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Midnight comes and goes while we’re inching along I-278, somewhere in Williamsburg.
Henry texts me while I’m in the car.
Henry
Please just let me know that you got home safe. I’m worried.
When the cab pulls up in front of my building, I pay the exorbitant fee on a credit card that I’m pretty sure won’t get declined, and am beyond relieved when the charge goes through. I hurry up to the fingerprint-laden glass door of my building, jiggling the key in the handle until I hear the click, letting me inside.
I climb the four flights of stairs, my legs so heavy I can barely move. Once I’m inside my empty apartment, I collapse on the floor by the radiator, trying desperately to get warm but unable to move any further to get additional clothes or blankets. I look out the window above the radiator and see a car double-parked on my street, lights still on. A midnight blue compact SUV. I open my text thread with Henry and finally respond.
Norah
I’m home
Suddenly, my phone rings. It’s Henry. I hit the red button, declining the call.
Norah
I’m sorry
It’s all I can text. All I can think to say before putting down my phone. The car outside turns its blinker on, then drives away.
Chapter 26
I don’t know how, but I fall asleep at some point. I only know this because I wake up, eyes swollen, mouth dry. My jaw feels tight, as if my teeth have decided to shut down for the season. I’m in Henry’s Laketon Baseball sweatshirt, the one I stole when we were back home. It just barely smells like him already, and I’m scared if I wear it any longer, I’ll lose that forever.
The first days of the new year are a blur. Henry calls me a few more times. He stops by at one point, but Luisa doesn’t let him in per my instructions. Mom calls. Hannah calls. Frankie calls. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I can’t. Because how do I explain this?
I go back to work on Tuesday, when we’re all mandated to return after the holidays, but I’m a mess. I can’t focus. I’m not living up to the promotion I got before the holidays; I know this. I try to compartmentalize, and that works sometimes in the mornings. I did that when I had to finish out my senior year after Dad died. All your bad feelings go into a drawer in this space, and then only get to come out again once you’re out of class. Or work, in this case.
I try to explain this to Luisa at one point when she brings me a stir-fry she and Michael made. She knows I haven’t really been eating unless she foists food upon me like she’s trying to trick a toddler into eating vegetables.
Luisa looks at me for a moment. “Whatever happened on New Year’s Eve,” she starts, because I still haven’t been able to talk about it, “Henry’s right across the East River. If it’s making you so miserable, just go see him.”
But I don’t. I don’t explain further. I don’t go see him.
One evening, when I get home from work, Luisa has a white paper bag waiting for me. My jacket, my cardigan, a pair of underwear I left at his house. All cleaned and folded nicely. Some hair ties. The orange stuffed turtle, which I didn’t even know Henry had grabbed from the lodge when I left with Trevor. And another smaller brown paper bag with a plastic container. A slice of the Madagascar chocolate cake from Ignoto.
When I don’t respond after that, Henry stops trying to contact me.
I get a little more focused at work. But when I come home, I break down.
A few more weeks float by, and then one Friday evening there’s a small knock at my apartment door. And then another. I know that knock.
I open the door slowly and my sister practically tackles me to the ground.
“Norah Abigail Gold,” Hannah says into my shoulder, “don’t you ever ghost us again, I swear to God.”
I break away long enough to grab her suitcase and shut the door to the hallway.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, half wondering if I’m hallucinating from a lack of food and sleep.
My sister has only been on two flights in her adult life. She hates planes, claims she doesn’t trust them. I know it’s really because she doesn’t like being away from home, from Mom. She doesn’t ever want to be too far, in case something terrible happens and she can’t get to her. Hannah doesn’t believe she’s built for that.
But here, on her suitcase, is a bag tag from O’Hare, the edges of the long white slip misaligned and still sticky.
Hannah flew here.
