Chapter Six #2
Three days later, Norah received a phone call from Chase, lasting one minute and thirty-two seconds, saying she wasn’t coming home.
Norah remembered, because she’d checked the call-log on her phone, unsure how their entire relationship could come down to a span less than the length of a pop song.
Five days after that, a letter came to the apartment from Georgetown’s ID Residency Program addressed to Chase Durgin.
The flashback, which felt more real to Norah than the moment at hand, caused a resurgence of her anger as strong as she could remember.
“Norah, say something. Please.”
She could feel Chase’s eyes on her but refused to look anywhere but straight ahead.
Suddenly, the open jeep felt as suffocating as a tomb.
Norah had to get out of there. Without any kind of plan, she pushed open the door and jumped out, moving to the front of the vehicle, where she climbed on top of the hood and sat, staring up into the expansive sky.
The clouds must have broken, because the stars were out now, suddenly clear and breathtaking apparitions from somewhere impossibly far away.
Some of Norah’s anger melted, just as Chase opened her door and hesitantly approached.
“Is it okay?” Chase asked, as timidly as Norah had ever heard her.
Norah nodded gently, and Chase climbed onto the hood, taking a seat next to her.
What had happened between them had been lifetimes ago.
Holding on to that kind of resentment was dangerous, like a tumor.
Norah had moved on from Chase and from their life together—hadn’t she?
It was time to try her hand at forgiveness.
“I want to explain one more thing,” Chase said.
Norah let her continue. “My mom had terribly uncontrolled bipolar disorder when I was growing up. She refused to take her meds most of the time, and when I was barely in middle school, she’d go through these horrible bouts of depression.
She’d lock herself in her room for days and not eat.
She’d cry all night and sleep all day. My dad just drank it away, spent most of his time down the street at the townie bar.
And even as a kid, I felt like it was on me to fix her.
I somehow thought her sadness was my fault, I guess. ”
Chase’s voice trailed off, and she hugged her knees to her chest. Norah had never heard this story before. In fact, Chase rarely talked about her mother. Some of the pieces of the mystery of what happened so many years ago began to fall together.
“You never told me your mom was sick.”
“I know. Because when I was fourteen, I walked in on her in her bedroom after she’d taken a handful of her lithium and chased it with a bottle of gin. We almost lost her that day. It’s not something I ever wanted to talk about. Even with you.”
Chase kept her head low, and Norah reached out and slowly stroked down Chase’s spine.
“I’m sorry. That must have been awful,” Norah finally said.
“Don’t be. I’m telling you this only because it’s why I acted like such a piece of shit back then.
I saw you, so depressed and broken, and thought of my mom and how I couldn’t fix her.
I thought about how my dad would come home from the bar and tell me it was my fault she was like this. And I just…couldn’t.”
“But Chase, that was mental illness. I was grieving my dead brother.”
“I know that now, at thirty-nine. But at twenty-five I was just a dumb kid. I couldn’t understand the difference.”
Any trace of anger Norah had left devolved into a deep sadness—sadness for Chase and the past Norah had no idea existed, and sadness for the loss they both shared that could have been avoided.
She placed a hand on Chase’s bare knee, allowing herself to enjoy the feeling of her skin against Chase’s and all the electricity that came with it.
“Thank you for saying that,” Norah said.
She turned to Chase, looking directly into her face for the first time all night—maybe for the first time in years.
Her green eyes were thick with pain and questions, her lids heavy and brimmed red.
The paleness had settled back into her cheeks, and a stray wisp of brown hair fell softly over her forehead.
Chase’s vulnerability was evident, and Norah found it disconcertingly sexy.
Lust was one of the last things she expected to feel that night, although really it shouldn’t have been. Not when Chase was involved.
“It’s not an excuse. But it’s a part of the story, and I thought you should hear it.” Chase stretched out onto her back and crossed her arms over her stomach. “Would you look at those stars?”
Norah followed, not minding when their arms touched ever so slightly. “It’s stunning. You won’t see that in Atlanta.”
“I can’t remember the last time I saw stars, actually,” Chase said.
“Me either. What do you think that one is?” She pointed to the brightest object in the array of the universe’s nightly light show.
“I’m not sure. A planet maybe? Mars?”
“Huh.”
Looking up into the vast universe, Norah suddenly thought how strange it was that the two of them had lived in the same city for years and never crossed paths.
And here they were, staring up at the stars on the hood of a jeep, in the middle of the South.
She wasn’t sure why, exactly, but Norah felt overwhelmed with what she could only describe as immense gratitude in that moment.
She slowly moved her hand to where Chase’s was resting on her belly and took it, weaving their fingers together tightly, never moving her eyes from the infinite star-scape above her.
“Hey, Norah?” Chase said softly, her grip on Norah’s hand tightening just a little.
“Hmm?”
“Do you believe people can change?”
Norah thought about the question for a while before deciding to answer. It felt like the most important question she’d ever been asked. She leaned onto her side and propped herself up on one arm, looking down at Chase.
“I do. The ones who really want to, at least. And mostly, I believe that forgiveness and time are powerful things.”
They gazed at each other, both as still as the night that stranded them there on that back road.
Norah’s mind was quiet, and her racing heart echoed in her ears as she placed her free hand on Chase’s cheek and leaned down in what felt like certain slow motion, until their lips met.
An explosion inside Norah so loud it sounded like a crack started in her gut and ricocheted through her chest and into her head, which was so light now she thought she might pass out.
Chase’s lips were as soft and giving as Norah had remembered—maybe more.
And the feelings they brought with them forced Norah directly to her knees.
She knew she should break the kiss, knew it was a terrible idea.
But the magnet that connected them was far too strong.
And Chase’s tongue felt far too good as it gently inched its way past hers.
Finally, Norah found the fortitude to stop, the lingering explosion still hanging heavy in the air around them.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Norah muttered. It was probably true, but she felt like she said the words more out of obligation than anything else.
“I figured you’d say that.” Chase smiled, a hint of hurt hiding behind her expression, then nodded with apparent resolution. “It’s okay. We can just forget it happened. All right?”
Norah nodded back. But she knew she couldn’t forget. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to.