Nora wanted to ask him about his own childhood, and she did, but she couldn’t help feeling like she had revealed much more than Ethan did when he answered her questions. He was born in Washington State, moved to Minnesota when he was twelve, played hockey on scholarship in college. He was a defenseman with a pretty stellar slap shot from the point. His words. Ethan had graduated summa cum laude with a degree in engineering but decided after he had his diploma in hand that what he really wanted to do was study neoclassical literature.
“That’s insane.” By this time, Nora had ripped open the bag of Doritos and they both had orange fingers.
“That’s exactly what my parents said. Thanks for your vote of confidence.” Ethan stuck a Mike and Ike in his mouth and glared at her. Nora smiled primly back. He deserved it. Who drank water with Doritos? She was craving a Coke.
“How did I not know these things about you?” she asked, popping the last Dorito in her mouth.
Ethan lifted a shoulder. “You never asked. We talk mostly about specialty roasts and whether or not the new kid you hired for the after-school shift should be fired.”
“We’re so boring. At least, I am,” Nora said. “You travel, study neoclassical literature, play hockey . . .”
“It’s just a rec league.”
“Still.”
She didn’t mean to be so pensive, but what in the world had she done with her life? The sun had set long ago and Nora could see at least a few of the stars in the sky. If they were on a dirt road, or out in the middle of Key Lake, there would be a thousand points of light, but speeding down the interstate she could only make out a few major beacons. The Big Dipper was just visible out her window, and a little to the left, Polaris. If it were earlier in the summer she knew she could star hop from the outer stars of the Dipper’s bowl to Leo. Nora had never been the sort to wish on stars, but she had once liked to chart them. And to hope that somewhere out there, in the midst of all the inconsistencies and little hurts of her life, someone cared enough to listen to the dreams of her lonely heart.
Lonely. As if.
“Where are we going?” Ethan asked, and Nora turned from the window quickly, caught in the act of . . . what? Daydreaming? In the darkness, she could see the corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile. “I’m not being existential, Nora. I think we’re close to the turnoff.”
“Oh.” Nora looked around, taking in the landscape. The hours had flown by, and Ethan was right—the turnoff for Key Lake was only miles ahead. Of course, they would wind on country roads for a while, but this was the homestretch. The point in the trip when most people would lean in, feeling the pull of the familiar as steady as a magnet. Nora pressed herself deeper into her seat.
She navigated easily, telling Ethan which direction to turn and when, but she didn’t elaborate on their surroundings or narrate through the small towns they passed. Truth be told, Nora was exhausted. She had traveled these very roads only two nights ago, and it was hard to grasp just how much things had changed in the time between. Her life was unraveling around her, the snag a seemingly fatal flaw in the fabric that was everything she knew.
“Welcome home,” Ethan said quietly when they passed the Welcome to Key Lake sign. “Are we going to your mom’s house?”
“No.” Nora glanced at the dashboard clock. It was just before midnight. They had made better time than she anticipated, but she still wouldn’t think of knocking on Liz’s door. And Quinn and Walker’s cabin was out of the question. “How do you feel about roughing it?” Nora asked.
“I have my camping badge if that’s what you’re asking. Boy Scout Troop 211. ‘On my honor, I will do my best—’?”
“Good enough.”
They drove straight through the edge of town, skirting the heart in favor of the truck bypass and the few commercial imports Key Lake had to offer: Walmart, a Shell superstation, McDonald’s. Nora half expected Ethan to make some crack about craving french fries and a Big Mac, but he was comfortably silent.
“Turn here,” Nora instructed one last time, and they pulled onto a gravel road several miles past town.
“I didn’t bring my tent, though.”
“No need for that. Tiffany’s aunt passed away not long ago.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Nora bit her lip. Tried to make her words sound normal, light, though she felt anxious. “It’s okay. She’d been sick for a very long time. But she owned some land.”
“Okay . . .”
“A farm, actually. The main house has been rented out for a couple of years, but there’s a second place on the property, a little cabin that hasn’t been used in ages. Tiff and I used to hide out there.” She felt a smile crease her face in spite of everything. There was some beauty in the ashes of her past. “Her grandparents lived there up until the day they were moved to a home. They left everything the way it was.”
“What makes you think it’s still empty?”
She shrugged. “No one wants it. There’s nothing of value there. But if Tiffany came back to Key Lake, it’s where we’ll find her.”
Nora’s heart juddered at the thought and she squeezed her eyes closed. Be there Please, be there. She wished she had paid more attention in Sunday school so she could wrap a prayer around her hope. You can’t leave me like this, Tiffany. I don’t know what to do.
Ethan must have sensed the way Nora was feeling, the way her soul lifted as they rounded the final corner. He reached across the space between them, and when he found her hand, she didn’t pull away.
LIZ
“SIT DOWN,” Macy said, taking Liz by the elbow and steering her in the direction of the nearest circle of Adirondack chairs. Liz had no idea what time it was. Midnight? Later? It didn’t matter; the night had been a smashing success. The bottles were nearly empty and the raucous din had gentled into the intimate conversations and quiet hum of the twenty or so remaining guests. It was lovely, but Liz was a wreck. Perfectly put together and benevolent on the outside, a tangled mess on the inside. And though her heart was pulled in a dozen different directions—from her daughters to her granddaughter to fears about her own future—at the center of it all was one person. Jack.
Life goes on. The thought flitted through her mind, unwelcome, unbidden. What the hell was that supposed to mean anyway?
Of course Liz had known that her heart would keep beating after Jack Sr.’s body had been laid in the ground. She would weed the gardens and vacuum the carpets in the living room and even go on walks with Macy when the sun was rising and the morning was shimmering and surreal, impossibly beautiful. But these were her things, the world she inhabited with or without her husband. A Sanford party was altogether different. Or so she had believed.
But Liz had been wrong. There was laughter and fine food and music that floated out over the water and into the air where a riot of stars pricked holes in the night sky. How can it be? Liz wondered. Even though it was she who had planned all this extravagance, she herself who had made it so, she didn’t realize until Macy pushed her into a brightly painted chair—canary yellow—that it would work. She corrected herself: that it had worked. Gorgeously. In spite of everything. In spite of the fact that Liz’s life was crumbling around her.