My Nora

chapter Fourteen


“You blubbering like a baby elephant isn’t going to solve anything,” Oma scolded Karen as they rode back from Edenton in the cab of Matt’s truck. “You just deal with it. Two isn’t much different than one. You’re acting like it’s the end of the world.”

Karen cried louder.

“Oma, I don’t think you’re helping,” Matt said, carefully navigating his truck around a slow-moving farm vehicle and waving at a neighbor as he passed.

“I can’t just sit around on my ass while everyone else around me has stuff to do,” his sister whined.

“It’s only for a couple of weeks, Karen. It’s better to be safe than sorry, right?”

Karen scoffed and glowered out her window at the trees they zipped past.

“Well, you couldn’t take your little pink pills on time. I bet having two babies will keep your legs closed,” Gerta preached as she sat primly in the back seat with her hands folded together on her lap.

Nora was sitting outside on the Vogels’ deck when they returned, having showered and tidied her braid. “What happened?” she asked while offering Gerta an arm down from the high-up truck.

“Oh, Oma has an extra baby to watch now. He or she, they couldn’t tell which, seems to have planted his or her placenta rather low.”

Nora raised a brow. “So, two placentas? Fraternal, then?”

“Don’t know,” Matt shrugged. “Doc said identical twins can have separate placentas depending on when the egg split. We might not know until after they’re born. Baby A is definitely a girl, though.”

“Well, that’s great. She and little Xiàngsù can share clothes.”

Karen harrumphed and mumbled something about bed rest and Nora’s sunroom sofa as she stalked toward the woods.

“Xiàngsù?” Matt asked, unlocking the back door of the ranch house.

“Yeah. It means ‘pixel.’ Bennie thinks she’ll call the baby ‘Suzy,’ though.”

*

“Matt, if you think about it, it’s a really good deal,” Albert said, leaning back in the spare chair in Matt’s small office and crossing his ankle over his opposite knee to expose his argyle socks. It was March and Eastern North Carolina’s weather was sporadically shifting between cold and rainy days and sunny, dry ones. This day was the latter, and Albert was eager to get out on the golf course to make his tee time.

Matt sat behind his cluttered desk resting his chin on top of his interlaced fingers, staring at the wind-chapped man in pastels. “I’m not arguing that it’s a good deal, Albert. I just think it’s rather sudden. This situation sort of feels like a shotgun wedding. No — scratch that. It feels more like when a pilot has passed out during a plane landing and a passenger who has had only three days of flying lessons takes the controls out of necessity. However, this isn’t a necessity.”

Albert waved his hand dismissively and said “Eh.” He stood, closed the office door to block the view of the fish cleaners just outside and started to pace. “Look, here’s the thing. Marty and I haven’t taken a vacation in six years. She threatened to leave me if I don’t start spending less time here. She booked the trip, and I have to go or else. I know you’ve only been at this for a few months now, but I think you can take over the reins for a few weeks, right? If you do a good job, I’ll promote you so you get a new title and we’ll cut you into some profit-sharing.”

“Yeah, I heard all that the first time. It’s a generous offer, Albert, but I’ve already requested off for the sixteenth and seventeenth and you approved it. I’m going to be out of town with Nora. Now you’re telling me that you want me to do my job in addition to yours, which I have absolutely no training for, for three entire weeks that includes those days. Then, when you get back, I’ll take over some of your duties permanently so you can spend less time here.”

“Plane tickets are non-refundable. She didn’t exactly consult me on this.”

“But you understand me taking on your responsibilities means I’ll have to spend more time here? How do you think that’s going to impact my relationship?”

Albert sighed. “Oh, y’all are young. Young folks expect to go through these sorts of periods while they get on their feet. It’ll all shake out later.”

Matt just stared at him.

“Look, I know it’s an inconvenience,” Albert said, looking down at the face of his gold watch and cringing, “but if you can’t do it, I’ll have to hire someone else.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Matt said in a flat voice, wishing at that moment he had stayed on the boats pulling in nets.

“Well, don’t think about it too long. Let me know by tomorrow what you’re gonna do.”

