Nora Goes Off Script(10)

“Arthur,” I say, overly sternly, like suddenly I’m pretending to be Mrs. Cleaver. I place the steaming breakfast plates in front of the three of them and hear myself say, “Refill?”

The kids shoot me a look. “Refill,” in the form of a command, not a question, was something Ben used to bark over breakfast. He’d slide his mug toward me, sometimes looking up, and sometimes not. I’d reply, “Of course” as I poured, and someone who didn’t live in our house might have thought I meant, “Of course I’d be happy to pour more coffee in your cup so you can drink it.” Those who had been simmering in this pot for a while would hear the undertone: “Since I made the breakfast and I’m going to clean up all the dishes and you’re really just going to sit there the entire day, of course I’ll take it the rest of the way for you and fill up your coffee too, you lazy . . .”

“Sure,” says Leo, who has probably never poured his own coffee, so he doesn’t know this is a loaded topic.

“Did you get wet sleeping on the porch? Seems kind of fun but also soggy,” says Bernadette.

“Half fun and half soggy. Plus there’s a reason people sleep on mattresses instead of wood.” Leo stretches his arms in the air like he’s trying to work the kinks out, exposing two inches of his perfectly toned abs. I have to look away.

“Well, you’ll be back at your house tonight, right?” asks Arthur.

“Sure.” Leo’s looking for something at the bottom of his mug. “It’s an apartment. But it’s not that much more comfortable there.”

Okay, here comes the pity party for the guy who lives in a penthouse. I need to regain control of the morning. “Guys. Clear your plates and grab your backpacks. Bernie, you have art today so bring your portfolio thing.” They get up and carry plates and find their stuff.

Bernadette gives Leo yet another hug. “Come back sometime for another sunrise. Or even a picnic. It’s fun here, I swear.” Honestly, we are going to have to redo the whole talk about stranger danger.

“Thanks,” he says. “And the bacon’s good too.”

We’re standing at the top of the steps to the garage, door open and backpacks on. Leo’s not budging. “So, maybe Weezie can send a car for you?” I suggest.

“Right. I’ll text her,” he says, not reaching for his phone.



* * *



? ? ?

I drive my kids to school and return home through my tunnel of magnolia blooms. Leo’s back on the porch swing, wrapped in his duvet. I park in the garage and gather my thoughts. After a series of deep breaths, I head upstairs into the kitchen. He’s moved his plate to the sink, which is frankly more than I expected.

I normally stretch on the porch before I run, but I don’t need to hear any of Leo’s wisecracks, so I do it in the kitchen. By the time I walk onto the porch it feels like his ride should be pulling up any second. “So, safe trip back to the city,” I say.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m going for a run.”

“Wholesome.” He lets his duvet fall a little. “It’s warming up.”

“Yes. Okay, good-bye. It was nice to meet you. Safe trip. Again.” I’m walking down the porch steps, and I know he’s watching me. I’m too self-conscious to start running, so I walk down the driveway until I’m sure I’ve disappeared into the magnolias.

Two miles out and two miles back. I return drenched in sweat and sparkling with endorphins. My porch swing is vacant. My porch swing, I think.

I’m more surprised than I should be to find Leo with his feet up at my kitchen table. He’s doing my Thursday crossword now, and I notice he’s making an impressive go of it. This annoys me, and I know that’s petty.

“No ride?”

“They must be really busy,” he says. I’m suspicious. “Where’s the rest of the paper? I looked outside.”

“I don’t get a paper. My friend just saves the puzzles for me.” And as soon as I’ve said it, I’m embarrassed. And then my embarrassment makes me feel a little ashamed, which makes me angry, and I don’t like any of these feelings. Leo Vance was paid fifteen million dollars to star in The Tea House. And I’m living on borrowed crossword puzzles.

“I’m going to go shower,” I say, already heading upstairs. I grab my softest jeans and my favorite grubby sweatshirt and take them into the bathroom with me. I wash my blown-out hair and leave it wet so that I’ll look like me again today.



* * *



? ? ?

“What if you let me stay for a week?” Apparently, Leo’s ride isn’t coming. He is following me on my way to the tea house, hot on my heels and kind of ruining my vibe. I have my laptop, my special candle, my two sharpened pencils, and a mug of tea. And I’m trying to ignore him.

“No.”

“I won’t bother you.”

“Too late.”

“You can write all day, maybe I’ll take some walks. And I’ll sit on the porch a lot and look at the trees. If you stay very still you can see them breathe and wave at each other.”

I stop and turn to him. “Are you on LSD?”

“No. I just need to get out of the city. Let me stay here; you must have a spare room. I’ll pay you a thousand dollars a day.”