TWELEVE
Beau Calls
NORA COULDN’T STAY angry. Not at Ryan. She wanted to hold him and form a bubble around him to keep away whatever made him sad. She refused to compound his hurts.
Because one thing was for certain: the boy who’d brought her home from the hospital, the one who made demands of Dr. Murray and had stared down Detective Vance, wasn't the Ryan she’d left at the door to his class.
This new Ryan turned inward, forming a shell between himself and the rest of the world. She'd cracked it for a bit, but with each step he'd taken away from her, it had reformed. Turning away from the building, she ducked her head down against the wind
Kissing is the answer. She smiled to herself, not at all unhappy with the realization that if she kept Ryan's lips busy, the rest of him was happy.
The wind was picking up, so she hurried across campus. A couple of weeks into November and it was already bitter. The wind whipped up the hill from the lake, chapping her lips and freezing her skin. She buried her face into the scarf and smelled him on the fabric. Pressing the scarf against her nose, she breathed in again and again. If she could ever get a job, she would buy Ryan another scarf, make him wear it for a day or two, and then take it back, rotating a collection of scarves in order to always have his scent near her. She liked the idea so much she mentally assembled a wardrobe of items she could buy, each one belonging to one of the guys and worn by her after absorbing their scents.
The temperature seemed to drop at the same time the wind picked up. She went from a fast walk to a jog, her breath coming out in thick, white puffs. Each inhalation of cold air prickled her lungs. She ran up the steps to her house, pushing the door open. Like a vortex, the air sucked the door back, allowing her just enough time to slide inside before it slammed so hard the windows shook.
Wincing, she unwound her scarf. “Hello?” When she looked at the table holding the keys, there was no note. Digging her phone out of her backpack, she checked the time. Apollo would be at class along with Ryan. She realized disappointedly that Cai must have already left for the youth center.
“Hello?” she called again, walking into the kitchen.
Still no one answered, but on the counter was a note: At hardware store. Matisse asleep.
Eek. She'd yelled twice and slammed the door. Listening closely, there was no thump of footsteps overhead speaking to a grumpy, prematurely-awakened Matisse.
The cold from outside seemed to have seeped into her bones, making her teeth chatter and her hands thick and clumsy. She dug through the cabinets searching for a tea kettle.
She wished for someone to talk to. Matisse's words ran through her head, and she still carried with her the stress from Dr. Murray's testing and Jessica's not-so-subtle dig.
Her head thumped to the table. She and the guys had made no attempt to hide their relationship, but it was new, and there was a lot they hadn't discussed—especially when it came to what was fast becoming in her mind “the big reveal.”
The kettle began to rattle, the boiling water popping inside. Finding the box of tea in the back of one of the cabinets, she dropped a bag into a mug. As she stood staring at the stove, she heard another sound. It took a moment for her to identify the source since she still wasn’t used to having a cell phone. She bolted through the kitchen, sliding across the wood in the hallway so she could scoop it up before it woke Matisse. At first, she didn't recognize the name on the screen. She expected to see Dr. Murray or one of the boys, so Beau took her a minute to figure out. The guy from law school. She hadn’t given him another thought after the car ride last night.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Nora?”
“Hello, Beau,” she answered, walking back through the house and into the kitchen as the kettle began to whistle.
“Are you at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?”
She laughed, shutting off the burner and opening up the valve on the kettle to release the steam. “No. Nothing so exciting, just making tea. How are you?”
“Good,” he answered. “Um. I wanted to say, it was nice to meet you.”
Nora smiled at his awkward tone. “It was nice to meet you, too.” There was a heavy silence across the line. “So.” She searched her brain for something to say. “Are you from Vermont?”
“Didn't you Google me?”
“No,” she answered automatically. In the day she'd been home, she hadn't given another thought to him. “Did you Google me?”
He paused before answering in an embarrassed tone, “Yes.”
“Well, learn anything good?”
“I thought you would have Googled me, and we'd be on equal ground.”
“How so?” she asked and blew across the top of her tea.
“I wouldn't have to explain my past to you. You wouldn't explain your past to me. We'd go forward, complaining about the shit we don’t deserve.”
“Oh,” she answered again, a little surprised at the bitterness in his voice. It hadn't been there when they'd spoken on CCSL's campus. “I'm...”
