Nora by Constance C. Greene Page B

Nora,” Daddy said. “But no, I haven’t asked her yet. If I wait too long, she may think it’s because I don’t want her to be my wife because my daughters are opposed to the idea. It is very hard to please all of you. If not impossible. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out to get myself a glass of milk.”
    I almost never fight with my father. We usually get along very well. Patsy and he sometimes fight, mainly because she’s so fresh and thinks she should be allowed to do things that older kids can do, like go to the concert over in Stamford with Chuck Whipple, which she wasn’t allowed to do.
    He’d asked her before he met me. That was the first time I’d thought that. It made me smile.
    I followed Daddy out to the kitchen. I wanted to be friends with him. We had always loved and respected each other. I didn’t want that to change, and it seemed to me there was a good chance it would if he got married.
    He was sitting at the table drinking a glass of chocolate milk. His dark eyes looked black in the overhead light.
    When I sat down across from him, he looked at me, through me.
    â€œThings are rough, Nora,” he said. “I’m doing my best, and that’s not good enough. Our world, yours and Patsy’s and mine, fell apart when your mother died. But together I thought we could put it together again. It doesn’t seem as if we’re doing a very good job of it, though.”
    He shrugged and polished off his milk.
    â€œYou’re a good child. I’m proud of you and of Patsy. Your mother is, too. I know that. How could she not be?”
    I went over and sat on his lap. It was very uncomfortable sitting there. I was too tall, my neck was too long, there was no place to tuck my head. I was not a little girl. My legs dangled, and my sharp knees stuck out like two pieces of old bone. I was too big to be sitting on my father’s lap. Still, I didn’t know how to get off without embarrassing him and me, so I stayed there, not knowing what to say.
    â€œIt’ll work out, Nora,” Daddy said after a long silence. “We’ll work it out together, the three of us.”
    I had a crick in my neck from bending my head at an odd angle. I got up from Daddy’s lap at last and said, “I’d better go take a bath, Daddy.”
    â€œYes,” he said, “I guess you had better. Good night, darling. Thank you.”
    Thank me for what? I wondered as I climbed the stairs. What was he thanking me for? What had I done?

Twenty-one
    When I went to the library the next day, I planned on checking the computer for ghost books when I thought I heard a familiar voice.
    â€œHey, Nora. I didn’t know you came here.” It was Chuck Whipple and his brother, the one I’d met at the dinner theater.
    â€œSure, I come here all the time,” I said.
    â€œSo. You’re a reader,” Chuck’s brother said. “You look like a reader.”
    â€œThanks,” I said idiotically. Was that good or bad? I didn’t even have my glasses on. Probably he meant I looked intellectual. I’ve been told I look intellectual several times. I never know how to take it. Is it a compliment or a put-down?
    â€œWhere’s your girlfriend?” I said to Chuck’s brother. Just for something to say. I should know by now that the things you say just for something to say are better left unsaid. Far better to keep your trap shut and give it the old Mona Lisa treatment, an enigmatic smile. That confuses them and gives you the upper hand. I read that somewhere and find it to be true.
    Chuck’s brother looked startled, then he blushed and said, “She left. Went home.”
    â€œDo they let you take out movies for nothing or do you have to pay?” Chuck asked me.
    â€œOh, they don’t cost anything, but you have to take good care of them and make sure they’re rewound right,” I said. “You can