying, ‘I don’t care if you fall in love, I only want you to fall in love with someone I approve of and like, and I don’t fancy this person of yours.’”

  Patsy looked shocked. “Oh, Daddy would never do that,” she said.

  “What makes you so sure?” Baba said. “What would be so different from him saying that and what you two are saying right now?”

  Baba had a point. I was willing to recognize that, even though I didn’t much like it.

  “But we are only children,” Patsy said. “We don’t know stuff about getting married to the right person and so on.” I knew that when Patsy fell into her “we are only children” routine, it meant she felt cornered and wanted to change the subject. If anyone else called us children, Patsy would most likely blow them away.

  “Since when are people of twelve and thirteen children?” Baba said crossly. “Thirteen is halfway to twenty-six. You consider yourselves grown-up—until you’re expected to act like grown-ups, and then you turn and run.” Baba shook her head. “It won’t wash, kidlets,” she said.

  “I don’t know about you guys,” I said, “but I’m going to go sit in the living room and think awhile, see what happens.”

  After a brief conference, Baba and Patsy joined me. We gave Baba Daddy’s big chair on account of her broken wrist and also because she was the oldest. The three of us sat there in the dark.

  “If I brought somebody like Casey Fullum home to meet Daddy,” Patsy said, out of the blue, “well, I can see how Daddy might freak out.” Casey Fullum had greasy black hair slanted over his forehead and completely covering one eye, and a horrendous complexion. He wore black denim from head to toe and scruffy pointy-toed boots and smoked pot for breakfast. He was fifteen and still in the eighth grade.

  Patsy and I got to giggling, thinking of various people we’d bring home to Daddy that would blow his mind.

  “Please, girls,” Baba said. “Quiet. Concentrate. We are thinking of your mother.” Baba’s voice came slow and dreamy in the dark. “We are sending her loving thoughts, telling her we miss her and hope she is at peace. Concentrate on that.”

  “This is sort of like a seance,” Patsy said.

  “Patsy, I beg you, quiet,” Baba said.

  We all fell silent, thinking our own thoughts. Instead of thinking of Mother, I’m ashamed to say, I thought of bringing Chuck Whipple home to meet Daddy. He would be very polite and respectful. He would shake Daddy’s hand and maybe even call him “sir.” Although maybe they don’t call people “sir” in Iowa. They sure don’t in Connecticut. Chuck would most likely blush, but otherwise he’d be cool. And Daddy would like him as much as I did.

  Presently, we heard the garage door opening. It was Daddy. We stayed where we were.

  “Anybody home?” Daddy called.

  “We’re in here, Sam,” Baba said.

  “Well.” Daddy stood in the doorway and looked in at us sitting there in the dark.

  “I thought I paid the electric bill, but I can see I was mistaken,” he said. “What gives?”

  “We just like sitting in the dark,” I said.

  “Sam, sit down, relax for a minute,” Baba said. “You must be tired after your long day.”

  “I am, somewhat,” Daddy said.

  Baba reached over and turned on the light. Patsy and I blinked.

  “Sam,” Baba said, “Nora has something to tell you. I wish you’d listen and keep an open mind.”

  “Mrs. Ames called and said she has to go to San Francisco tomorrow and then to Hong Kong, so your trip will have to be postponed,” I said, trying not to smile.

  Daddy scowled and said, “Is she calling back?”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

  The telephone rang.

  “I’ll get it in the kitchen,” Daddy said. “Maybe that’s Wynne.”

  “It’s either Roberta or The Tooth,” I said. And either way, I thought, it’s bound to be bad news.

  Twenty

  Instead, it turned out to be Dee Dulin. She was bringing Mother’s portrait back on Friday, if that suited us. Her show was over and the gallery wanted everything out by the weekend.

  “I asked her to stay for
dinner,” Daddy said. “Maybe you could call Glorious Grub and order one of their casseroles, Baba. That chicken thing is pretty good, as I recall. Now Nora, was there something else you wanted to tell me?”

  I decided not to tell Daddy about seeing Mother’s ghost. And hoped Patsy or Baba wouldn’t tell him. For now, anyway. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind.

  Maybe he never would be.

  “Mrs. Ames called and said she had to go to San Francisco,” I said.