“What's the worst thing that's happened to you?”
She’d taken a small sip of her tea in order to give herself more thinking time, when he spoke again, and she choked, spluttering and coughing.
“Are you okay?”
“Are you serious?” Her voice came out strained and hoarse.
“Yeah,” he answered. “It sounded like you were dying.”
“No,” she went on, “Was your question serious?”
“Yeah,” he replied like it was obvious.
While their stories were similar, Nora didn't know him well enough to confide in him, and she hesitated. And besides… “I really can't complain too much right now. I think I'm lucky.”
“Lucky how?”
“Well...I have a place to live. And I'm okay-ish for money. I have people who care about me...” She trailed off.
“That is lucky.” There was a pause she didn’t know how to fill. “Do you want to ask me the same question?”
“This feels like a test, Beau,” she answered. “Not a conversation. What do you want me to say?”
“Shit. I'm sorry. I don't know how to talk to people right now.”
“You seemed to do all right on the tour.” What had changed since then, or was it an act for the public?
“Something happened after. Something from my past I thought was resolved. It's fucked with my head a bit. I'm sorry.” The bitterness disappeared, leaving him worn out.
“Oh,” she breathed. “I'm sorry.”
“It's just never over, you know? I think it is. I think I've overcome every possible obstacle. I'm mean—shit—what the fuck else could happen? And then I get slammed. So I'm sorry. I'm taking it out on you.”
Everything he said made sense. It was how she'd felt a million times in her life, and she rushed to reassure him. “No. No. I get it. I really do. It's okay. You can vent.”
“I don't want to vent,” he answered quickly. “I want it to be over. I want to go to school, graduate, get a job, and forget about this shit.”
“I understand,” she encouraged.
“No.” She heard shuffling through the phone like he was walking around or turning pages in a book. “I really did just want to say, 'Hi.' But… maybe I could another day, when I’ve calmed down a bit. Are you free for coffee?”
She opened her mouth to answer, “Yes,” but closed it again. Was she free to get coffee? Was he looking for a friend or something more?
“I know you have a boyfriend,” he said quickly. “As friends. Not a date.”
Her face heated, grateful he couldn't see her. “Yeah, sorry. I'm-I wasn’t-It sounds nice, but you live an hour away, and I don't have a car.”
“I have to come up to Brownington anyway,” he answered quickly. “The thing that came up and is messing with my head? I need to deal with it there.”
“Okay, then. Are you sure you'll want to meet with me after dealing with whatever it is you have to deal with?”
“Yeah,” he said, and laughed. “I might really need someone to listen to me right then.”
“When are you coming?”
“Friday.”
She had no plans on Friday except to be turned down after another job interview. This would be her fifth, and she held out no hope she'd be offered anything.
“I have a job interview in the morning, but I should be free after ten.”
“Where is it? I can pick you up or meet you.”
“It's downtown.” She’d decided since none of the grocery stores or box stores wanted her, she might as well apply to one of the fancy stores on the cobblestoned pedestrian shopping area on Congregation Street. Exhaust every option; that was her plan because she didn't want the guys thinking she’d given up and was counting on them to support her. Her stipend from Dr. Murray went directly to Seok, every last penny, and he put it into the mortgage and house bills. But it didn't leave her anything for things like matching mittens or winter boots or t-shirts she could make the guys wear so she could then sleep in them.
“Okay. I'll text you. Friday.”
“Friday.” She punctuated her answer with a nod he couldn't see.
“Thanks, Nora.” His voice changed; the bitterness was gone, leaving him sounding exhausted. Like Ryan. Imagining Ryan feeling alone and overwhelmed made her glad she’d agreed to meet Beau. It was as if by helping Beau, she was somehow, by extension, helping Ryan. Even though the two situations were unrelated.
“I'm happy to,” she answered genuinely.
“All right, take care, Nora.”
“See you.” She hung up the phone, placing it carefully next to the mug of her cooled tea, staring at the screen until it blacked out.
Overwhelmed was the perfect word to describe both Beau and Ryan. By listening to Beau, it seemed she may have alleviated some of his stress. Now, she wanted to do the same for Ryan.
If he’d let her.