The heavyset woman flushed. She looked ready to cry. "I didn't think she was like those other ones. .
Sarah took the microphone back. “That brings up a good point, Dr. Harrison,” she said, speaking to the gentleman sitting on the stage. “People are angry at Nora Bridge because she lied to them, but is it really a lie? Do you have to tell people everything about your life, just because you're in the public eye?”
The doctor smiled coolly for the camera. “Certainly a public figure has a right to his or her secrets ... unless and until those secrets become germane. In this case, Nora had no right to hold herself out as an expert on love and family and commitments. But of course, it's ludicrous for people to trust her anyway ... an uneducated woman whose only claim to fame is a daily newspaper column. Trust should be reserved for professionals who are trained to help people.”
Sarah stopped. “Now, wait a minute, Doctor. I don't think education-”
“Nora Bridge pretended to have answers, but no one bothered to wonder where those answers came from. Hopefully, Americans have learned that it takes more than an open microphone to solve people's problems. It takes education, and empathy, and integrity areas in which Ms. Bridge is sorely lacking.”
“And she's a coward,” someone said from the crowd. "I mean ... where is she? She owes us –
Nora snapped off the television. She couldn't seem to move, not even to wheel her self out of the room. A tremor was spreading through her, chilling her from the inside out, and her throat was so tight it was hard to breathe.
“Nora?”
She froze, her heart pounding. She hadn't even heard footsteps on the stairs.
God, she didn't want her daughter to see her like this ...
Ruby came into the room, walked slowly around the wheelchair; then sat down on the leather chair across from Nora. “Did you sleep well?”
Nora stared down at her own hands, and thought, Oh, please, just go away ... don't talk to me now ... . “Yes,” she managed, "thank you.
I read your columns," Ruby said when the silence had gone on too long.
“Really?” It was a tiny word, barely spoken.
“You're good at it.”
Nora's relief was so profound, she gasped. Only I you could have meant more to her in that moment. And yet even as the relief buoyed her, it dragged her down again, too, reminded her of all that she'd lost this week.
“Thank you,” she said softly. Finally, she looked up, and found Ruby watching her through narrowed eyes.
“I take it you read a few of your new letters,” Ruby said, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She seemed to see it all-the shaking hands, the television remote that had been thrown onto the floor.
Nora wanted to say something casual and flip, to show how meaningless a few ugly letters were, but she couldn't. “They hate me now.”
“They're strangers. They don't even know you They can't love you or hate you, not really.” Ruby flashed a smile. “Leave the big, ugly emotions to your family.”
Who also hated her.
That only made it worse. “What family?” Nora moaned quietly. “Really, Ruby ... what family have I left myself?” Ruby looked at her for a long minute, then said, “After I read your columns, you know what I remembered?”
Nora wiped her eyes. “What?”
"When I was twelve years old-seventh grade-and my class elected me to run the first tolo.
Remember? It was a big deal on Lopez, a dance where the girls asked the boys. Mr. Lundberg, down at the hardware store, said it meant that the world was going to hell in a leaky towboat."
Nora sniffled again. “Yeah ... I remember that.”
“I wanted the local newspaper to cover the event. You were the only one who didn't laugh at me.” Ruby smiled. “I watched you charm that fat old editor from the Island Times. I remember being surprised by how easily you got him to agree to what you wanted... what I wanted.”
Nora remembered that day for the first time in years. “The minute I walked into that cheesy, airless office, I loved it. The smell of the paper; the clacking of typewriters. I envied the reporters, with their ink-stained fingers and for the first time in my life, I felt as if I belonged somewhere. I'd always known I had words banging around in my chest, but I'd never known what to do with them.” She looked up.
Ruby's gaze was solemn. “I realized ... Later ... that I'd shown you the way out of our lives.”
Nora took a deep breath. “I didn't leave my family for a career; Ruby. That had nothing to do with my decision. Less than nothing.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Ah, Ruby,” she said, "you want answers, but you don't even know what the questions are. You have to look at the beginning of a thing, not the end. For me, leaving your dad started before I met him
“ I don't understand.”
Nora wanted to ask her daughter if all this talking would actually lead them anywhere, or if it was just a way to pass the hours before they each moved on. A part of her-the cowardly part-wanted to change the subject, maybe talk about Dean or Eric, but she wouldn't let herself take the easy way. She and Ruby were finally approaching something that mattered.
She stared out the window. Night was falling, drizzling dark syrup down the evergreen trees. “My dad was an alcoholic. When he was sober; he was almost human, but when he was drunk-which was most of the time-he was pit-bull mean. It was a secret I learned to keep from everyone. It's what children of alcoholics do. They keep secrets. Hell, it took me fifteen years of therapy to even say the word alcoholic.”
Ruby's mouth fell open a little. “Huh? You never told us that.”
“On a farm like ours, the neighbors couldn't hear a woman's scream. Or a young girl's. And you learn fast that it doesn't help to cry out ... to reach out. Instead, you try to get smaller and smaller; hoping that if you can become tiny enough, and still enough, he'll pass You by.”