The memory keeper's daughter - Kim Edwards [69]
“I’m going to show Mom,” Paul said. He grabbed the fossils and ran off through the house and out the back door. David got a drink and stood by the window. A few guests had arrived and were scattered across the lawn, the men in dark blue coats, the women like bright spring flowers in pink and vibrant yellow and pastel blue. Norah moved among them, hugging the women, shaking hands, managing the introductions. She had been so quiet when David first met her, calm and self-contained and watchful. He could never have imagined her in this moment, so gregarious and at ease, launching a party she had orchestrated down to the very last detail. Watching her, David was filled with a kind of longing. For what? For the life they might have had, perhaps. Norah seemed very happy, laughing on the lawn. Yet David knew this success would not be enough, not even for a day. By evening she would have moved on to the next thing, and if he woke in the night and ran his hand along the curve of her back, hoping to stir her, she would murmur and catch his hand in hers and turn away, all without waking.
Paul was on the swing set now, flying high into the blue sky. He wore the crinoids on a long piece of string around his neck; they lifted and fell, bouncing against his small chest, sometimes snapping against the chains of the swing.
“Paul,” Norah called, her voice drifting in clearly through open screen. “Paul, take that thing off your neck. It’s dangerous.”
David took his drink and went outside. He met Norah on the lawn.
“Don’t,” he said softly, putting his hand on her arm. “He made it himself.”
“I know. I gave him the string. But he can wear it later. If he slips while he’s playing and it gets caught, it could choke him.”
She was so tense; he let his hand fall.
“That’s not likely,” he said, wishing he could erase their loss and what it had done to them both. “Nothing bad is going to happen to him, Norah.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Even so, David’s right, Norah.”
The voice came from behind. He turned to see Bree, whose wildness and passions and beauty moved like a wind through their house. She was wearing a spring dress of filmy material, which seemed to float around her as she moved, and holding hands with a young man, shorter than she: clean-cut, with short reddish hair, wearing sandals and an open collar.
“Bree, honestly, it could catch and he could choke,” Norah insisted, turning too.
“He’s swinging,” Bree told her lightly, as Paul flew high against the sky, his head tipped back, sun on his face. “Look at him, he’s so happy. Don’t make him get down and get all worried. David’s right. Nothing’s going to happen.”
Norah forced a smile. “No? The world could end. You said so yourself just yesterday.”
“But that was yesterday,” Bree said. She touched Norah’s arm and they exchanged a long look, connected for a moment in a way that excluded everyone else. David watched with a rush of longing and with a sudden memory of his own sister, the two of them hiding under the kitchen table, peeking through the folds of oilcloth, stifling their laughter. He remembered her eyes and the warmth of her arm and the joy of her company.
“What happened yesterday?” David asked, pushing away the memory, but Bree ignored him, talking to Norah.
“I’m sorry, Sis,” she said. “Things were a little crazy yesterday. I was out of line.”
“I’m sorry too,” Norah said. “I’m glad you came to the party.”
“What happened yesterday? Were you at the fire, Bree?” David asked again. He and Norah had woken in the night to sirens, to the acrid smell of smoke and a strange glow in the sky. They had come outside to stand with their neighbors on the dark quiet lawns, their ankles growing wet with dew while on campus the ROTC building burned. For days the protests had been growing, layers