Matt didn’t go straight home after work, though he could have probably used the shower. He hoped the wind blowing him around the road would air out his clothes a bit before he made it to town. There was a bit of daylight left, and Nora expected that day would be the last day of work on the mural she was painting beneath the Highway Seventeen overpass. Matt hadn’t had a chance before then to gather with the other oglers and watch her paint, although his oma had. She refused to report on it, saying he should see it for himself. He’d almost missed it.

When Matt arrived at the scene, one would think there was a carnival happening. Both southbound lanes were blocked off about a quarter mile in either direction with the overpass at the center. Edenton police had set up a barrier around Nora so she could paint without molestation. People leaned onto the railings, chatting amiably while watching her do fine detail work on the mural. There were three news station vans parked nearby at the gas station and the old family buffet restaurant across the street, and the reporters that belonged to the vans were filming live segments from the scene for the five- and six o’clock broadcasts. Matt parked his bike near the ABC affiliate van, crossed the street carefully and tried to work his way close to the action. He could hear the reporter from the Hampton Roads station prattling on nearby:

“We’re live on the scene in Edenton, North Carolina, where renowned painter Nora Fredrickson is completing her week’s work on an Edenton Tea Party mural. Ms. Fredrickson recently had her work come under suspicion when a reporter employed by The Albemarle Times made claims that Ms. Fredrickson has been passing off the work of others as her own, much like some authors who use ghostwriters. As Ms. Fredrickson’s work is in quite high demand and she is rather prolific, she felt it would be in her best interest to disprove the attacks against her talent.”

“’Scuse me,” a familiar voice said as the body who owned it brushed past Matt. A very round Bennie pushed through the crowd and joined the reporter near the barrier. Matt wondered when she had gotten into town. Hadn’t she just left?

“Joining us tonight is Ms. Fredrickson’s business manager, Bennie Chin … ”

Matt tuned the reporter out and used the crowd’s vanity to his advantage. While they were all busy trying to get their faces into the live camera streams, Matt worked his way through the clumps of people to the side of the installation. “Pssst,” he called out to Nora. She was wearing a hot pink jumpsuit that covered her from neck to ankles and had her hair covered with his Christmas gift.

She was up on a ladder tweaking an ornament in Penelope Barker’s powdered wig when she noticed him there. Nora smiled broadly, climbed down the ladder, and tossed her brush toward a tray on the ground.

“You all done?” A short white-haired man in wire-rimmed glasses shimmied through a couple of barrier posts and intercepted Nora en route to Matt.

“All done,” she said, ignoring the applause from the crowd and leaning onto the railings to accept a kiss from Matt. “What do you think?” she asked him, turning to watch as workers set up lights for the photographers and drying fans that would help prevent the police department from having to stand vigil at it all evening.

Matt crossed his arms over his chest and studied the slick image. It wasn’t what he thought it would be. He expected that Nora would have painted a scene with a bunch of wigged ladies around a table signing their petition to the British monarchy. Instead, Nora had modernized the traditional colonial scene and made it look like a magazine spread. Tea Party ringmaster Penelope Barker, dressed in rich silk finery, lounged sideways on a sofa propped up on an elbow. Her face was mild and pleasant, with her lips and cheeks bearing a slight tint. With her free hand, and delicate pinky extended, she poured tea from her fine porcelain cup onto the floor. Nora had painted at the bottom right corner in fancy lettering: Revolutionary Woman.

“Why do you care what I think?” he asked sounding incredulous as he raked a hand through his helmet-smashed hair.

Nora gave Matt a quizzical look, but before she could question him, Bennie pulled her away. “Just three quick interviews,” she said, snatching off Nora’s scarf and holding it out to Matt. “Take that, will you?” Matt obliged and wound the delicate material into a circle and stuffed it into the back pocket of his slacks. He watched Nora nervously speak into microphones and cameras for a few minutes, and then quietly slipped away as Bennie pulled her in yet another direction. He didn’t think he belonged there. Not with her.

*

“Hey, where’d you go earlier?” Nora asked, letting herself into Matt’s bedroom and climbing up onto the king-sized bed to crawl to him. She’d removed her paint-splotched jumpsuit and was now wearing a pair of running shorts that had a couple of holes at the thighs and a new-looking Historic Edenton long-sleeved tee-shirt. “I turned around to find you after the last reporter left and you were gone.” She giggled. “I thought we could have a real date.”

