The Invisibles (27 page)

“Do you?”

“Yes, Nora.” Grace raised her eyes. “I do.”

“Then why'd you try to kill yourself?”

The fingers on Grace's right hand curled slowly into a fist, and for a moment, Nora thought she was going to take a swing at her. “I knew one of you would throw that in my face eventually,” she said instead.

“I'm not throwing it in your face. I'm trying to make a point. You had to take care of yourself for a long time, Grace. And you did a pretty good job of it. It's not your fault that you got sick. And there isn't anything wrong with needing people to help you through it.”

“It
is
my fault.” Grace's voice cracked.

“What is?”

“Being sick. Being so . . . screwed up like this.”

“How is it your fault?”

“I don't know!” Grace stared at a point in the distance, past Nora's shoulder. “Because it's my head! I'm supposed to have control of it, aren't I? I'm supposed to be a better person than this! Stronger or something.”

“Being bipolar doesn't mean you're weak,” Nora put her hands on Grace's arms, holding them just above the elbows. “Actually, I think it means the opposite. You have to be stronger than anyone I know to withstand something like this.”

“Maybe.”

“And another thing.”

Grace lifted her head.

“Just because you have this doesn't mean that Georgia will.”

“You can't know that.”

“No.” Nora shook her head slowly. “But neither can you.”

“Nora.” Grace raised her eyebrows. “There's a sixty percent she'll have some kind of mental illness. It runs in my whole family. These things are genetic.”

“Okay. So the chance is there. Which means you'll get her help if it happens. You'll help her through it.”

Grace stabbed at the ground with her shoe. “It just sucks. I wanted to give her everything. Except this.”

“But everything of you
includes
this,” Nora said. “Which isn't the end of the world. You're going to miss out on her whole childhood, Grace, because you're so worried about what might come up from the past and damage her future.”

“But what if it does?”

“Then you'll deal with it! Remember what you told us about Georgia O'Keeffe? About how she was brave enough to go out there and create her own world? That's what you've got to do, Grace. You've got to create a life for yourself and your little girl. It won't be perfect. And it probably won't be easy. But it'll be yours. It'll be your light. And no matter what happens, you can always be proud of that.”

Grace stared at her without blinking. Her eyes moved over and around Nora's face, as if seeing it for the first time. Maybe, Nora thought later, she was trying to memorize something, the shape of her face perhaps, or the way her eyes looked there so that she could take it back with her again. Or maybe she was just listening to her talk.

Hearing her words, the way Nora herself was for the first time.

O
ur boy is all set!” Ozzie announced, emerging from the store with her arms over her head. She yanked open the door on the driver's side and climbed inside.

“You want to drive?” Grace asked.

“I want to drive!” Ozzie clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “I am re-fucking-energized!”

“Great.” Grace climbed into the passenger seat while Nora and Monica got in back. “I'm exhausted.”

“You should have seen Ozzie,” Monica shook her head. “Like some kind of Doctor Dolittle in there. They were eating out of her hand!”

“I still can't believe anyone was even in there,” Ozzie said. “They said they were working late, doing inventory.” She stuck the key in the ignition. “Actually, the one guy seemed kind of thrilled. He hooked Elmer right up to a little feeding tube and put him in an incubator. That's what took so long. I was just hanging around, making sure they got everything working right.”
She revved the engine. “But he's going to be fine. He's going to make it, Norster.”

“That's such good news,” Nora said, leaning back against the headrest. She was exhausted suddenly, too. “Good for you.”

Ozzie placed her hands on the wheel and sighed. “I haven't felt this good in a long time. Seriously. In a long, fucking time.” She turned around in the seat, surveying the lot of them. “You all could ask me anything right now and I'd give it to you.”

“Well,” Monica coughed nervously. “Since you put it that way.” She fiddled with her ring. “We're only about an hour or so from New York. And I know it's . . .” She checked her watch. “God, is it really midnight already?” She bit her lip, glanced at Nora and then Grace.

“You want to find a hotel out here?” Grace tilted her head. “Call it a night?”

“No.” Monica was holding Nora's gaze now. “I was thinking maybe we could take a little detour. Say, an hour or so south? I mean, if you all feel up to it. It's crazy late, I know.”

It took a moment for the suggestion to register.

Nora caught on first. “You want to drive down to Willow Grove?”

Grace gasped. “We could see Turning Winds!”

“Oh, it's just an empty, rotted-out building now,” Nora objected. “It's not—”

“I know.” Monica cut her off. “But I really want to go back one last time and see it. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, and it might be the last time I can do anything like this for a while.” She pressed her fingers against the middle of her chest.
“And maybe . . . you know, it'll help reconcile things. With all of us.”

“Damn!” Ozzie smacked her hands off the steering wheel. “Now this is what I call a
road
trip!”

