Now That You Mention It
Page 43

“Nora?”
He knew my name, whoever he was. Luke knew my name.
So did the man who tried to kill me.
“Nora? It’s Sullivan Fletcher.”
“Oh, Jesus,” I said, slumping to the floor and letting the gun slide from my limp fingers.
“Nora, you home?” he called.
I hauled myself up and hobbled to the door. “Hi,” I said. He was silhouetted against the starry sky, but it was Sullivan, all right.
“Thought I’d check on you. I was at the boatyard.” Just then, the lights came back on, and I blinked. Sully frowned. “You okay?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
His gaze went to the kitchen floor. “That’s a very impressive gun there.”
“Yes. Yep.”
“You sure you’re okay? You look...out of sorts.”
Did I? I glanced at the mirror that hung to the left of the door. Oh, shit, yes, out of sorts was accurate. And generous. My hair had taken on the proportions of an unchecked tumbleweed, and my mascara was smeared under my eyes. My shirt had a splotch of red wine right over the boob. “I’m fine!” I said. “Just a little... Hi! How are you? Come in.”
He did, a bit warily.
“Can you give me a second? I, uh, I have to change.”
“Sure.”
I reached for the gun.
“Why don’t I get that?” he said, neatly intercepting me. He picked it up, took out the magazine, opened the chamber and removed that bullet, too. “I wasn’t planning on being shot today.”
“No. Me, neither.” I drew in a shuddering breath. “Right. Back in a flash.”
I went back into the bedroom and closed the door. Pulled off my clothes and hastily tugged on some yoga pants and a loose T-shirt, then grabbed my hair and gathered it into a ponytail. Ran some moisturizer under my eyes and wiped them clean with a tissue. My hands were still shaking a little.
Sully was sitting on the couch when I came out. Mr. Smith & Wesson was on the counter.
“So,” he said.
“Want a drink, Sully?”
“Sure.”
I grabbed him a beer—he seemed like a beer kind of guy—and got myself a glass of water and sat down in the chair opposite him.
We eyed each other for a minute. He took a sip of beer, then set it on the coffee table where I’d whacked my head. “You always answer the door with a gun?”
“Not always.”
“That thing would do some damage.”
“That’s why I have it.”
He was looking at me intently; right, he had hearing loss, so he probably needed to watch my mouth when I talked.
It was a little unsettling.
“How are your ears?” I asked, then closed my eyes. “I mean your hearing. How is it?” I looked at him, feeling my cheeks blaze.
He didn’t answer. I hoped he hadn’t heard me, then felt guilty for hoping that.
“How’s Audrey? I mean, is she alone? With the power out?”
“She’s with her mother.”
“Oh, good! That’s great, I mean, because you said they didn’t spend a lot of...well! That’s nice! That they’re hanging out.” I took a deep breath, held it and let it out slowly.
There was no threat to me. I could relax. I was fun. I was brave and smart.
“How are you, Sully?”
His eyes crinkled the slightest bit. “I’m fine.”
“Good.”
His smile grew. Not by much, but by enough. That was a good face, especially with the smile. A calm face. A nice face.
“Do you want to have dinner here on Friday?” I asked on impulse. “I’m having a little party.”
“Sure.”
“You don’t have to come, but—oh. Great. Um, seven o’clock.” He said yes. That was... That was really nice.
He looked at me steadily. I guess he had to, what with the hearing loss. I took a breath, trying for normal. “Can I ask you some questions, Sully?”
“Go for it.”
“What’s it like? Not hearing?”
He looked at his beer. “Well, I can hear, obviously. Just...not that well. Not at all on the right. It’s getting worse on the left.” He took a pull of beer. “Some words cut out or get fuzzy. I have to string things together. Sometimes I get it wrong, especially when I’m tired.”
So he had auditory processing disorder in addition to true deafness on the right. Very common for a traumatic brain injury. “Do you lip-read?”
“Ayuh.”
“What about sign language?”
“I’m starting that. Audrey, too.”
The picture of them learning sign language together made my heart swell painfully. “Sullivan, I’m so sorry about that accident.”
“Already told you it wasn’t your fault.”
“But I was...involved.”
“No, you weren’t.”
Again, he was being generous. “Well. It feels like I was.”
“Can I ask you something now?” he said.
“Sure.”
“Why are you afraid of the dark? Power goes out all the time here. You know that.”
I hesitated. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” He nodded and I trusted him. Audrey’s dad, after all. Good old Sullivan, the quiet one. “I, uh...I had an experience last year. A bad one.”
“What kind of experience?”
“The not-good kind.” I pulled a face, trying to make light of it. The less said, the better as far as I was concerned.
He didn’t say anything for a second, and I wondered if he’d heard me.
“Were you hurt?” he asked.
A memory of my face, purple and blue, the cut on my jaw, my left eye swollen shut, came back to me. Those days when only my schizophrenic hair made me believe it was me in the mirror. “A little bit.”
He didn’t ask any more, and I loved him for that. “But here you are,” he said.
It wasn’t a lot, those words, but somehow, they steadied me.
Bobby used to hold me close and murmur that he was here, I was safe, he’d never let anyone hurt me. At the time I’d been so, so grateful to have him there, feeling like a broken bird, needing him to a degree that made me feel weak.
Sully and his calm brown eyes...they said something different. I wasn’t sure what, but it was something better.
“You all set here?” he asked rather abruptly. “Now that the lights are back on?”
“Yes. Thank you. Thank you so much, Sullivan. For checking on me.”
He pulled out his wallet and took out a card. “That’s my landline and the boatyard phone. You have my cell,” he said. “If you ever need anything, call me.” He put the card on the counter, then looked at me again. “Good night.”
With that he left, his work boots thunking on the dock. After a second, I heard his truck start up. The sound faded into the distance, and all was quiet again.
A half an hour before, I’d been so scared I’d almost shot my old classmate. Now, however, I was just fine.
15
I woke up late on Friday. Because I had the day off, I didn’t have to rush the party prep.
I had ended up inviting Amelia to the party, too; Gloria told me she didn’t have much of a social life, and my innate sense of Lutheran duty flared. Also, she signed my paychecks. There was that, too.
School was out today because of professional development, so I decided to take Poe for an outing and drove to my mom’s house. After only twenty minutes of cajoling, ordering, begging and bribing, I convinced my precious niece to finally shove her arms into a denim jacket and slump outside with me.