The morning sun was warming the pavement as Nora wound her way past patio tables under a cheerful yellow awning and around the arching bird fountain at the center of the plaza. She was grateful that she only had to walk a block and a half to the cafe near the edge of the pedestrian park in her heels. They were already pinching her toes.
When she and Tiffany had first moved to Rochester, they used to drive downtown just to walk around. It was all so unfamiliar to them, so urban—though the Midwestern city they now called home was hardly a cosmopolitan destination. But there was always something going on, something to do. Once they happened upon an orchestra concert with crowds of people lined up in lawn chairs. Another time they discovered an old painted piano propped up against an unassuming brick wall. It was in tune, sort of, and they had laughed as they played “Chopsticks” together. Badly. Bea’s Cafe became a favorite when a local told them it had the best root beer in town. Obviously, they would have both preferred a real beer, but they followed his directions out of the city proper. The place seemed like a dive, but after one visit they agreed that the little retro diner had the friendliest owners and the best root beer floats in all of Minnesota. Maybe the world. Because, of course, they had never seen the world.
Everlee loved those floats.
That was later, much later, and the years between seemed like pearls on a strand to Nora. She and Tiffany had treated Everlee as almost an accessory in the beginning. She was so small they could swaddle her in a long, stretchy cloth like a papoose and carry her strapped to their chests or backs wherever they wanted to go. As she got older, the girl toddled along beside them, holding Tiffany’s pinky in one hand and Nora’s in the other. She was more often than not suspended between them on her tippy toes as she babbled and giggled and loved everything life had to offer with an abandon that seemed at once reckless and gorgeous.
But those were the good times. Nora didn’t have to remind herself of that. The shadow of their lives together was always there, black and brooding, peeking out from behind every corner. There were just as many afternoons that Nora got off work and went home only to find Everlee alone in the yard, barefoot and dirty, hungry because she hadn’t eaten all day. Nora would take her inside, bathe her in the kitchen sink because the bathtub was chipped and disgusting, and make her pancakes. Only after the little girl was settled on the couch watching Frozen for the fiftieth time would Nora go in search of Tiffany. Often she was passed out in her room. One time, she was nowhere to be found at all.
Donovan had come into their lives when Everlee was four. And at first, Nora rejoiced. Now the thought chilled her to the bone. In spite of the heat and the sun warming her back, she stifled a shiver.
The cafe was tucked between a steakhouse and a bank, a narrow building that overlooked a tiny slice of the promenade. It was the sort of “blink and you miss it” place that was well known by the locals and overlooked by visitors. In other words, it was the perfect place to meet. It didn’t hurt that the bank was right next door.
Nora bought a sparkling water at the counter and took a menu, ostensibly to pick out the perfect breakfast item, though she had no intention of staying that long. Even if she did have time to order something, she’d never eat it—her stomach was clenched like a fist. Easing onto a bench near the end of a row of small tables, Nora tried to look calm as she prepared to wait.
She had hardly crossed her legs when someone leaned over her.
“I thought you’d never come.”
Nora jerked at the sound as Tiffany whipped herself onto the bench beside her. Their hips bumped and Nora could feel the nervous energy flash between them like a spark. They had always been intense. Thelma and Louise, Laverne and Shirley, Elsa and Anna. BFFs forever and honorary sisters whose bond was thicker than blood. Why did some relationships feel inevitable? Inescapable? Nora’s love for Tiffany defied description, but it was layered with history, secrets, and something that felt almost maternal. Nora knew that Tiffany needed her. It was a powerful, humbling, devastating truth.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Nora whispered. “Where did you come from?”
Tiffany motioned toward the back of the cafe. “I’ve been waiting.”
“You’re never on time.”
She laughed at that, a deep-throated, unhappy sound that made a few people glance up. Tiffany’s long dark hair was down around her shoulders and she was wearing a pair of artfully distressed jeans, the holes so gaping they were almost indecent. Her tank top was bohemian, her bra strap bright orange. Even without the siren call of the tan curve of her thighs or the traffic-cone-colored strap that kept slipping off her shoulder in warning, Tiffany was arresting. Angular and attractive in a disconcerting way. Nora had put her finger on it years ago—it was the way that you could not tear your eyes away from Tiffany even as you felt that you should. That you must.
“Stop drawing attention to yourself,” Nora whispered, flicking Tiffany’s arm in warning.
“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” Tiff sounded bored, but her leg was twitching up and down, swishing against the fabric of Nora’s skirt. “As if anyone here would give us a second look.” She paused for a moment, soaking in Nora’s outfit and her carefully coiffed hair. Her nose wrinkled as if she smelled something stale. “What’s all this for?”
“To blend in.” Nora lifted a shoulder self-consciously. “I didn’t want to stand out.”
“You stand out wherever you go,” Tiffany told her. She assessed the pencil skirt, the heels, nodding as she did so. “It works for you. I’d buy it. Though I have to say, you look an awful lot like JJ with your hair slicked back like that.”
Nora recoiled as if she had been slapped. Was Tiffany trying to hurt her? To throw who they were and what they had done in her face? “How could you—”
“Nora Sanford,” Tiffany cut in before she could go on, sweeping her hand in front of her to indicate Nora’s enticing future, “high-powered lawyer for the people, taking up the cause of the poor and disenfranchised. You’ll have judges eating out of your hand.”
“Would have,” Nora said quietly. She didn’t miss the flash of hurt in Tiffany’s brown eyes. They could be like this sometimes. Biting. Harsh. So real with each other it felt almost cruel. Nora had learned early on that compliments and kindness made Tiffany flush, and not in a happy way. She found warmth deeply alarming. And Nora had adapted over the years to be exactly the sort of friend that Tiffany needed her to be. Not many people would understand the way they loved—gritty and jagged and without artifice. But this was different. Their lives were about to forever change.
“I’m sorry.” Nora expelled regret with a hard breath between her teeth. It wasn’t fair to remind Tiffany of all that she had given up—that they had given up. Not now. “I know you’re—”