Chapter 17 Nora #2
I bite my cheek hard to stop my wild train of thought. We didn’t come all this way to get distracted.
“Let me just see if Herr Mueller is available after all,” the woman says, then disappears down the corridor.
Ten minutes later and we’re being led down the stairs toward a surprisingly bright and well-lit hallway by an older gentleman who looks considerably less impressed by us than the woman upstairs.
This man doesn’t speak English, but after he asks us a question in German as we’re going down the stairs and we just blink like fish, I pull out my phone, cuing up the translator app.
I pass it to Jude so I can film, which thankfully, he doesn’t object to. Herr Mueller repeats himself, loudly, into the speaker.
Words pop up on the screen and I read it out loud for the benefit of the camera. “Can you two be trusted to search for your items with small help?”
Jude whispers, “What the hell does that mean?”
“I think we get free rein?” I say, hopefully. The man’s muttering to himself now, and as we come up behind him at the door he’s stopped at, pressing buttons on the keypad, Jude holds up the translator.
I HAVE BETTER TIME TO DO WITH MYSELF
DAMN KNEES DAMN STAIRS FUCK DAMN
I can’t help it; I snort with laughter. The man looks up as Jude smoothly brings my phone behind his back, but the door is open now, and he tsks before pushing through.
The archival room is plain but neatly organized, with boxes lined up on steel shelves with wheels.
The man starts rattling in German and Jude whips his phone up but only catches the second half.
I zoom in on the phone.
NO GLOVES BUT WASH HANDS REPLACE ITEMS WHERE THEY ARE, YOU WILL BE EXPELLED WHEN ITEMS DAMAGED. 1900-1950 SHELF EIN.
I think that’s a threat. The woman at the desk must have passed on my college name, which luckily is a prestigious college in our circles.
Which is why, after he punches something into the computer at the desk, then angles the monitor our way, he’s currently hobbling out of the room, leaving us alone with the records.
“I can’t believe he’s not breathing down our necks!” Jude says.
“Thank God,” I say. “My first trip to the documents room at the library you guys met me at, that librarian followed me around like I was going to use documents to save my gum.”
“Are you going to be like him when you grow up?” Jude asks. He’s grinning, so I give him an elbow.
“Come on, let’s start digging.”
Our first stop is the computer, where I pull up a list of all the records I can think of that might be related to Cleary. There are over a hundred. None for JEQ, but a dozen that list Eleanor Cleary.
After printing off the digital list, we move to the files themselves.
I get some shots of Jude at the computer moving the mouse around, then him walking over to the file boxes, opening one and thumbing through it. After that, I set my camera down. It’ll be faster going if I’m participating in the hunt.
We search through several boxes of files.
It’s very well kept for a tiny operation like this one, with all documents inserted into plastic sleeves.
It makes me doubly surprised that the man let us be in here ourselves, but I guess my school has enough weight.
That and the cameras in all four corners in the room.
We pull out newspaper clippings, building applications, and other records, and everything’s extra slow thanks to our need to translate with the phone.
There are a ton of mentions of George Cleary, especially during the period of 1919–1922.
“That’s right up until the year she was murdered,” Jude says when we have our little pile assembled. We’ve inserted the supplied markers in every file in the box so we can easily put the numbered sleeves back in the right spot, but for the time being we head over to the wide desk in the corner.
Jude and I stand next to each other, putting the documents in chronological order.
Then we start taking pictures with our phones.
We have to step around each other to get the best angles, and at one point, Jude places his hand on my hip as he steps around me to get a particular shot.
His hand grazes a strip of skin at my hip revealed by my sweater riding up.
It’s the faintest touch, but it’s enough to make tingles run across my skin, and my hand shaky when I take my next picture.
“Look!” Jude says, thankfully not noticing my skin is flushed.
He points to a file that contains several photocopied pages. It was one Jude pulled out, so I didn’t see it contained multiple photos at the back.
I flip through the pictures, then freeze on one, sucking in a breath.
“Eleanor,” I whisper.
I’ve seen her photo before, in the newspaper articles about her marriage, and later her death. But never like this. Unposed and happy looking.
She’s taller than average height, with light-colored hair in pin curl waves.
Her face looks familiar to me, like I know her.
Which sometimes, I feel like I do, with how much I’ve thought of her over the past couple of years.
But I’ve never seen her looking like this.
She’s not looking directly into the camera.
Instead, she’s standing next to a stone building with flowers growing by the front door.
George stands several feet away. He’s got his hands on his hips, and his expression is one of indifference.
“The self-importance of this man,” I say.
“Don’t look at him,” Jude says.
I look up to Jude, confused.
His eyes meet mine. “Nora, you don’t see it?”
“What?”
I search the photo desperately, especially at her throat, looking for the clover necklace JEQ said he’d given her.