Matt was leaning with his back against the bed’s headboard, his lower body still wrapped in the towel from his evening shower. He placed a bookmark between the pages of the management principles text he was reading and sat up straighter. “Sorry, I didn’t want to get in the way. I actually went down to The Sandpiper before Chantilly closed.”

Nora sat Indian-style in front of him and picked his book up from his chest to examine the cover. “The Sandpiper? Why’d you go there?”

“Oh, I had an appointment.” He picked up the end of Nora’s braid and twirled it around his fingers.

“Yeah? You know, Chantilly would have let you go see it whenever you wanted. You didn’t have to make an appointment.”

“I don’t want special treatment.”

Nora crinkled her brow and cocked her pretty head. “I don’t understand. Elvin always … ”

“I’m not Elvin,” Matt interrupted. His voice was soft, but Nora couldn’t read his face. It was a study in absolute blankness.

“I know, I’m just used to pulling strings. I could have gone with you.”

Matt shook his head. “I wanted to see it alone.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip.

He hoped he hadn’t hurt her feelings, but if he took too much time to explain, to coddle, he’d never deliver his news.

“Listen, Nora. I got another promotion today.”

Nora smiled, but quickly stopped when Matt’s face indicated that might not necessarily be a blessing. “Why do I get the impression you don’t want to be congratulated?”

Matt dropped her braid’s end and took back his book. “I’m not going to be able to go to D.C. with you.” He didn’t offer explanation. He just stared evenly into her face, almost unblinking. Nora looked away first.

“Okay. I understand. I need to go scan some drawings for the band and email them to Mickey before Payday leaves for the tour, so I’ll see you later, okay?”

“All right.” Matt watched as Nora carefully let herself down from the high bed and slipped her feet back into the sneakers she’d kicked off at the door. She was nearly gone, the door a mere inch from shutting when Matt tossed his book onto the nightstand and called out “Manora?” using some sort of uncontrollable reflex. He hated to watch her walk away.

She put her head back in with hesitance evident on her face.

Matt padded to the chair by the door and picked up the pants he’d draped there before his shower. He plucked her scarf from the pocket, fondled it momentarily, and held it out to her. Nora took it and searched his face. There was no emotion there. Matt was sure of it, and it pained him to his core. All that time and he thought Nora would be the one to turn him away, but instead, he was the one shutting her out because he was a goddamned coward. He wasn’t good enough for Nora Fredrickson. He was a redneck with no ambitions whose biggest life goal to date was to buy a larger boat. People had put themselves on the line for him, and he’d stayed put because nothing scared him more than the prospect of failure. Nora deserved the sun and moon. He couldn’t give her that.

*

When Nora entered her house, slamming the front door behind her and flinging the scarf across the room with a loud, feral grunt, Karen sat up straighter on the sofa and turned off the television. “What’s wrong?” she asked the screeching blur, but rather than heading to the sunroom to do business Nora stormed upstairs, stomped down the hall to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. Karen heard a primal-sounding scream followed by the sound of something large and heavy being thrown. It might have been a chair.

Karen sighed, threw off the afghan covering her lap, and shoved her feet into her orthopedic hospital mules. She went to the door and took the jacket she’d borrowed from Matt from the hook — the only one in the house that fit around her belly — and slid it on. She turned on the flashlight she kept in the pocket and let herself out, locking the door behind her. Karen walked up the driveway to the road instead of through the woods, as the uneven terrain there was getting too difficult for her to hike with her belly compromising her center of balance. She took the long walk down Welch Road around the corner to Cannon’s Ferry back to her own house, where she entered, panting, and plopping onto her usual kitchen chair. Gerta was at the table pinning pattern pieces onto soft floral fabric Karen suspected would show up in her daughter’s layette.

“I know sweet Nora didn’t kick you out,” Gerta said, adjusting her glasses on her nose and plucking another pin from her baked potato pincushion to adhere what looked like a bit of sleeve.

“No.” Karen reached across the table and slid her grandmother’s water glass closer and downed the contents in three swallows.

“She ran out of here like her pants were on fire. She didn’t even respond when I asked if she would have some dinner.”

Karen looked over at the stove and countertops and saw nothing. “What dinner?”

