The Siren
She laughed a little. “Performance anxiety.”
“Performance anxiety? Nora, you don’t have to perform with me.”
“I think that’s why I was so scared. I don’t know how to be with someone like you. I don’t know the rules to this game.”
“It’s not a game.”
“Then how will we win?”
Wesley didn’t answer, just stared past her.
“I guess that answers my question,” she said.
Wesley took a deep breath. “I’ll try. I’ll try to be what you need me to be. I know I’m not like you, but I can try. It’s worth it if I can be with you.”
“But it wouldn’t be you with me. It would be some version of you that was trying to be what I wanted. I won’t let you sacrifice who you are to be with me.” Wesley shook his head and headed for the door. “Wesley, please—”
She started to stand up, wanting to go to him.
“Don’t.” He raised his hand. She froze where she was. “Don’t apologize and don’t explain. I’ll live with this. I just need you not to talk about it.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper.
“Hey,” he said with false levity. “At least it’s not Søren.”
Nora shrugged and clenched her teeth.
“Wes…will you let me give you the combs back? I can’t imagine how much they cost and I know—”
“Keep them.” He grabbed his coffee mug and headed to the door again. He paused next to where she sat huddled in her chair. “They’ll look beautiful in your hair.”
Nora rested her head on her knees. Her stomach rumbled from stress and hunger. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, but the thought of food only made it worse.
“I gotta go,” Wesley said. “Study group.”
“Be careful.”
Wesley left without another word. The door shut. She heard Wesley’s car start and pull away. And she knew she was alone. Coughing on purpose, Nora tried to relieve the pressure in her throat. She rose and poured a cup of coffee and half-considered spiking it with whiskey.
Sipping at her coffee, she swallowed the bitter heat gratefully. She needed more sleep, she decided, or another shower. No, she realized. What she really, who she needed was—
The doorbell rang jarring her from the dangerous trajectory of her thoughts. She set her mug on the table and went to the door.
Nora opened the front door to find a woman standing on the porch. Her hair was an elegant shade of red and her fair skin was dusted with becoming constellations of pale freckles. Lovely beyond description, she looked a year or two shy of thirty, but her shining turquoise eyes glowed with a wisdom and intelligence well beyond her years.
“Hello,” Nora said.
“Ms. Sutherlin,” the woman said and with the first lilting words out of her mouth Nora knew exactly who she was. “I’m so sorry to trouble you. I’m—”
“My God,” Nora breathed, “you’re Grace Easton.”
“I am,” she said. “How did—”
“Welsh, beautiful, freckles. I don’t see that combination much in this neighborhood.” Nora smiled at her, sensing that this meeting was somehow preordained. “Please come in.”
33
Nora poured her coffee down the drain and replaced it with tea. She filled another cup and placed it on the kitchen table in front of Grace.
“Milk?” Nora offered.
“Thank you, no. Zachary always called me a heretic for drinking my tea without milk.”
“It’s not very English of you,” Nora teased. “But then again, you’re Welsh.”
“My father is, and my mother is Irish.”
“I can tell.” Nora envied Grace her red hair and exquisite freckles. “Can you do an Irish accent, too?”
“A bit. But I grew up in Wales. Zachary can actually do the better Irish accent.”
“Really?” Nora asked. “That jerk. He never told me he could do other accents.”
Grace smiled and sipped her tea.
“He’s a man of many talents,” Grace said. “You’re being very kind to me. I know I must seem like a lunatic showing up at your home like this. I’m leaving tomorrow morning, and I can’t seem to find him anywhere. I called Mr. Bonner. He gave me your address. He said you and Zachary work together on the weekends sometimes.”
“We did. But the book is finished now, thank God.”
Grace nodded and took another tentative sip of her tea. Nora took a drink of her own and noticed a bruise beginning to purple on her wrist.
“So it’s work then that brings him here so often?” Grace asked, fixing Nora with a surprisingly firm stare.
“We’re friends. Good friends.”
Grace looked down and her eyes appeared to study the tiny ripples in her tea. She seemed nervous as a bird, her delicate fingers fluttering over the rim of her teacup.
“I meant to come sooner. I tried to leave yesterday morning but my flight was delayed.”
“Why are you here?” Nora asked and Grace met her eyes.
“Zachary leaves for California tomorrow. I could hardly stand it when he was in New York. California seems like the other side of the world. His mornings would be my nights.” Grace breathed in and exhaled slowly. Nora stayed silent and let her talk. “I should have come weeks ago. I called him…I told him there was a blackout, and I couldn’t find the torch. There I was with every light on in the house lying to him just to hear his voice.”