The Angel
Page 83
She opened Nora Sutherlin’s medical file, and began to read. An hour later she knew what Kingsley meant when he’d said, “It was mine.”
19
Wesley drove through the night until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer and had to stop. Thanks to two years at Yorke, he had friends everywhere between Maryland and Maine. He crashed at his old roommate’s house and had a quick breakfast with him before heading on to Connecticut. By late afternoon he arrived in Westport. For nearly a day now, he’d been running on pure adrenaline, on the need to see Nora face-to-face. As he drove, two words echoed in his mind like the most melodic refrain.
Many waters…many waters…many waters…
Now back in the city he used to call home, he slowed down and had to ask himself exactly what he would do, what he would say when he saw her. His whole body tingled with nervousness as he turned into Nora’s quiet suburb with all the New York City commuters who tolerated their semifamous erotica-writing neighbor with wary amusement. By the time he pulled in front of their house—her house, Wesley corrected, not their house anymore—he could hardly breathe. He didn’t see her car anywhere and his heart plummeted. All he wanted was to look in her face again, into her eyes.
He walked up to the front door and knocked. When he heard no answer he knocked louder. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he felt his car keys scraping his knuckles.
His keys…
Wesley pulled his keys out and looked at them. Surely Nora would have changed the locks after he moved out. Wouldn’t she?
He found the key that he used to call his house key and slipped it into the front-door lock. Pausing, he took a quick breath and turned the key.
The door opened like nothing, as though those thirteen months of hell without Nora had been a dream he’d had when he’d fallen asleep at the school library studying, and now that he’d woken up, he could go home again.
Stepping into the living room, Wesley inhaled stale air. The house smelled abandoned, as if no one had been in it for months. He saw no piles of mail by the door. Were things that serious with her and Griffin Fiske that she’d have her mail forwarded? Griffin Fiske—New York City trust fund baby playboy with a whole lot of bad behavior in his past…and yet Wesley would almost rather find out Nora and Griffin were together than Nora and Søren. Griffin he didn’t like, didn’t know and certainly didn’t trust. But Søren…Søren he hated.
As Wesley wandered the house, memories came back to him. Memories he thought he’d buried…but they rose up with each step, all too easily resurrected. He’d loved studying on the couch in the living room. Nora had to walk through the living room to get to the kitchen, her favorite destination. And she’d always touch him as she walked by. Maybe just a tap on the forehead, a tweak of his nose, a squeeze of his knee or his favorite—a kiss on his cheek. The bookshelves needed a good dusting. Big and brown and carved with weird symbols, the bookshelves had been an estate-sale find of Nora’s.
“I think these bookcases belonged to druids,” Nora had said, running her small hands over the carvings.
“I think the druids existed prior to, you know, bookcases,” Wesley reminded her.
Nora pretended not to hear him, her usual MO when he attempted to bring reason and rationality into her flights of fancy.
“Virgins have probably been ritually sacrificed on these bookshelves.”
“Wouldn’t that be kind of awkward?”
“We’ll figure it out. Here, hop on the top shelf, Purity Ring. I’ll get the butter knife.”
God, what a weird woman he’d lived with. Weird and hilarious and beautiful and amazing… He missed her so much his stomach hurt to even think her name.
They’d been so good together in this house. So happy. Looking back he still couldn’t quite believe that Nora had asked him to move in with her. What was it about him? For days after she’d suggested he live with her and work as her intern, all he could do was stumble through his days asking himself, “But why me?” He’d been a nervous wreck when he’d moved in over that bitterly cold New Year’s Day of his freshman year at Yorke. The reality started to set in as he unpacked his clothes and rearranged the furniture in the room Nora had given him.
He’d wanted to put some posters on the wall but couldn’t bring himself to hammer any nails without asking Nora for permission. That night he’d wandered the house just as he wandered it now. Nora wasn’t in her bedroom, the living room, the kitchen. Finally he’d found her standing on the back porch in her heavy coat and boots. He put on his coat and joined her out in the cold.
For a moment he’d merely watched her in silence as she stood with her eyes closed and her face turned to the bright white moon. Inhaling slowly through her nose, she held her breath before releasing the air out of her mouth in a cloud of steam.
“Aren’t you freezing?” Wesley asked.
“Freezing my ass off. I’m coming in soon.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I thought you might like to get settled in without me hovering over your shoulder.”
Wesley had to laugh at that.
“You remember I’m six feet tall, right? More like hovering at my knees, munchkin.”
Munchkin? He’d actually called the infamous Nora Sutherlin munchkin?
