It’s my mother, in a nutshell.
Mom wiggles her way into Diana’s life so neatly; they have coffee together most mornings, dropping Victoria and me off at school while they go off to yoga and then errands, and then one day Mom is casually mentioning this business idea she has, a knitting store, and Diana is falling, hook, line, and sinker.
Mom is good; there are inventory lists, and they tour storefronts and talk supply chains and it’s so convincing and Mom’s the kind of support system that Diana needs and I’m so perfect. I’m the kind of daughter she wants, the kind she imagined she’d have, who’d be soft inside and out and sew her own doll clothes and not double-bounce on the trampoline or run gleefully through the greenbelt behind our houses until the burrs stick to her jeans and I have to bend and pick each one off Victoria’s cuffs because Samantha doesn’t like mess.
“Why can’t she just be happy?” I ask Mom, once. “Victoria’s nice. She doesn’t get into trouble. Why does she want someone different?”
“We’re hardly ever happy with what we have,” she tells me, one of her universal truths.
My stomach sinks. “Are you happy with me?”
Most mothers would rush to reassure. They wouldn’t pause and contemplate.
“You’re learning so fast,” she says. “Faster than your sister did. Faster than I did.” She leans over and smooths a hand over my hair. “You’re a natural. We’re gonna be something, baby.”
It’s not an answer, and she’s honed me enough, even this young, to see that. But I’m too young to play the game she’s shoved me in.
I won’t be for long.
— 20 —
10:36 a.m. （84 minutes captive）
1 lighter, 3 bottles of vodka, 1 pair of scissors, 2 safe-deposit keys
Plan #1: Scrapped
Plan #2: Maybe working
He drags me down the hall by the back of my shirt. Iris screams my name, and the sound scrapes inside me worse than my knees against the carpet.
“Stay there and watch them,” he tells Red Cap, and the anger in his voice is enough to keep Red Cap from doing anything but obeying.
I go limp. I do not fight. I let him yank me like a doll across the floor and heave me into the lobby. Then I’m on the ground and my cheek’s pressed against the cold tile, and I roll away and up before he tries to kick me. They always try that. It’s like they can’t resist. Getting to my feet hurts, but so does getting kicked in the ribs.
I hadn’t expected this level of anger. What had Lee said to him? She would’ve known better than to antagonize him, so whatever she said, she hadn’t realized it was a land mine.
That was bad. What if I stepped on it, too?
We’re three feet apart, and I can see the front doors from here. They’ve moved the big cabinets from the back against them, blocking them completely, holing up for the long haul.
Whatever’s in that safe-deposit box is important.
“You think you’re smart?” he asks.
“I think I want to survive . . . and you wanted in that office.”
He lets out a breath that maybe is a humorless laugh in another reality. He doesn’t have the shotgun on him, I realize. There’s a gun at his hip, but the shotgun’s out of play.
Where is it? With Red Cap?
“I’ve gotta hand it to you, kid, you’ve got guts. No fucking sense. But guts.”
“Just lending a hand.”
“Mighty big of you, considering I’m gonna shoot you and your friends.”
It’s like a sucker punch, hearing him say that so casually. To confirm my worst fears. What I knew deep down the second I saw they weren’t wearing masks.
“I’d like to avoid that, if at all possible,” I say, and damn, does it come out steady.
He lets out another huff. I’ve snagged his interest. My gaze is unwavering. If you blink too much, they get nervous. If I show fear, he’ll feed off it. He likes it. But he’s interested in what doesn’t fear him, because he’s interested in making it fear him.
“Who are you?” he asks, and I know he’s not asking for my name. This question is something more.
This question is Why did you risk yourself and Why aren’t you crying and Why aren’t you shaking and all the questions that really boil down to What the fuck is your damage, Nora? And like, dude, you have no idea. You are not even the worst thing that has happened to me and it’s the only knowledge that’s keeping me upright.
I’ve survived worse. I’m not naive enough to think just because of that, I’ll survive this. But I can damn well try.