order you to,” Søren said, and Nora groaned.
“You’re as bad as he is,” she said, pointing a finger at Kingsley. “You’re perverts, the both of you. J’accuse.”
Kingsley nodded. “J’accepte.”
“That was a really hard year for all of us,” Nora said. “And it was twelve years ago. Can you give me one good reason why we should dredge all of that up tonight?”
“I can,” Kingsley said. “Because you fucked a nun. C’est la raison.”
Nora put a hand to her forehead. “Dear Lord, save me from these men tonight.”
“I would like to know,” Søren said, and the room went still and solemn with the tenor of his words. “Neither of you ever told me what happened that year you both were gone.”
“Maybe because you don’t want to know,” Nora said as she walked to the bed and crawled into it on the side opposite Søren. She pulled a pillow to her stomach and sat cross-legged. “You weren’t our favorite person that year, after all.”
“I wasn’t my favorite person that year, either,” Søren said, bending his leg to rest his arm on his knee. Kingsley came to the bed and stretched out at the foot, lying on his side to face them. “You both had disappeared on me and when you came back, everything had changed.”
“I met Juliette,” Kingsley said. “That’s what I did that year.”
“You’ve never told me how,” Søren said. “And you—” he looked at Nora “—never told me why you came back.”
“Do you really want to know?” she asked, meeting his eyes. “We’re happy now, all of us.” She glanced at Kingsley and back at Søren.
“Ignorance is a poor excuse for bliss,” Søren said, looking pointedly at her. “Tell me what happened.”
Nora turned her head and looked into Kingsley’s dark brown eyes. They stared at each other for a long quiet moment. She’d never told Kingsley what had happened when she’d left Søren. And Kingsley had never told her. In her more honest moments she’d admit she was curious what Kingsley did in that time and why he’d left when she had.
“That sounded like an order,” Nora said to Kingsley.
“It was,” Kingsley said, as accustomed to following Søren’s orders now as she.
“Who starts?” she asked him.
“You left first,” Kingsley said to Nora. The playfulness had left his demeanor. She saw the dark light of secrets in his eyes.
“You left after me, though. Why?”
“You don’t know?” Kingsley said.
“No. I was afraid to ask,” Nora confessed. “I thought...I thought all kinds of things that year. I think I went a little crazy for a while. But I guess you would too if you were trapped in a convent surrounded by nuns with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.”
“And a nun in your bed,” Kingsley reminded her.
“And yes, there was a nun in my bed,” Nora said with a sigh.
“This is my favorite story already,” Kingsley said. “Go on.”
Nora took a breath, got comfortable with the sheets and pillow.
“Well...” she began. “It was a dark and stormy night...”
“Eleanor,” Søren said.
“It was,” she said. “I’m not making that up. That night we fought, it was dark and stormy, remember?”
Søren nodded. “I remember. Go on.”
Nora closed her eyes, let herself drift back to that night, that terrible night and that year, that dark and stormy year.
She was twenty-six years old.
Søren had just returned home from Rome.
And she was in the worst pain of her life.
“It was a dark and stormy night,” Nora began again, opening her eyes to look at Søren. He returned her gaze with placid, waiting curiosity. “And I was leaving you. Forever.”
2003 New York City
THIS IS NOT a drill.
This is not a drill.
Elle repeated those words in her mind as she wove between the dawn-weary commuters at Penn Station.
This is not a drill.
She wanted to walk faster, but she couldn’t. Pausing by a trash can, she held the wire rim of it with both hands and breathed through her nose. A cramp twisted in her stomach and nausea hit her like a bus. The sickness passed quickly. Five hours since she last threw up. Her nausea ebbed. Her panic crested.
This is not a drill.
Standing up straight she strode forward again, tucking a loose strand of black hair under the Mets cap she’d bought at a gift shop. She didn’t watch baseball often, although Griffin had taken her to a few games this season. He would never have forgiven her if she’d bought a Yankees hat. Then again, she would probably never see him again so what did it matter?
But still, it mattered.
Every few steps, temptation whispered to her, telling her to turn around, look around... She wasn’t paranoid. But what was it Joseph Heller had said? It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you? By now Kingsley had surely sent the troops out looking for her, and this was the first place they’d look. It might have been a mistake coming here. This had been the plan though, the only plan she had.
This is not a drill.
Twice a year, every year, Kingsley had run her through the drill.
“There are five possible scenarios that would force you to run,” Kingsley had warned her each time they’d run through the drill. “I want you to be ready.”
The first time she’d been twenty years old. She and Søren had been lovers for only a few months. That was reason number one for the drill, scenario number one.
“He’s a priest, chérie, and you’re his lover now. You get caught in bed with him, and your world will explode. If that happens, the best thing you can do for him is run,” Kingsley had said, his tone solemn and sober. He meant it.
“I’m not running away from Søren,” she’d said. “Not now. Not ever. Especially not when he needs me the most.”
“Your willingness to martyr yourself will only make things worse. Journalists are
