Nora Goes Off Script(9)

With a sigh and an eye roll, I put on my coat and boots and make my way out the back door to the tea house. Through the rain I can see that it’s dark. The door is shut, so that it looks like a dead end rather than a beginning. As I get closer and wetter, I start to lose patience with this sad, spoiled man who has the balls to just disappear and make everyone worry.

I throw open the door, maybe too aggressively, and no one’s there. I stare for a few seconds at the empty daybed, the perfect place for him to hide out and get a little extra attention he doesn’t need.

My wine doesn’t taste good anymore when I get back inside. I text Weezie and tell her he’s not here. She reassures us both that if something had happened to him it would already be in the news, which is good. We’re both feeling maternal, I can tell, and we agree to call each other if we have any news. I’m glad to be in the loop, though I don’t know why I even care. It could be because he’s the lead in the movie I wrote, but of course his meeting a tragic end would just increase ticket sales. I try to review his whole persona to see if there’s something about him I like. He’s entitled and rude and never says thank you. I settle on the fact that I like the way he talks to Bernadette. I like the way he notices things. A noticer is a person who can never be entirely self-absorbed, though he’s pretty close.

I lock up and tell my kids to go to bed. They want me to read a chapter of The Hunger Games, which is too dark and too old for them, but I agree because I want to feel fierce. They fall asleep on either side of me, and I decide to let them sleep in my bed. I drift off with Katniss on my mind, relishing in having reclaimed my domain.



* * *



? ? ?

    The sunrise wakes me up if I forget to pull the curtains. This is the primary reason why I never, ever pull my curtains. I creep out of bed so as not to wake my kids and head down to the kitchen to press the button on the coffee maker. The sun is rising, those people are gone, and today I’ll write. I feel Bernadette’s signature giddiness bubbling up in me.

I throw my morning sweater over my nightgown and take my coffee out onto the front porch. It’s glorious. The sky is a brilliant pink. The rain has stopped and everything has a just-washed look to it, like green peppers that have just been misted in the produce section.

“Hi.” I swing around at the sound of this greeting and spill half my coffee. Leo is sitting up on the porch swing, wrapped in his duvet, feet tucked under him.

“People are worried about you.”

“I know. I’ll call. But come sit for a sec before it’s over.”

I’m too stubborn to sit, so I turn back around to enjoy the rest of the sunrise before I’ll have to dismantle this guy. When I face him again, he is giving me a soft smile, a younger unguarded smile of someone who is actually pleased. He says, “Your nightgown is see-through. You have nice legs.”

I make a mad dash to the swing and hide my legs under myself. “You’re a real piece of work,” I say, accepting half of his duvet.

We sit in silence for a while watching the colors dissipate from the sky. I don’t want to ask the questions that I know will suck me into his self-pity. And he doesn’t seem that interested in telling me why he spent the night on my porch in the rain.

After a while, I say, “You need to text Weezie.”

“Fine.” He grabs his phone and types a few words. “Happy?”

“I was, about five minutes ago. In fact, I was ecstatic about today. But then I find a squatter on my porch and I’m worried I might have to call the cops and have a bunch of cars on my lawn again.”

“What were you going to do today?”

“Write.”

“Another depressing love story where there’s no love?”

“No.”

Bernadette brings a glass of orange juice onto the porch, rubbing her eyes. “Did I miss it?”

“You did,” Leo says, making room for her on the swing.

“Leo! What are you doing here? Did you sleep there?”

“I did. Wanted to make sure you weren’t lying to me about the sunrise. And you weren’t. It was spectacular.” Bernadette beams at him as he gives her the last bit of his duvet.

“My mom makes pancakes. And bacon sometimes.” She might as well hang a FOR SALE sign on me.

“Oh jeez. It’s six forty-five. Is Arthur up?” I leave the two of them swinging on the porch and switch into morning mode. Once Arthur is in the bathroom, presumably making progress toward getting ready, I change into my running shorts and sneakers. Today is still a writing day, and I’m not going to get derailed by Leo Vance on my porch.

I come downstairs and find Leo and Bernadette sitting at the counter in a comfortable silence. Leo eyes my legs again and smiles like we have an inside joke now. I make more coffee, mainly because I’ve spilled most of mine. I start frying bacon and scrambling eggs. I have three English muffins left, which would have been perfect if I didn’t have a breakfast crasher. I decide to go without.

Arthur comes downstairs clean but with the look of sleep still on him. “Mom said you were here. Why?”

“He wanted to see if the sun really came up on our porch,” says Bernadette. “Which it does,” she adds with a conspiratorial smile to Leo.

“The sun comes up everywhere, dummy.”