  He nodded. “You told me. And then she’s going on to Hong Kong. So our trip will have to be postponed. Does that make you happy?”

  I was so surprised at his question, I blurted, “Did you ask her to marry you yet?”

  “That’s hardly an answer to my question, Nora,” Daddy said. “But no, I haven’t asked her yet. If I wait too long, she may think it’s because I don’t want her to be my wife because my daughters are opposed to the idea. It is very hard to please all of you. If not impossible. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out to get myself a glass of milk.”

  I almost never fight with my father. We usually get along very well. Patsy and he sometimes fight, mainly because she’s so fresh and thinks she should be allowed to do things that older kids can do, like go to the concert over in Stamford with Chuck Whipple, which she wasn’t allowed to do.

  He’d asked her before he met me. That was the first time I’d thought that. It made me smile.

  I followed Daddy out to the kitchen. I wanted to be friends with him. We had always loved and respected each other. I didn’t want that to change, and it seemed to me there was a good chance it would if he got married.

  He was sitting at the table drinking a glass of chocolate milk. His dark eyes looked black in the overhead light.

  When I sat down across from him, he looked at me, through me.

  “Things are rough, Nora,” he said. “I’m doing my best, and that’s not good enough. Our world, yours and Patsy’s and mine, fell apart when your mother died. But together I thought we could put it together again. It doesn’t seem as if we’re doing a very good job of it, though.”

  He shrugged and polished off his milk.

  “You’re a good child. I’m proud of you and of Patsy. Your mother is, too. I know that. How could she not be?”

  I went over and sat on his lap. It was very uncomfortable sitting there. I was too tall, my neck was too long, there was no place to tuck my head. I was not a little girl. My legs dangled, and my sharp knees stuck out like two pieces of old bone. I was too big to be sitting on my father’s lap. Still, I didn’t know how to get off without embarrassing him and me, so I stayed there, not knowing what to say.

  “It’ll work out, Nora,” Daddy said after a long silence. “We’ll work it out together, the three of us.”

  I had a crick in my neck from bending my head at an odd angle. I got up from Daddy’s lap at last and said, “I’d better go take a bath, Daddy.”

  “Yes,” he said, “I guess you had better. Good night, darling. Thank you.”

  Thank me for what? I wondered as I climbed the stairs. What was he thanking me for? What had I done?

  Twenty-one

  When I went to the library the next day, I planned on checking the computer for ghost books when I thought I heard a familiar voice.

  “Hey, Nora. I didn’t know you came here.” It was Chuck Whipple and his brother, the one I’d met at the dinner theater.

  “Sure, I come here all the time,” I said.

  “So. You’re a reader,” Chuck’s brother said. “You look like a reader.”

  “Thanks,” I said idiotically. Was that good or bad? I didn’t even have my glasses on. Probably he meant I looked intellectual. I’ve been told I look intellectual several times. I never know how to take it. Is it a compliment or a put-down?

  “Where’s your girlfriend?” I said to Chuck’s brother. Just for something to say. I should know by now that the things you say just for something to say are better left unsaid. Far better to keep your trap shut and give it the old Mona Lisa treatment, an enigmatic smile. That confuses them and gives you the upper hand. I read that somewhere and find it to be true.

  Chuck’s brother looked startled, then he blushed and said, “She left. Went home.”

  “Do they let you take out movies for nothing or do you have to pay?” Chuck asked me.

  “Oh, they don’t cost anything, but you have to take good care of them and make sure they’re rewound right,” I said. “You can have them for two days. There’s a list of all the ones they have over there, on that big table.”

  “Thanks,” Chuck said. He and his brother wandered off.

  Hey, come back, I imagined myself calling to him. I want to kiss you. Last time I saw you, I was going to give you a major kiss, one you wouldn’t forget in a hurry. Then Patsy showed up and ruined everything.

  I said nothing, of course, and fooled around, looking at some books and newspapers, stalling. Keeping an eye on Chuck. Maybe I’d sound Chuck out about ghosts, see what his reaction was. See if he laughed or took the idea seriously.

  When I saw Chuck and his brother leave, I waited a minute, then I left, too. Chuck was waiting outside for me.

  “Where’s your brother?” I said.

