“Me too.” He sounded deflated, but also angry. “Just this once, I hoped you’d put me first.”
She heard a click, and Jed was gone.
Nora stood in her empty shop, feeling stunned. It was as if a grenade had detonated, but she hadn’t seen it land or heard the explosion.
“What just happened?” she asked the books, but they had nothing to say. The shelves were swathed in shadow. The colorful spines were a study of grays. All the titles had closed their eyes for the night.
“It’s not your fault,” Nora said, putting her hand on the closest book. “I knew this time would come. When I wouldn’t be enough for him.”
After running her fingertips down another book spine in an attempt to recover her equilibrium, she turned to the front to lock up for the night.
Nora was in a daze as she flipped the sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED, which was probably why she didn’t react when she saw that Sheriff McCabe had cracked the front door.
“I know you’re closed, but there’s someone I want you to meet before you head home. Do you have a minute?”
A woman stood on the sidewalk, looking at something across the street. With her face averted, all Nora could see was a mass of auburn curls.
Suddenly, the woman turned toward the bookshop, and Nora felt like she’d been sucker-punched. She forgot how to breathe. The bones in her legs wobbled. She clutched the doorjamb, unaware that her arms were shaking.
“Are you okay?” McCabe began to push through the doorway. “You’re white as a ghost.”
She’s the ghost.
Nora couldn’t think straight. She was confused—torn between the present and the past.
Pressing her palm against McCabe’s chest, Nora stopped him from coming inside. “It’s not a good time.”
She closed the door in his face, locked it, and vanished into the stacks.
In the middle of the Fiction section, she sank to the floor and hugged her knees.
She would hide there, among all the stories, until it was safe to come out.
Chapter 11
Only cowards torture women.
—Patricia Briggs
“I know you’re in there!” shouted the woman on Nora’s deck. “Stop acting like a child and open the door. It’s just me. Bobbie. I used to be your best friend. Remember? I miss you, goddamn it. I’ve missed you so much. You have no idea. We were friends for twenty years and then, poof! You were gone. I would have given anything to have heard from you just once after you left. Just once.”
Nora pressed her back against the door as if she expected Bobbie to break it down. And though it kept Bobbie out, her words got in. As Nora listened, her eyes filled with tears. Abandoning her defensive post, she opened the door.
“I go by Nora now,” she told the woman on her welcome mat.
“I assumed it’s after the Nora from Ibsen’s play, though I don’t see why. You can explain that to me, among other things. Or you can tell me nothing.” Bobbie held out her hands. “Just let me come inside so I can give you a hug.”
Nora stepped back as Roberta Rabinowitz, aka Bobbie, walked into her house. Bobbie dropped her bag on the floor and threw her arms around Nora.
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” she whispered. “Gawd, it’s been way too long. Let me look at you.”
The two women broke apart. They studied each other’s tear-and-mascara-streaked faces until they both dissolved into laughter.
“Two hot messes in a pod,” said Nora.
“You got that right.” Bobbie pulled a bottle of wine from her bag and pointed at the kitchen. “Nora’s a fitting name for a woman living in a dollhouse. Do you drink out of thimbles, or do you have big girl glasses?”
Nora didn’t stop to consider her actions. She just opened a cabinet and took out a pair of wineglasses. “Remember our rule. No heavy talk until after the toast.”
Bobbie smiled. “It’s a good rule. Like a couple agreeing never to go to bed angry.”
As Nora twisted the corkscrew into the cork, her eyes strayed to Bobbie’s ring finger. She was happy to see a gold band. Bobbie’s marriage was still intact.
The cork came out with a muffled pop. Nora tossed it in the bin while Bobbie poured. When she was done, she picked up her glass and said, “‘Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I go.’”
“ ‘To heal my heart and drown my woe,’ ” Nora said, completing the Tolkien couplet.
The women clinked rims and drank.
The wine, a fine Cabernet from Napa Valley, filled Nora’s mouth with a bouquet of summer flavors. She tasted plum, cherries, rich earth, and dark chocolate. The wine was full-bodied and smooth. It flowed down her throat and seeped into her blood, soothing her frayed nerves.