Nora nods. She knows. Then she says, “What if you just returned home? Took your son, left him a note, and went?”
“He’d go ballistic.”
“He might be angry at first,” Nora concedes, “but once he sees how much it means to you, don’t you think he might give in?”
“Nathan never gives in,” says his wife.
“If he knew how much his family was hurting,” Nora muses, “his wife and his son, I bet he’d nix his plans here and just go home.”
Apple opens her mouth to reply, but Nora is on her feet suddenly, palm up and out like she wants Apple to wait on a busy street corner. “Actually, before you answer that question”—Nora puts the hand to her mouth and frowns with her whole face—“Apple, I’m concerned I might not be the right therapist for you.”
River’s mother pales, which you wouldn’t imagine possible.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No, no, of course not. I’d be happy to work with you, but there’s something of a conflict of interest here.”
“Why?”
“Your business is Belsum Chemical, no?”
“His family business, yes.”
Nora takes a deep breath, then says gently, even apologetically, “There’s some awfully bad blood in this town between us and Belsum.”
River’s mother puffs out her sunken cheeks. “Which I have to tell you, I never understood until I saw you with my own eyes. Man, you all have some legit complaints.”
“We do.” Nora nods graciously.
“But I’m on your side,” Apple protests. “You guys got screwed. I’d want out if I were you. Hell, I want out because of you. Not you specifically, you understand, but…”
Nora nods again. No one looks at me.
“Besides, do I have another option?”
“It’s true I’m the only therapist in Bourne,” Nora admits, “and fifty percent of the medical professionals at this clinic, which is the only clinic in town, but there are a few folks I can recommend who see patients online. You’ll find wifi spotty in Bourne, but it may be better than the alternative.”
“Which is you?”
“Me and my conflict of interest, yes.”
She considers. “I don’t mind. You—all of you—must hate my husband even more than I do.” Apple’s voice is full of awe. “This might be the best therapy I’ve ever had.”
* * *
Meeting Apple Templeton at last, listening to her complain about her husband, worry about her son, wish she could ditch this town and the family business and all of Belsum’s plans for here and for us, this would have been enough for one day.
But on the way to the bar, Nora’s phone rings.
She glances at the screen and then, because she is driving, puts it on speaker.
“Russell?”
“Nora.”
A whole conversation right there. She already sounds panicked. He already sounds full. He has news—he’s never the one to call; it’s always her—he doesn’t want to tell her but must need her to know.
“You okay?” She’s a little breathless.
“Yeah. You?” Him too.
“Yeah. Just leaving work and going to work.”
“You driving?”
“Yeah. You’re on speaker. Say hi to Mirabel.”
“Hi, love,” he calls. I wave from the back, not that he can see, not that he expects me to answer otherwise. And then, “Hey Nora, do me a favor?”
“Anything.” She’s aiming for breezy.
“Pull over.”
* * *
She waits. She waits until everyone gets there. She says nothing as her guys file in. She takes their orders, which she needn’t because she knows them by heart, and serves them calm as ever. She waits until they’re into their second rounds. She does not let her face show fury or fear or even distraction. She does not weep or rend her robes, which are a stained button-down belonging to her dead husband over a pair of faded black leggings, or roll her eyes or raise her voice to either the heavens or the patrons themselves, her friends and compatriots and fellow survivors. She unearths great reserves of strength or, maybe, hunkers down for a long night coming and waits and eventually finally says, light as she’s able, “So. Russell called.”
Their heads all rise like the bubbles in their beers. They do not need to ask, “Russell who?” They do not need to ask why he called or what he said.
“Aww, Nora, honey,” Tom begins, but she raises a hand that says stop, that says she doesn’t want comforting or gentleness or her ass kissed, that she’ll cry or scream or probably both if they don’t just tell her quickly what they know they must.