  “Oh, he went on ahead,” Chuck said. “He’s in a bad mood. He had a huge fight with my folks because they wouldn’t let him and his girl bunk in the same room. My mother said it was her house and he’d have to abide by the rules or leave. So then he called her a hypocrite and my father, who usually stays neutral in these things, got sore and said by God, it was his house, too, and what my mother says goes. Then Lauren got all uptight and hopped on the next bus to Maine, where she lives. Then my brother got sore at me when you asked him where his girlfriend was because he thought that meant I’d told you the whole story.”

  “Oh, boy,” I said. “Families.”

  “You said it,” Chuck said.

  We walked a ways before I said, “I was looking for some books on ghosts in the library.”

  “Yeah?” Chuck said, “Any luck?”

  “Not really,” I said. “You see, I’ve kind of got a thing about ghosts. A couple of times I felt as if my mother was there. Her spirit, anyway.” I laughed, but not because I thought it was amusing. “Have you ever had any experience, ghostwise?” I asked Chuck.

  “We had a dog named Colonel,” Chuck said. “He got killed by a truck. My dad dug a pretty deep grave out back and we buried Colonel in it. It was very sad. We all cried. Colonel was a big dog. We buried him deep so the other animals couldn’t dig him up. We all said a prayer.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, as if Chuck was talking about a person who had died.

  “So after that,” Chuck continued, “I saw Colonel running down the road. Sometimes he raced alongside the school bus, the way he’d always done. When I got off the bus, I called and called, but he didn’t come. Then, once, I looked out my window at night and I saw him running in the moonlight. So I put on my jacket and boots—there was snow on the ground—and went out to see if I could find him. But I never did.”

  “How could you be sure it was Colonel?” I said. “Maybe it was just a dog. Did he leave paw prints?”

  Chuck shrugged. “I didn’t notice. He wore his red collar with the tags dangling. No other dog I knew had a red collar.”

  “You mean you could actually see him running, see his collar?” I laughed again, but I felt embarrassed. It never occurred to me that animals could be ghosts. But why not?

  “Sure,” Chuck said. “Clear as day. Did you ever see your mother?”

  I shook my head. “I felt her presence, even heard her laugh. Maybe I will see her sometime.”

  “Do you want to see her?” Chuck asked me.

  “Well, I’m not sure. I sort of do and I sort of don’t. I mean, I might be scared.”

  “I don’t think you’d be scared,” Chuck said, matter of factly. “I wasn’t scared when I saw Colonel. I just felt happy.”

  “
No offense,” I said, “but I’m talking about my mother here, not my dog.”

  “I didn’t mean to say they were the same thing,” Chuck said. “All I meant was, if you actually saw your mother, I think it might make you feel better. That’s all.”

  If I saw her, I thought but did not say, not trusting my voice to remain steady, I would want to see her the way she was before she got sick. Not after. Oh no, not after, I couldn’t bear to see her that way.

  “Sometime, when you’re lying awake, you can’t sleep,” Chuck said, “try to picture the way your mother would look, the clothes she’d be wearing. Did she have special clothes you liked? Or how she smelled. Colonel smelled like a musty old dog blanket he always slept on.”

  “My mother smelled of her favorite perfume. Shalimar,” I said. “And I would like her to be wearing her taffeta dress. It was a beautiful, very noisy dress. You know the sound taffeta makes? It rustles, kind of snaps and crackles, so you could hear her coming before you saw her.”

  Chuck shook his head. “I never heard of a noisy dress,” he said, “but it sounds okay.”

  “Or maybe she’d have on her old khaki shorts and her sweatshirt,” I went on, intrigued by the idea of what my mother would be wearing when and if I saw her.

  “And probably her sneakers. The ones with holes in the toes.”

  “Yeah, I know about those.” We looked at Chuck’s feet. Both his sneakers had holes in the toes.

  We laughed as if he’d said something hilarious. He put his hand on my shoulder. I felt it resting there and thought in amazement, Why, I’m happy. Right this minute, I’m totally happy.

  It was the first time since Mother had died. I hoped she would understand and not mind.

  Twenty-two

  Friday was a school holiday on account of all our teachers had to go to a teachers’ convention in Hartford. It was raining cats and dogs, so I decided to clean out my bureau drawers.

  Patsy was flat out on the floor doing her leg lifts to firm her thighs. “Man, this is hard work,” she panted. “Wonder how Jane Fonda hung in there so long.”