Nora felt her body lean back into her seat with a will of its own. Despite the terror she felt, she also understood that she had known something like this might happen. Willow Grove was just under eighty miles from Manhattan, after all; it was not so unusual that one of them might have thought of it. But now the moment was here. And it was more than just a whim, bigger than a wistful suggestion made in passing. It was a chance, Monica had just said, to turn around.

To try to reconcile things.

Maybe once and for all.

N
ora studied the white circles from the oncoming headlights across the highway—pinpoints of light followed by wide bands of darkness. Every so often, her clotted thoughts would disperse as she thought back to the conversation she'd had with Trudy and Marion:
Go with your girls, Nora. Be brave
.
See what happens.
They were small words, but the meaning behind them felt colossal. As if what might happen next rested upon whether or not she decided to keep abiding by it.

Ozzie was pressed up against the steering wheel as they pulled into Willow Grove ninety minutes later, peering at everything from behind the windshield, but there was a weariness about her too, as if she was starting to fray around the edges. Grace leaned against her own window, pressing her fingertips against
the glass. “There's Jitter Beans!” she said as the car drifted past the old coffeehouse. “Holy cow, I can't believe it's still there.”

“It's all still here,” Nora said, feeling strangely defensive.

“Oh my God, it's just like I remembered,” Monica whispered, her fingers pressed lightly against the window. “Like we never left. Except that everything looks a little bit . . .”

Nora held her breath, waiting.

“Smaller,” Monica finished.

“Nothing's smaller,” Ozzie chuckled. “You're just bigger.”

“Yeah,” Monica said softly. “Yeah, I guess that's right.”

The car rolled down South Main Street, making a right on Stuyvesant exactly the way they used to on their walks back from school, iced coffees in one hand, a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup cookie in the other, until it turned finally into Magnolia Avenue.

“Oh my God.” Monica exhaled as the old house came into view, and sat back hard in her seat. “There it is.”

Nora stared at it, taking in the familiar wretched structure, the four walls barely visible under the dim streetlights and thick carpet of vines. She felt an odd need to protect it from the rest of them, which made no sense at all. It belonged to each of them, this place, and then to the girls who had come after them. Or it had, once. And yet it had been just hers for the past fifteen years. She had been the only one of them to stay and keep it company, to make the occasional trek on dark summer nights and stand there across the street, listening for the ghosts inside.

“It looks so . . .” Monica was trying not to cry. “Old. So beat up.”

“It is old,” Nora said. “It's been twelve years since they closed it for good. Three years after we left.”

“And then what?” Ozzie was massaging her temples. “God, it looks condemned. Is it condemned? It should be if it isn't.”

Nora was embarrassed that she didn't know the answer to Ozzie's question, but the truth was that she had never taken the time or the effort to inquire further about the property. She didn't want to know the details about why it had closed, or who might buy it one day in the future, or if it might even be razed eventually. There was nothing more to know, nothing anyone else could tell them. Everything they needed to know about the house was right there in front of them, behind those tattered walls.

“Do you think we can go inside?” Grace had a glint in her eye.

“Oh no.” Nora's heart began to pound. “I mean, look at it. It's all boarded up.”

“Let's try,” Monica whispered. “I'd love to see the inside again. Our rooms upstairs? Let's go in. Just one more time.”

“We can't,” Nora stalled, her fingers already starting to tremble. It was one thing to park across the street and look at their old haunt, maybe even creep around the backyard a little bit, but it was a whole other deal to go inside, where, despite the years, all the old ghosts still lingered. “The place is a wreck. We'd probably fall through a floor or something. Besides, we couldn't get in there if we tried. I'm sure it's all locked up.”

“I'll bet money that one of us could probably get us into that house right now,” Grace said, avoiding Nora's eyes.

“How much money?” Ozzie turned around in her seat.

“Yeah.” Grace laughed. “That's what I thought.”

It was Ozzie's idea to go around back. There was no need to attract any attention should someone drive by and catch sight of them at this hour, and God only knew what might happen if the
police were called. Besides, the back door, which was rotting off its hinges, would be much easier to kick in.

“Kick in?” Nora was horrified. “There's no reason to dest
roy
anything here, Ozzie. We're not trying to rob the place.”

“Hey, what's this?” Monica strode over to the cellar door and began tugging at the handle.

An old, familiar dread began to take hold as Nora caught sight of the door. The wooden planks were cracked and splintered along the edges now, the curling wisteria vines wrapping themselves like an embrace around the rusty handle. They could probably get in that way, but there was no way she could go down there. Not now, not with them. Not ever again. Her eyes roved frantically over the rest of the building, searching for another entrance. The chimney was definitely out. Too dirty, ridiculously high, and except for Grace maybe, too narrow for any of them to squeeze through anymore. There was nothing else, except for the windows—which Ozzie would have to break—and the door, which she seemed all too eager to kick down.“Whatcha got, some door?” Ozzie moved toward it now too, standing by as Monica continued to pull. “Maybe to the basement? I don't think I ever came down to the basement when we were here. Did any of you?”

