Page 59 of The Rhythm of their Souls

I appreciated her effort in boxing up Nora’s items. I told her to keep anything she wished to hold on to from Nora, and I hope she did.

I’ve often hovered my fingers over the boxes, almost ready to open them, but I’ve held back. I can’t postpone this any longer. Danielle insisted on being here when I opened the boxes, but I declined. I need to do this alone.

I’ve been alone for the past few days; Danielle has been staying at Chase’s most nights to give me the space I need. At least when I’m by myself, I don’t have to hide my emotions.

I kick the covers off and stare at the ceiling of my bedroom, trying to run my fingers through my matted hair. Dread begins to take hold in my mind. Taking a deep breath, I reach for my phone on the nightstand. It’s 2 p.m. Four notifications flash on my screen: one from Danielle, one from Theo, another from my mom, and a final one from my work friend Vanessa.

I slam my phone down and rub my eyes, deciding I’ll get back to those later.

Lottie nudges my arm, squeezing her way onto my lap. She has been extra clingy lately, sensing my distress. On the nights when I toss and turn, wishing I had Theo’s strong arms wrapped around me, Lottie nestles close, helping to soothe the constant ache in my chest. She’s the best companion.

A hot bath sounds inviting right now, and it would probably be good for my body to soak for a while. I finally force myself out of bed and retrieve a hairbrush from my makeup tote. I brush gently through the tangled mess, wincing each time I encounter a pesky knot.

Looking in the mirror, I see my red and puffy eyelids, a result of crying on and off. Dark circles form under my eyes, revealing my lack of sleep.

I take a moment to examine my figure, noticing that my sweatpants no longer fit snugly at my waist.

I’ve truly let myself go. For all these years, I hid my struggles so well, but now they are visible both on the inside and outside. I can no longer conceal them. I’ve come face to face with my demons—the same demons that Nora used to protect me from. I let out a loud sigh of defeat as I head to the bathroom.

As I sink into the tub, the scalding water burns my skin in a strangely pleasurable way. If my tired body could express pleasure, it would moan contentedly. I lower myself until my chin barely stays above the water’s surface. I watch the steam rise from the water.

Closing my eyes, I try to savor the surrounding silence. Just as I feel heavy and relaxed, a nagging reminder hits me again, screaming in my mind.

I close my eyes and sink completely under the water, trying to drown out the noise. I hold my breath, feeling my lungs begging for oxygen. The voices remain, but they are muffled beneath the water. This must be what it felt like for Nora, who had to fight her mind daily, drowning in constant pain.

I squeeze my eyes shut, struggling against my body’s instinct to search for air. “You have to let go, Olive,” Nora’s soothing voice fills my mind, pushing away the stifled voices.

I shoot out of the water, gasping for air. My hands grip the sides of the tub tightly as I take in deep, long breaths. As my breathing calms, a heavy sensation fills my chest, and a familiar ache rises in my throat. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. Warm tears flow down my cheeks as I cradle myself.

I cry for my child self and all that she has lost. I cry for Theo and the pain I caused him. Mostly, I cry for Nora—the life she deserved but never had—and for her absence.

I sit on the floor in front of the boxes, mentally preparing myself for what I might find inside. I shake my head slightly as I open the first box. Inside, I see some of Nora’s neatly folded clothes. I run my hands along the fabric of a plaid sweater before sifting through the clothing. My eyes land on a black t-shirt, and I unfold it, realizing it’s the Stevie Nicks shirt I got her during one of our day trips to the beach for her twenty-second birthday.

I bring the shirt to my face and close my eyes, inhaling the scent of the fabric, which carries a mix of Nora’s favorite perfume and the familiar smell of Michelle’s house.

Next, I glance into the second box and discover a pile of pictures. I grab the box and bring it to my bed, eager to look through the photos. Some are snapshots of Nora and Jake throughout the years, starting from their high school days. I also find a couple of pictures of Nora with her old friends from middle school.

As I dig deeper, I spot a picture of our mom—one I’ve never seen before. She appears to be almost full-term, her hand resting under her swollen belly. Young Nora stands beside her in a sundress, playfully kissing her belly.

Another picture catches my attention. It’s of Nora and me; she looks to be about nine or ten, which means I was five or six. We are sitting on her bedroom floor, surrounded by various stuffed animals. Each of us is holding three in our hands, smiling widely for the camera. For a moment, a bittersweet smile tugs at my lips. I remember that day. It feels so long ago, but I cherish the memory.

As I dig through the piles of photos, I spot something brown underneath. I pull it from the bottom of the box; it’s a leather journal of some sort. An engraved palm tree with a moon above it sits in the center. I trace my finger along the moon and scan the pages inside to find Nora’s beautiful handwriting. The journal is filled with her words. I slam it shut, not wanting to invade her privacy. Maybe one day I will read them, I tell myself.

After going through some of Nora’s belongings, I finally respond to Danielle’s text, leaving Theo’s message unread. I had promised myself I’d get back to him before the day was over, just not right now. I opened Mom’s text; she has been checking in on me almost every day. She mentioned she has been sober since Nora’s death. While I’m relieved, it feels a lot like false hope.

We’ve been through this so many times, but I’m trying to stay positive and give her another chance because, in one week, she will be checking into a substance abuse facility that also addresses mental health. This is a significant step for her—one she has never been willing to take before. It breaks my heart that it took losing a daughter to substance abuse for her to finally realize she needed to turn her life around, not for me, but for herself.

What scares me the most is the thought that if Nora’s death wasn’t enough to motivate her to get better, what if it’s the very thing that drags her down even further? Nora struggled immensely, but Jake’s death was the final straw for her; it pulled her into the depths of addiction.

How could Mom possibly make it through if Nora didn’t? The thought of losing the last piece of my family fills me with dread. I have to cling to the hope that Nora’s memory is enough to inspire change.

Chapter 30

I thrum my fingers along my steering wheel as I stare at Olive’s apartment building. It’s been three damn weeks since I last saw her—the night everything went down, to be exact. She has been avoiding me like the plague. I’ve given her the space she’s wanted, no questions asked. But I won’t lie and say it hasn’t rocked me to my core. I’ve missed her so much.

Three fucking weeks of worrying and wondering. The only peace I’ve gotten is getting updates from Danielle. It seems she has been out of the “Olive loop” as well, but she has at least spent time with Olive and seen her weekly. I can at least be grateful for that.

My parents have been worried sick about her. Little Emma has asked multiple times when she’d see Olive again, and I’ve just had to tell her that Olive needs time. Mom begged me to let her call her, but I declined. I know right now isn’t the right time. I need to get to her first.