“I could do that if you want.” She flashed him a wicked grin.
19
Wesley drove through the night until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer and had to stop. Thanks to two years at Yorke, he had friends everywhere between Maryland and Maine. He crashed at his old roommate’s house and had a quick breakfast with him before heading on to Connecticut. By late afternoon he arrived in Westport. For nearly a day now, he’d been running on pure adrenaline, on the need to see Nora face-to-face. As he drove, two words echoed in his mind like the most melodic refrain.
Many waters…many waters…many waters…
Now back in the city he used to call home, he slowed down and had to ask himself exactly what he would do, what he would say when he saw her. His whole body tingled with nervousness as he turned into Nora’s quiet suburb with all the New York City commuters who tolerated their semifamous erotica-writing neighbor with wary amusement. By the time he pulled in front of their house—her house, Wesley corrected, not their house anymore—he could hardly breathe. He didn’t see her car anywhere and his heart plummeted. All he wanted was to look in her face again, into her eyes.
He walked up to the front door and knocked. When he heard no answer he knocked louder. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he felt his car keys scraping his knuckles.
His keys…
Wesley pulled his keys out and looked at them. Surely Nora would have changed the locks after he moved out. Wouldn’t she?
He found the key that he used to call his house key and slipped it into the front-door lock. Pausing, he took a quick breath and turned the key.
The door opened like nothing, as though those thirteen months of hell without Nora had been a dream he’d had when he’d fallen asleep at the school library studying, and now that he’d woken up, he could go home again.
Stepping into the living room, Wesley inhaled stale air. The house smelled abandoned, as if no one had been in it for months. He saw no piles of mail by the door. Were things that serious with her and Griffin Fiske that she’d have her mail forwarded? Griffin Fiske—New York City trust fund baby playboy with a whole lot of bad behavior in his past…and yet Wesley would almost rather find out Nora and Griffin were together than Nora and Søren. Griffin he didn’t like, didn’t know and certainly didn’t trust. But Søren…Søren he hated.
As Wesley wandered the house, memories came back to him. Memories he thought he’d buried…but they rose up with each step, all too easily resurrected. He’d loved studying on the couch in the living room. Nora had to walk through the living room to get to the kitchen, her favorite destination. And she’d always touch him as she walked by. Maybe just a tap on the forehead, a tweak of his nose, a squeeze of his knee or his favorite—a kiss on his cheek. The bookshelves needed a good dusting. Big and brown and carved with weird symbols, the bookshelves had been an estate-sale find of Nora’s.
“I think these bookcases belonged to druids,” Nora had said, running her small hands over the carvings.
“I think the druids existed prior to, you know, bookcases,” Wesley reminded her.
Nora pretended not to hear him, her usual MO when he attempted to bring reason and rationality into her flights of fancy.
“Virgins have probably been ritually sacrificed on these bookshelves.”
“Wouldn’t that be kind of awkward?”
“We’ll figure it out. Here, hop on the top shelf, Purity Ring. I’ll get the butter knife.”
God, what a weird woman he’d lived with. Weird and hilarious and beautiful and amazing… He missed her so much his stomach hurt to even think her name.
They’d been so good together in this house. So happy. Looking back he still couldn’t quite believe that Nora had asked him to move in with her. What was it about him? For days after she’d suggested he live with her and work as her intern, all he could do was stumble through his days asking himself, “But why me?” He’d been a nervous wreck when he’d moved in over that bitterly cold New Year’s Day of his freshman year at Yorke. The reality started to set in as he unpacked his clothes and rearranged the furniture in the room Nora had given him.
He’d wanted to put some posters on the wall but couldn’t bring himself to hammer any nails without asking Nora for permission. That night he’d wandered the house just as he wandered it now. Nora wasn’t in her bedroom, the living room, the kitchen. Finally he’d found her standing on the back porch in her heavy coat and boots. He put on his coat and joined her out in the cold.
For a moment he’d merely watched her in silence as she stood with her eyes closed and her face turned to the bright white moon. Inhaling slowly through her nose, she held her breath before releasing the air out of her mouth in a cloud of steam.
“Aren’t you freezing?” Wesley asked.
“Freezing my ass off. I’m coming in soon.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I thought you might like to get settled in without me hovering over your shoulder.”
Wesley had to laugh at that.
“You remember I’m six feet tall, right? More like hovering at my knees, munchkin.”
Munchkin? He’d actually called the infamous Nora Sutherlin munchkin?
“I could do that if you want.” She flashed him a wicked grin.