He leans in, pointing his finger to the glass of the cottage’s front window. There’s a reflection there I didn’t notice before. A person, standing in front of a car.
It’s better than a necklace.
“JEQ!” I whisper.
“And look at her eyes,” Jude says.
I thought she wasn’t looking at the camera, and I was right. But I see now why. She’s looking at JEQ.
A tingle goes over my spine. “They met.”
“They more than met. Look,” he says.
I lean in, following his finger once more. There, on her wrist, there’s a glint of sunlight hitting metal. It’s the clover necklace, wrapped around her wrist. My chest clenches. “Jude,” I whisper. “You know what this means?”
“That he told her how he felt,” Jude says.
Jude’s eyes meet mine. For a moment, my stupid heart pounds. Is he going to say something? To me? About me? Does he feel the raw electricity I do?
He opens his mouth as if to say something, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.
Then there’s a bang outside, and cursing in German, and we jump away from each other. The moment is gone as quickly as it came.
After we’re sure we’ve found everything we need, filing everything back where we found it, we leave the town hall, promising the woman at the desk we’ll email her if and when we get to the bottom of our story.
But neither of us says anything about what we found. It’s like we both want to keep it private, for now. Between us.
We get back into the Range Rover in silence.
I’m thinking about what we found. But I’m also mostly thinking about that moment between Jude and me.
He told her how he felt.
We’re pulling into the parking lot now, and Jude kills the engine.
For a moment, there’s only the sound of the engine ticking. Jude clears his throat, and my stomach spasms with adrenaline.
“That was a good first day, huh?” Jude says.
I look at him. “Yes. Very good.”
My mind swims with all the things we need to say.
But for some reason my mind skips past that moment to the one before, when he brushed his hand along my back.
Why did he touch me today but not yesterday?
Why was he so careful to not come close to me, while still he was clearly interested in what was happening? I saw the bulge at his crotch.
No. I can’t think about Jude’s penis while we sit here awkwardly.
Sasha’s face appears in my mind. Did you just think the word PENIS?
I press the heels of my palms to my eyes. “Jude, we have to talk about—”
“Last night,” he finishes.
I chew my lip, relief running through me. Somehow talking about yesterday feels safer than addressing what happened just now. The touch. I twist my hands in my lap.
“I’m sorry about barging in on you,” he says.
I swallow, my mouth dry. Take a risk, Nora. Don’t close the door. “You didn’t seem sorry last night.”
Jude raises his eyebrows. “I wasn’t. I’m not. I just…wasn’t expecting it.”
My stomach rolls. He’s going to say it shouldn’t have happened. That it can never happen again.
I speak up before he can. “I was all…wound up,” I say.
Oh God. I’m explaining why my best friend caught me masturbating. This, right here, is the most mortifying moment of my life. But I can’t stop. “On the train, I dreamed I was…” Oh God. My cheeks are on fire, I can feel it. “I guess I dreamed we were having sex.”
Jude nods.
“And then I tried it because I thought it was real. I’m sorry, that’s not cool at all. It’s—”
“It’s okay, Nor. I was obviously enjoying myself,” Jude says. “Actually…” He rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “I was still thinking about it, then when I saw you last night. It’s why I…did what I did.”
“Did you enjoy it?” I whisper. “Last night?”
Jude meets my eye. “Yes, Nora. Couldn’t you tell?” He shifts in his seat. Is he thinking about it again?
“But you didn’t…I d-didn’t touch…” Oh God, don’t say penis. My damn soft voice stutters for the words.
But it’s okay this time, right? Jude—my Jude—is sitting there looking at me, having just told me he liked what happened between us last night. My pulse throbs in my throat, my heart hammering.
Brave, Nora. Be Brave.
I don’t think then. I unbuckle my seat belt, rise up on my knees, and cup Jude around the cheeks. Then I lean in and plant my mouth on his.
He’s so shocked that at first, he doesn’t move. My lips are tentative on his, soft. Testing.
Be bold!
I press my tongue against his lips, coaxing them open.
Then he shifts, taking over, his mouth urgent, his tongue dancing against mine.
His arms lift, and I feel his hands on my ribs. Heat spreads all over me, from my heart to my stomach to that hot point between my legs. This is really happening. It feels incredible.
I lean into him. “Oh Jude,” I say when he breaks the kiss.
“Nora,” he says. I lean forward to kiss him again, except then I feel myself being lifted up and back. He’s pulling me off of him. I watch, unable to move, as he guides me back to my seat.
My stomach thuds all the way down, like a broken glass on the floor. His expression. It’s not filled with lust and yearning like mine. It’s pained.
Tortured.
“Nora, I’m sorry, I need to—”
He may need something. But I don’t need to hear the rest. Humiliation burns as hot as the sun. I yank open the door and run.