“There you go again.”
“Sorry.”
“Nora got me to that coffee shop.”
I picked up the photograph.
“You kept deciding what I was allowed to know.”
Claire didn’t defend herself.
Finally she said, “Yes.”
“Why?”
“At first, because I didn’t want you to think I was using Nora to get close to you.”
“You were using Nora to get close to me.”
Claire didn’t defend herself.
“To meet you. Yes.”
“And later?”
Claire stared at the gray carpet.
“Later I was scared you’d leave.”
That was the first answer all night that didn’t come dressed up as something noble.
I folded the photograph once, then immediately opened it again.
“I need some time by myself.”
“I was scared you’d leave.”
Claire stood.
“Do you want me to leave?”
I thought about it.
Then shook my head.
“Stay here.”
She nodded.
I walked outside alone.
And for once, Claire didn’t follow me.
“Stay here.”
But halfway across the library courtyard, another memory came back.
Nora snapping a book shut.
Me furious.
My own childish voice saying:
I stopped walking.
Because suddenly I needed to know whether that had been the last thing I ever said to her.
Another memory came back.
***
I texted Claire.
“Can you come outside?”
She appeared a minute later but stopped several feet away.
“I remembered something.”
Claire waited.
“I told Nora to finish the book herself.” I rubbed the edge of the photograph with my thumb. “Was that the last time I saw her?”
“I remembered something.”
Claire shook her head slowly.
“I don’t know exactly what your last conversation was.”
That answer helped more than false certainty would have.
“But she talked about you afterward,” Claire added.
“What did she say?”
“Mostly that you were annoying.”
I laughed.
“What did she say?”
Then Claire smiled.
“She also said you always waited when she fell behind reading.”
I looked down at the picture.
For years, Nora had existed somewhere in my mind as a missing piece I’d stopped noticing.
Now she was becoming a person again.
Nora had existed somewhere in my mind.
Yellow glasses.
Cheating at games.
Skipping pages.
Getting mad at me.
I looked at Claire.
“I believe you love me. But I don’t know what I trust yet.”
She didn’t move.
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t. Neither do I.”
“I understand.”
Claire nodded.
“What do you want me to do?”
The question surprised me.
“Tonight? Tell me about Nora.”
“And after?”
“I want to go home.”
“Okay.”
***
We spent another hour talking.
Nothing dramatic.
“I want to go home.”
Nora hated raisins. She wanted a motorcycle when she turned 16. She believed rules in board games were “suggestions.”
When we returned to Claire’s apartment, the green dress was folded over a chair.
“Do you want me to return it?” she asked.
“No.”
“Do you want me to return it?”
She looked at me.
“I bought it because you wanted it,” I said. “That part didn’t change.”
Then I went home.
***
Four days later, I returned to the library alone and checked out the book Nora and I had once argued over.
The ending was terrible.
“I bought it because you wanted it.”