“I did,” said Grace. “Elaine was always sending me down for cardboard boxes whenever somebody was getting ready to leave. Remember that Goth girl who came during our senior year? Tamara something? It was right around Christmas.”

“The one who never took the dog collar off her neck?” Ozzie raised an eyebrow. “Even when she went in the shower?”

“Yeah. She had something like five thousand heavy metal CDs.
It took at least ten boxes to get them all packed up.” Grace shook her head. “God, what a nightmare. I wonder whatever happened to her?”

“Let's hope she got rid of the dog collar,” Ozzie said. “Or found herself a pet.”

Nora didn't move as the door creaked open a few more inches and then gave way as Monica strained a final time. The vines made a light ripping sound as the door swung wide, and Nora blocked the cry coming out of her mouth with the side of her fist.

“Nice job, Mons!” Ozzie patted her on the back.

As if on cue, all four of them leaned over the gaping hole and peered into it. At least ten cement steps led down into a low-ceilinged room and then vanished in a sea of darkness.

“Oh God, it's pitch-black!” Monica wailed. “We don't have a flashlight or anything, do we? How're we going to find our way around?”

“We'll hold on to each other's shirts and feel around until we find the door that leads to the inside.” Ozzie sounded matter-of-fact. “It can't be that hard. It doesn't even look that big.”

Nora didn't say anything. She had been in the basement only twice in her life, but she knew that it was the exact same size as the living room above it, and that the door on the inside led to the kitchen. She wondered if the old lawn furniture was still propped up against the east wall, if the folding chairs with their yellow and blue linen seats were tucked under the white wicker table. Did the shelves built into the opposite wall still hold the same sloppy array of discarded baskets, the haphazard collection of empty canning jars and tin cans? The jars had been arranged by size, the largest on one end, gallon size, its glass belly protruding far above the
rest. It was flanked on the opposite side by the smallest one, no bigger than a salt shaker.

“Come on, Mons.” Ozzie grinned. “You lead.”

Monica's eyes widened as she took a step back. “Uh-uh. I did my part. Now I get to hide behind all the rest of you as we make our way in.” She shivered. “God only knows what kind of vermin is down in there. Maybe we'll find a nest of skunks. Or opossums.” She brought her hands to her face. “Oh, God. What if there really is a nest of skunks down there? Or opossums?”

“Listen, chiquita,” Ozzie said. “You're the one who brought us here in the first place.”

“I know.” Monica wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. “I know. Just give me a minute to put on my big-girl panties, okay?” She inhaled sharply through her nose and then released it again. “Okay. Let's go.”

The four of them descended into the darkness: Ozzie first, then Nora, Monica, and finally Grace. Nora's fingers were hooked around Ozzie's belt loop; behind her, Monica clutched the edge of Nora's pants so tightly that she could feel the button on the front digging into her stomach. Ozzie's hand moved back and forth as she swept cobwebs out of the way, and every few seconds, she let forth another stream of expletives. They moved farther into the space, and a familiar scent filled Nora's nostrils. Dirt and grape jelly. Tears sprang to her eyes. How, after all these years, could the same smell still be there?
How?
She squeezed her eyes and held her breath. She could do this. She could. Another few moments and it would be over.

Ozzie came to an abrupt standstill, as if she had just walked into a wall.

“What?” Monica shrieked once, a high-pitched sound that made the hair on the back of Nora's neck stand up.

“It's nothing.” Ozzie's voice was thick with impatience. “I just can't
see
anything. I don't know if I'm leading us down a set of stairs to break all our necks or into a nest of rattlesnakes.”

“
Rattlesnakes?
” Monica clutched so hard at the back of Nora's pants that she lost her balance.

“Relax,” Ozzie said. “There's no
rattlesnakes,
all right? Jesus Christ. All I'm saying is that not knowing what's ahead of me is extremely disconcerting. It's like being blind or something. Hold on. I think I might have a lighter in my backpack.”

Nora let go of Ozzie's shirt as she squatted down and began rummaging through her knapsack. The darkness itself didn't bother her; it felt familiar, in fact, like an old worn-out shirt she had lost once and then found again. It had been just as dark that night, and she'd been glad for it. Relieved, even. Now, though, the darkness did not afford the same kind of security. It felt strange, otherworldly, as if she were on a different planet.

She reached her arm out and felt around. Her fingers brushed against a cobweb and she pulled them back, wiping the vague stickiness of it against her pants. She took another few steps to the right and reached out again. This time, her hand came into contact with a wall. She let it slide down the length of it—until it bumped into an object.