The Long Road Home. Mary Monroe Alice
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to her knees and stuffed the notebook into her suitcase just as a high nasal voice sang out from the doorway.
“Oh, there you are!”
Nora bristled. Whoever it was didn’t have the courtesy to wait to be allowed in. Turning, she saw a tall, emaciated-looking man with pale skin and the brightest, most unnatural shade of red hair she’d ever seen. Another player in today’s circus, she thought with a sigh of resignation.
“Can I help you?” she asked. Her tone would, she hoped, give him a clue to her mood.
“I’m from Sotheby’s,” he replied, as though that was enough introduction. “I’m glad we caught you before you left.”
“Caught me?” Something in his tone raised her ire.
“We went over the inventory of your jewelry for the auction and a few things are missing.” His singsong voice implied naughty, naughty.
“Whatever are you talking about?” Nora’s voice was brusque as she rose.
He began flipping through the pages clipped to his board. It was filled with computer entries. Did she really own that much jewelry, she wondered? She hardly ever wore it.
“Here it is. A square-cut diamond. Antique setting.”
“My grandmother’s engagement ring. It’s not to be sold. Didn’t Mr. Bellows notify you?”
“No, he didn’t. Apparently he changed his mind.” The cynicism in his eyes stung. “The ring’s on the list. Sorry, dear. I have to ask you for it.”
Nora choked. “It’s mine. It’s all been arranged.”
“Apparently not.” He tapped the papers a tad too loudly. “It’s on the list.”
Nora’s lips tightened. “How much is it worth? I’ll buy it now.”
“Look, dear. I’m sorry, but no can do. You can talk to Sotheby’s about it, I guess, but I have to collect that ring now—and a few other items.” His voice trailed as he searched the papers.
I’ll bet you’re sorry, Nora thought, steeped in bitterness. So, Bellows didn’t come through for her after all. A simple kindness was beyond him. She couldn’t trust him.
Blind rage colored her thinking. She flipped up the lid of her suitcase and pulled out her zip cloth jewelry bag. Without opening it, she held it out to the nameless man with the red hair and papers.
“Take it.”
“Certainly not all of it,” he moued, his blush making him look like an elongated carrot.
She jerked it toward him. The thin man stepped forward to retrieve the small bag, then stepped back again. He pulled out some Victorian beaded necklaces, a yellowed pearl necklace and earrings, a large cameo pin, and the solitary engagement ring. It was a pitiful show compared to the many-carat diamonds, rubies, and emeralds on the list.
“So much fuss about so little,” she said softly. Her shoulders slumped. “It doesn’t matter. Just take it and get out. Please.”
The man paused, then selected out the pearls and set them delicately upon the suitcase. “I don’t see those on the list,” he muttered as he rushed out the door.
Nora picked up the pearls and rubbed them against her cheek. “Oma, I miss you,” she said. She slipped the pearls around her neck and placed the earrings in her ears.
In the mirror, the burgundy notebook was visible in her bag. In that same bag, beneath wool sweaters, nestled a shirt box. And in that shirt box was a stash of personal letters, memos, and a pocket diary that she’d found on Mike’s desk the day he died. Papers that were scattered next to an empty bottle of bourbon and a loaded ashtray.
Mike had called her to New York from her house in Connecticut, yelling over the wire that it was urgent. So she had come, against her better judgment, only to be ignored once again. Until that night, before he died.
“Don’t trust anyone,” he’d told her, roughly awakening her. He was drunk, again, and the sour smell of bourbon and smoke descended upon her like a winter cloud.
At first she was afraid. Something in his voice had changed; she heard it even in her sleepy stupor. The anger was gone. The arrogance was gone. In its place she heard desperation and fear.
“Don’t trust anyone.” That was all he’d said. That and a firm shake and an intense stare. So intense. Telling her in that gaze that he was leaving. Warning her that she was on her own now. Perhaps, too, that he was sorry. She liked to think that anyway.
Nora closed the suitcase, zipped it, and locked it. Whatever secrets lay hidden in that notebook, she’d uncover them later. On her own. One thing was certain—she would keep her secrets from Ralph Bellows.
“Mrs. MacKenzie?” Trude stood at the door, arms akimbo.
Nora could tell she’d overheard the entire exchange. “Well, I’m all set to go,” said Nora with false enthusiasm.
Trude clenched her lips and nodded. “Well then, let’s get you go.”
Nora walked over and touched Trude’s shoulder. “I wish I could take you with me.”
“I not ask for much,” Trude replied, opening the door once again for an offer.
Nora sighed and shook her head. “I couldn’t pay you. I don’t know how I can take care of myself, let alone anyone else. And what about Roman and the children?”
“They love mountains. Live good. Cheap.”
For a wild second Nora considered it. How good it would be to have them nearby. Friendly faces and support.
“I wish I could,” she replied, looking into Trude’s disappointed face.
Trude nodded. “I know. I had to try, though.”
Nora hugged Trude in a rush. Trude faltered, standing stiff in awkwardness. Nora felt awkward too at this rare show of physical contact. Suddenly, however, Trude responded and Nora felt true affection in the Polish woman’s bear hug.
“You’re the only family I’ve got left,” Nora whispered.
“You take care of yourself, hear?” Trude said, pulling back and revealing a flash of tears. “Here. Piroshki for the car. I make them. You be sure to eat them.”
“I will, I will.” Nora laughed, moving back.
She picked up the suitcase. It was unusually heavy. With his papers and notes, Nora was taking Mike with her.
“I will carry for you,” Trude said.
“No,” Nora replied. “I have to carry this.”
She took one last look at the apartment. The sun was setting now and poured in through the slats of blinds, creating vertical shadows across the parquet. Her luxury apartment never looked more the prison it had been for years.
“Don’t trust anyone.” Mike’s last words to her sounded again in her head.
“I don’t,” she said to the ghost. Nora turned away, her shoulders drooping with the weight of Mike’s message.
“I’ll never trust anyone again.”
3
NORA PAID THE TOLL and asked for a receipt.
Now that she was off the Thruway, she felt New York was truly behind her. In her head, she knew that a place could not make someone happy or unhappy, rather the life one led there. But her heart didn’t buy it. In her heart, she believed she’d be happier once she crossed the Vermont border.
The small white sign with green lettering welcomed her to the Green Mountain State. Speeding by at fifty miles per hour she felt a rush of exhilaration as she crossed the line. “Whoopee!” she called aloud as she rolled down the window