Nora pivoted, arching her neck to peer around the corner back the way she had come. Had she missed her? Run right past? No. There was no one who could be mistaken for Tiffany.
Nora’s heart pounded, pumping dread through her veins like poison. She was jumping to conclusions, assuming things that had yet to be proven, and yet she knew deep down that her fears were founded. Tiffany was not lingering in the store, pack of smokes safe in her purse while she perused the bottles of nail polish. She was not window-shopping down the street.
Tiffany was gone.
LIZ
AS LIZ HURRIED home, irritated and glistening in the growing heat of the day (Liz didn’t sweat, she perspired), she took careful stock of her children. Motherhood had come naturally to her, not necessarily as a state of the heart but as an occupation. It’s what women did, back in the day. Never mind careers or life dreams or independence. A woman of a certain age found a good match and started a family. Liz had been exquisite at it. Betty Crocker home-cooked meals every night and charming Christmas cards each December. Liz made sure everyone was looking at the camera and smiling. None of that journalistic-style photography that had gotten so popular as of late. Faces in profile, eyes closed, still-life chaos. Liz just didn’t understand.
And she didn’t understand why her children insisted on being so similarly disordered.
Quinn was clearly hiding something. Never mind her unsuitable husband (who, honestly, looked Middle Eastern—and what was Liz supposed to do with that?), her unemployment, and her obvious disregard for the woman who had raised her. The woman who had changed her diapers and cleaned up her vomit and driven her to cheerleading practice and play rehearsal and, really, all over creation. It hurt her feelings, Liz decided. She wished her youngest would let her in, would confide whatever secrets she was keeping. Liz had such good advice to give, and she longed to share it.
As for her other daughter, Nora felt like a lost cause—and that pain was chronic. Dull at times, debilitating at others. Impossible to predict. Nora had never gotten on well with her father, but that was such an understatement it was almost laughable. What was it about those two? They had been oil and water, as different from one another as Jack Sr. and Jack Jr. were alike. Jack Sr. had been straightlaced, enduringly pragmatic, unforgiving. Black and white. Nora lived in the space between. Why? Nora had asked. Why? Why? Why? It was her first word, or at least Liz thought it was. Who could remember? It certainly seemed to be so, for it was the mantra that Nora repeated from her high chair and beyond. She never stopped asking it.
Eat your peas. Why?
We go to church twice on Sunday. Why?
The Sanfords are Republicans. Why?
This is how it’s done. Why?
Jack didn’t feel compelled to answer other than: because I said so. And that simply wasn’t good enough for Nora. When she graduated from high school she was ready to run. University of Northwestern St. Paul was the plan, but instead of going there to study, she disappeared. Well, not really. Nora’s departure wasn’t dramatic. There were no tears or missing person’s reports or shouting. She simply left the house bound for college and never showed up. When she came home several months later, there was some yelling (on Jack Sr.’s part), but nothing would dissuade her. Nora was a grown-up and she had flown the coop. Liz let her go. What choice did she have?
Thankfully, Liz had JJ. And he was having a baby. Well, he wasn’t having the baby, his pretty little wife, Amelia, was. Liz wasn’t sure how she felt about Amelia, even after almost seven years of being her mother-in-law. But she was quite certain that a grandbaby was a wonderful idea, so it was hard not to love just a teeny bit the woman who was going to give her one.
Liz didn’t necessarily think of herself as grandmother material, at least not in the traditional sense. Gray-haired and big-bosomed and perpetually dusted with the ingredients for something fattening and baked. But stereotypes aside, there was a part of her that longed for the feel of a baby in her arms, the warm, wiggling weight of a person who she could press tight to her chest. It had been a long time since Liz had held someone. Macy gave her one-armed hugs and feathery European kisses, and JJ pecked her forehead every time they met. But to embrace. It was a different thing altogether. Liz realized she was getting soft in her old age. Maybe that was okay? The jury was still out on that one.
Anyway, Liz decided as she rounded the corner into her cul-de-sac, she would be the cool grandma. If it was a boy, she could take him golfing. She had a wicked swing and had often beat Jack Sr. when he was alive. In fact, he quit playing because she trounced him so thoroughly one unseasonably hot spring day nearly five years ago—though he insisted it was an issue with his rotator cuff. And if JJ and Amelia’s baby was a girl, then Liz and the tiny darling could get manicures together. Liz liked neat nails. Square-tipped and not too long, elegant and feminine with just enough of an edge to let people know that she meant business. There were so many things she could teach Ruby.
Ruby. Liz knew she shouldn’t get her hopes up. The baby’s name was ultimately JJ and Amelia’s decision, but she didn’t mind dropping not-so-subtle hints. Ruby was a family name; Liz’s grandmother and mother had both been named Ruby and it would mean so much to Liz if the tradition was carried on. Come to think of it, Ruby Elizabeth had a certain ring to it.
“Why didn’t you name one of your girls Ruby?” Amelia had asked when Liz first brought up the issue. The question was innocent enough, but Liz bristled.
“Jack Sr. preferred Nora, after his mother.”
“And Quinn?”
“She was born via Cesarean section. When I came out of surgery, her birth certificate had already been signed.”
Amelia looked troubled by this news, but Liz had long ago forgiven her husband. She just hoped her son would come through for her.
When Liz finally arrived home from her much-longer-than-usual daily walk, she scrambled herself a couple of eggs and ate them while she called Amelia. If Nora was going to run away and ignore her, and if Quinn refused to engage in even the most basic of relationships, what choice did Liz have?
“Let’s have lunch,” Liz said between bites. She was famished, but refused to talk and chew at the same time.
“I can’t, Elizabeth.” Amelia insisted on calling her by her given name. The possibility of “Mom” had never come up. “I’m working today.”
At the real estate office. With JJ. In a job that was nothing more than an excuse to get her out of the house. But Liz didn’t say any of that. “Sneak out a bit early. We can have a drink on the dock.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“A sip or two of champagne never hurt.”
Amelia laughed a little too brightly. “Maybe it wasn’t an issue when you were pregnant, Elizabeth, but I’m not drinking. Why don’t you give Quinn a call?”
Liz felt herself deflate.
“Though maybe nix the champagne.”
“Oh?” Liz perked up. “Why would I do that?”