Never mind the fact that Nora would have to contend with her own family in Key Lake. And she owed them more than just an explanation. She owed them an apology. But how could she ask for forgiveness? There could be no absolution for what she and Tiffany had done.
And Ethan. What was she going to do with him? Like it or not, she was stuck with him now—and torn between relief that he had offered to come (and that she had impulsively accepted) and irritation that he was in the driver’s seat. Literally, of course. They both knew exactly who was in charge of this particular rescue mission. But Ethan had heard the whole sordid tale, and after he realized the kind of danger that Everlee was in, he refused to back down. I’m coming, he said. And then he cleared both of their schedules at the Grind and steered Nora toward his car. She let him.
“I kind of can’t believe I’m going to see where you grew up,” Ethan said, either oblivious to her inner turmoil or intentionally trying to distract her. Nora couldn’t tell. He had set cruise control at seventy-five miles per hour, five miles above the speed limit but five below Nora’s preferred speed. She mentally recalculated their arrival time and forced her hands to be still in her lap.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she said. “Key Lake isn’t much to write home about.”
“That bad?”
Nora shrugged, looking out her window at the green expanse of fields beside the interstate, and willed her heart to slow its manic pace. “It’s not bad, I guess. If you’re into walleye fishing. And small towns. And . . .”
“And what?” he prompted.
“And not much else. I’m trying to think of more ways to describe Key Lake and I can’t. It’s a cliché. Everything you’ve ever thought about sleepy little lakeside towns is true.”
Ethan didn’t say anything and Nora could feel him looking at her. She whipped her head around to meet his gaze. “Watch the road!”
He smiled and dutifully turned his attention to driving.
“What?”
“I just find your angst amusing. We’re twentysomething, you know.”
“I happen to know you’re thirtysomething,” Nora interjected.
He nodded. Touché. “Whatever. The point is, we’re past hating our hometowns and rebelling against our idyllic childhoods. Right?”
“You had an idyllic childhood?”
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
Nora threw up her hands. “Then stop giving me such a hard time!”
Ethan smiled, but it wasn’t patronizing. “We get older. We soften. You just seem so touchy about your past.”
“Touchy.”
“Yeah.”
Nora bit her lip, considering. “I suppose I have some bad memories that are tied to Key Lake.”
“And Tiffany is a part of them.”
“Among others.”
“Who else?”
Nora didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. “You’re very persistent.”
“We have a long drive ahead of us,” Ethan said as he turned on the radio. He found a preset station and smoky jazz created a muted backdrop in the car. Yet another side of him that took Nora by surprise. “Might as well get to know each other.”
She was under the impression that they did know each other, but Nora was beginning to realize that her definition of friendship was rather insubstantial. What did she really know about the people she claimed to care about? Even Tiffany had disappeared on her without a word of warning. There was very little left for Nora to lose.
“Fine,” she said, relenting. “I’ll tell you a story.”
“I love stories.”
Nora slapped his arm in warning. Be quiet. “When I was ten years old, my family went to Chicago for a week.”
“I thought this was a story about Key Lake?”
“Shut up. I’m talking.”
Ethan gave her a grave two-fingered salute.
Nora started again. “We stayed downtown in this huge high-rise with a view of the lake. And every day we went somewhere new. Shedd Aquarium, Navy Pier, the Art Institute, the Field Museum—that one was my favorite.” Nora paused, waiting for Ethan to insert a quip, but he didn’t. His hands were loosely gripping the steering wheel, his eyes trained on the taillights of the car in front of them. He was relaxed, at home in his own skin, and listening. Nora opened up the Mike and Ikes and tapped a few out into her palm, then passed him the box.
“So, it was a really great vacation. I mean, we all had fun. It was exciting to stay in the big city and walk in the shadows of all those tall buildings . . . I think we were too tired and happy and overwhelmed to fight.”
Ethan nodded.
“I mean, not that we ever really fought. Sanfords don’t yell or throw things or anything like that. At least, not usually. We were pretty buttoned up.” She slid him a wry look. “And don’t bother telling me I still am.” Why did she want him to understand? Why did she care what he thought about her family, her upbringing?
“So what happened?” Ethan asked.
“The last day that we were there, we passed this homeless girl in the street. Don’t get me wrong, we had passed dozens of homeless people over the course of the week, but she was different.”
“Why?”
“She was my age. Or not much older. She was holding a piece of cardboard that said: Today is my birthday.”
Nora was watching Ethan’s face and felt relieved to see his jaw clench. “That’s awful, right?” she said. “My dad had given each of us kids ten dollars to spend on a souvenir and I had saved mine. I wanted to give it to her. But he wouldn’t let me.”
“Why not?”
“He said it was probably her birthday yesterday and the day before and the day before that. I said I didn’t care. He told me she was manipulative and a liar and that she would likely spend the money on drugs anyway.”
“That’s harsh.” Ethan had a handful of Mike and Ikes, but instead of eating them he shook them around in his palm. The soft clicking was comforting, somehow.
“That was my dad. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, get a job, no free handouts. But to me, she was just a kid. I didn’t care if it was her birthday or not. I wanted to help her.”
“Didn’t your mom say anything?”
Nora pushed a hard breath through her lips. “Are you kidding? My mom was a pushover. She never stood up to Jack Sr. a day in her life.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Nora said, and for some reason the memory still stung. “I walked away. My brother laughed, my sister was clueless, and I walked away.”
“You were just a kid, too, Nora.”
“I know that,” she said quickly. “It’s not a big deal. You just wanted to know about my idyllic childhood. I think that pretty much sums it up.”
“It certainly helps me understand you more.”
“Oh really.” Nora forced a laugh. “Enlighten me.”
“How about I save my observations for the end of the trip? And how about you pass me those pork rinds?”