“I would have cooked,” Gerta said, not bothering to look up from her work.

Karen let out a little huff and took off her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose. “So, who’s going to fix this since they obviously can’t hold it together themselves?”

Gerta shrugged. “Maybe we should leave them be.”

Karen glowered at her.

“Maybe not.”

“I don’t think either of them know what they’re doing,” Karen pushed.

“You’re one to talk.”

Karen was offended. “I never said I was an expert. All I’m sayin’ is it’s seems like they takes turns trying to sabotage the relationship.”

“I agree. I suppose it’s Matthew’s turn this time?”

“Yeah. Nora had a pretty long go.”

“He’ll be thirty-five next month, Karen. I can hardly take him over my knee. What do you expect me to do?”

Karen shrugged and picked up the pattern envelope to squint at the pictures of tiny baby overalls and dresses. “I dunno. Talk to him. He’ll take it more seriously if it comes from you. Be nice.”

Gerta looked absolutely affronted. “I am nice!”

Karen nodded condescendingly. “Okay, Oma. Yes you are.”

*

Gerta finished her pinning, heaved herself out of the wooden chair with some effort, and shuffled down the hall in her fuzzy slippers. She let herself into Matt’s room without knocking and took the seat by the dresser.

Matt raised an eyebrow when he looked up from his book, but didn’t respond otherwise. He’d pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt, but had allowed his hair to dry badly since it was sticking up at odd angles around his temples.

“You know, when your grandfather and I got married I hardly knew him,” Gerta started, crossing her legs at the ankles and settling in for a long lecture. Matt laid his open book on top of his belly and crossed his arms over his chest.

“That was the way it was back then,” she continued. “I had been in the United States for maybe five years and my family was very active in the German community around northern Kansas. Ben was, at best, a friend of a friend.”

“So, why’d you marry him?”

“Because it was time for me to be married. Don’t interrupt.”

Matt held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“For the first two or three years, we hardly talked to each other. We worked shoulder to shoulder on his parents’ farm and would go home at night and fall into bed exhausted. We didn’t stay up late talking. We didn’t go out to eat. We didn’t do anything. It wasn’t until after your father was born that we had a conversation longer than ten minutes, and that was only because he was holding him at the time and had nowhere to go. Things got a little better every day from there. Eventually I learned to love him.”

“Okay, Oma. What’s the moral of the story here?”

“My point, you rude child, is that you have a luxury. You don’t have to get married. You can remain a bachelor for the rest of your life if that’s your choice. You are lucky that you have fallen in love and can choose to get married instead of doing it the other way around and hoping you’ll gain affection for each other.”

Matt blew out an exasperated breath and covered his eyes with his hands. “Who said I was in love?”

Oma mumbled something guttural and incomprehensible in German. “Explain to me why you are putting up hurdles where none should exist?”

“Oma, I don’t think you understand the full situation.”

“Try me.” She tapped her index finger against her forehead and squinted at him. “I’ve still got a pretty good brain in here.”

Matt sighed. “I think Nora is used to having a certain type of person around her, and I’m not it. I think when she realizes what she’s exchanging she’ll be disappointed. I didn’t realize until today how,” he tapped his fingers impatiently on top of the quilt, “famous she is. I didn’t exactly look her up in a search engine. I just thought … f*ck, I don’t know. Why would someone that well-known move here? We don’t even get reliable Internet service.”

“And what exactly do you think she’s getting, Matthew? You think she can’t see what’s there?”

“She’s getting a redneck who has such poor taste in the company he keeps that his former best friend knocked up not only her best friend but his sister. Doubly so. She’s getting a man who owns three hunting knives, four rifles, a shotgun, and enough ammunition to sink the Titanic. Did you know she’s got a thing against guns? And small boats. Got two of those, too. Let’s see, what else. She’s getting a man who had to choose between having her on his arm at a fancy event and going to his smelly job like he does every other day, and he chose the smelly job because he thinks she’ll like him even less if he’s unemployed.”

“All that?”

“Yeah. It’s enough.” Matt picked up his book and went back to reading.

“I see.” Gerta pushed against the chair arms and stood up. “Sounds like you have some thinking to do.”

“I’ve already thought it out.”

“Sure you have.”