“I don’t know,” I respond, my tone growing annoyed because answering these questions means I have to admit I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. “The connection was…” I trail off looking for the right word. “Different. Stronger. More intense.” Even the way the words come out makes it sound like I’m questioning myself, as if I have no idea what was so different about Nora. She was different though.
I wanted to be near her even if we didn’t talk, even if there was nothing said. I remember the way she smelled and the color of her hair and the way the pen slid across her skin as I wrote the words ‘write what you love’ on her arm. There was a connection there, an understanding of two personalities and I’ve never felt it again. It was as if she knew me before we even met.
I don’t say any of this out loud. It feels too personal, too over the top and obsessive. Like traveling to Boston to meet a stranger isn’t.
“I wish I could explain it,” I say, hoping this culls Matt’s need to know the background behind it all. “It’s hard to put into words without sounding crazy.”
“You’re already crazy,” he jokes, but I know it borders on the truth.
“Yeah, I know.”
The silence falls all around us once again, but Matt breaks it with a final question, “Will it really be over after this?” He’s heard me say this over and over, but I never follow through. I still return to the beach and leave the note every year. I spent an entire year searching for her before I had the resources I have now. I’ve hired the PI and scoured Facebook and email records, college databases and phone records. And after each failed attempt, I give up or at least I say I do. This time I want to mean it.
“I hope so.”
We reach the doors of the hotel and Matt pulls the door open and I walk in. With my back to him he says, “Bridgitte’s a great girl. You’re just having a hard time seeing that right now. I hope you don’t regret all of this one day.”
I can’t respond, because I think he’s probably right.
I fall into bed with the hope this is all a dream, that tomorrow I’ll wake up and none of this will have happened. Meeting Nora and my breakup with Bridgitte, showing up in Boston to stalk an unknown girl.
What a fucking mess.
I wake up early the next morning with a sick feeling in my chest and a rock in the pit of my stomach. Something about the day feels all wrong, like it’s already doomed. And I think I know the outcome already. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.
I drag my ass out of bed and into the shower before Matt is even out of bed. It’s not like I’m in a hurry, but in a way I am. I just want this over. I could just go home and never find out if this woman is the Nora I’m looking for because I know the likelihood is almost nonexistent. It would wear on me, so I push through.
I shower, get dressed and begin looking through the file for her address. As soon as I find it, I put it into my GPS and see it will take about fifteen minutes to get there without traffic, but given it will be rush hour soon, it will probably take longer.
Matt is still sleeping and I debate about leaving without him, but a few minutes later he wakes up and begins to get ready.
I have mixed feelings about him coming with me to see if this person is Nora. It’s embarrassing that I’m still looking for someone after all this time, but it’s also weird to go it alone.
We don’t really say much to each other as he gets ready and the minutes pass slowly leading to a strange silence. I’m sure Matt doesn’t know what to say anymore so he just goes through the motions with me hoping it will be over soon.
“You ready?” Matt asks as he’s putting on his shoes and all I do is nod my head. I’ve been trying to find the words to explain to him why I keep doing this, but I come up short every time. No matter what I say it still sounds fucking stupid.
I hit start on my phone as soon as we’re in the car and the voice begins to direct us to the address. Matt turns on the radio drowning out the awkward silence in the car, and right now any noise is better than the thoughts that cloud my head.
Within fifteen minutes we’re driving around a small neighborhood on the edge of Boston. It’s quiet and the houses are small but well maintained, and we pull up in front of a brick bungalow with a wide front porch and a white Toyota in the driveway.
I let out a sigh of relief that the house isn’t in some terrible neighborhood or that it isn’t rundown or riddled with repairs because I’ve always hoped Nora did something great, that her life was as she envisioned it. And as much as I believe this isn’t her, it’s still a relief.
The relief fades quickly and the anxious feeling from this morning returns with full force. I attribute it to the situation but it feels like more than that. My throat begins to tighten up and my palms sweat, and just as we’re about to step out of the car my phone rings.
I grab it from the cup holder and look at it, my hand on the door handle, the other on the phone as I see Bridgitte’s name appear on the screen. I just can’t fucking deal with her right now. She obviously realizes the timing of her call is just damn perfect and is now regretting her decision to run off.
“You gonna get that?” Matt asks, but he already knows the answer.
“No. It’s Bridgitte. It seems like a bad time.”
Matt shakes his head and gets out of the car, following his lead, I get out too and we both meet at the front of the car.
Feeling the need to defend myself I say, “She wouldn’t have left with anyone at that party but she left with me. There was a reason she did.”
As we’re standing outside the car, the front door of the house opens and I suck in a hard breath. This is it.
Chapter Sixteen
My phone rings again just as an older man steps out onto the front porch, locking the door behind him. I pull my phone from my pocket and find Bridgitte’s name lighting up the screen once again. Ignoring her, I shove it back in my pocket, but her incessant calling distracts me, because my phone begins ringing immediately following the last call.
My heart is pounding and I don’t know if it’s from what I’m about to do or the fact that Bridgitte keeps calling. Everything about this moment feels wrong and I suddenly grow nauseous as the man walks toward his car. He catches a glimpse of Matt and me standing at the car and stops.
“Can I help you?” he calls out
Neither Matt nor I say anything. I can’t seem to gain my composure or figure out what the fuck to say. It’s obvious it’s not Nora.
“You married?” I ask, and the question comes out strangely and really intrusive. This isn’t my business but the man pauses a second and then answers.
“I was, but my wife passed away many years ago.”
That explains so much. The reason why there is no information on the Nora the PI found. She’s dead. No pictures, no email address or Facebook page, no record of her. It’s not her.
His hand is on the car door as if he’s in a hurry to get somewhere, and all I can say in response to his answer is, “okay.”
He steps away from the car, walking toward Matt and me, and says, “Maybe you’re looking for my daughter Alice?”