Chapter 5

NORA 

The wheels hit the floor with a jarring thud, the vibration traveling up through the floorboards and into the soles of my shoes. 

Theo was a heavy weight against my left shoulder, his breathing deep in sleep. To my right, Lena sat in the aisle seat, studying the safety card. She held it upside down because she had already memorized the right-side-up version and wanted a new challenge.

Five years had passed since I left this city. Five years since I had stood at JFK with a wedding ring I had not yet taken off. 

Today I was landing back at the same airport with two children, a passport in a name that was not the one I was married under, and a return ticket I did not intend to use. I had spent five years preparing for this landing. I was not sure, until the wheels touched the runway, that I was prepared after all.

"Mama," Lena said, looking up from the card. Her eyes were wide, and terrifyingly observant. "We are home now. Right?"

I reached out, taking her chin in my hand for a brief moment. Her skin was soft. "Yes, my love. We are home now."

Theo stirred against me, his eyelids fluttering. "Did you cry, Mama?"

I looked down at him. "Why would I cry, Theo?"

"Lena says people cry when they come home," he murmured, his voice sounding like he was still sleepy. "From the movie on the plane."

I felt a phantom itch on my wrist, beneath the sleeve of my blazer. I did not look at it. "I don’t cry, baby. You know that."

My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Bernard.

'Tell Theo I love him. Tell Lena to keep her ball in her bag this time. Call me when you are in the car.'

Five years ago, I had not known his name. Today, my children fell asleep saying goodnight to him on speakerphone.

The terminal was filled with hurried travelers. Theo held my left hand, his small knuckles white as he pulled his backpack with his right. Lena was two paces ahead, bouncing her ball. She was allowed to bounce it once every ten steps, it was the only way she managed the sensory overload of the crowd.

"One. Two. Three. Four. Five," Lena counted under her breath.

My phone buzzed again. Two more texts from Bernard.

'Did you eat on the plane? Theo needs to drink water before bed. Iris said the apartment is ready. Stop reading these texts and go take care of your children.' 

I almost smiled. I didn’t, but the muscles in my face twitched with the impulse.

Suddenly, there was a small crack. Lena’s ball hit the edge of a concrete planter and skipped sideways. It didn't bounce back to her; it took another angle, rolling across the floor and disappearing around a corner toward baggage claim.

Lena didn't ask me for permission. She didn't wait. She took off after it.

"Lena!"

She was already around the corner. I looked at Naomi, who was already moving to follow, but I stopped her with a sharp gesture. "I have her. Stay with Theo."

Theo looked up at me, his face calm. "Mama. She went around the corner."

"I know, baby. I’ll bring her back."

I didn't run, running drew eyes. But I walked with speed of a woman who had spent years chasing toddlers.

I rounded the corner into the wider expanse of baggage claim.

I immediately set eyes on him. 

He was a tall man in a dark, expensive wool coat, crouched on one knee. His back was to me. 

Then I saw Lena. She was standing three feet in front of him. She wasn't afraid. She was looking at him with that level, appraising stare she had inherited from a woman I used to be.

The ball was in the man’s hand. He was holding it out, but he was saying something to her. Lena was answering. As he listened, his face turned slightly. I saw the line of his jaw. The curve of his ear.

I stopped walking. 

Five years. I had not seen his face in five years. I was twenty steps from him at JFK and my daughter was holding her hand out for a ball he had just picked up off the floor.

Charlie had not seen me yet. He was still on one knee, his voice gentle. A tone I had rarely heard when I was the one standing in front of him for those three years. 

"And what is your name?" he asked.

Lena had been told a thousand times not to give her name to strangers. She looked at his face for a long, silent moment, searching for something. She did not give her name.

"What is your name?" she countered.

Charlie let out a breath. "Charlie. My name is Charlie."

Lena considered this. "That's a boy's name. I'm not allowed to talk to boys I don't know."

"That sounds like a wise rule," Charlie said.

Lena reached out. Charlie handed her the ball. Their fingers touched for a second. He was looking at her face now, his eyes narrowed, searching.

Lena took the ball and frowned. It wasn't a child’s pout. It was a specific pull of the muscles, a downward tug at the corner of the mouth that was purely, genetically Sinclair.

Charlie saw it. He froze. I saw the jolt go through him. 

"You look like someone I know," he whispered.

"I look like my mama and my brother," Lena said with the brutal honesty of a five-year-old. "We are twins."

Charlie did not move.

Before he could recover, before he could ask the question that was visibly forming on his lips, I stepped forward. My voice was level. 

"Lena. Come here. Now, please."

Charlie stood. He turned. The movement was slow, as if he were afraid that moving too fast would break the hallucination, then he saw me.

I did not change my expression. I did not tilt my head. I did not let my eyes wander to his temples or the way his coat hung on a frame that looked thinner than it had five years ago. I showed him nothing.

"Nora," he said. 

"Mr. Sinclair," I replied.

 I saw his throat move as he swallowed.

Lena walked back to me, her small hand sliding into mine. She gripped me hard. She felt the tension, even if she did not understand the source.

"You—you are back," he said, trying to find a footing in a conversation that had already left him behind.

"Thank you for catching her ball."

I started to turn, but he took a half-step forward. "Nora. I have been—"

"It was kind of you to help her," I cut him off. My voice was polite. "We have a car waiting."

I turned my back on him. I walked away with my daughter’s hand in mine, and I did not look back to see him standing there in the middle of the terminal, surrounded by the rush of other people.

The black SUV pulled away from the curb, merging into the chaotic flow of airport traffic. 

Lena was buckling her seatbelt, her face turned toward the window. She was quiet. She had not mentioned the man. She held the foam ball in her lap, her thumb tracing the texture. 

My hands were not steady. I waited until the driver had cleared the terminal loop before I trusted myself to touch my phone.

I pressed the call button for Bernard. It rang once.

"There she is," Bernard said. His voice was warm. "The Chairman has landed. Tell me everything is fine."

I waited a beat, watching the gray blur of Queens go by. "Everything is fine."

There was a pause on the other end. Bernard’s voice dropped an octave. "Nora. I have known you for four years. You only say 'everything is fine' in that tone of voice when something has happened. Are the children safe?"

"They are safe."

"Are you safe?"

"Yes."

Bernard breathed out. "All right. We will talk about it tonight. Put Theo on. He has been asking me a question about a robot for nine hours and I cannot get any work done until I answer it."

I handed the phone to Theo. His face lit up, the exhaustion of the flight vanishing. "Uncle Bernard! The robot’s arm. The arm. Did you fix it? Is it fixed? Can it pick up the ball now?"

I heard Bernard’s laugh through the speaker. "I fixed it, my friend. I fixed it twice. I had to—"

Theo was laughing now, a bright, clear sound that filled the car. He was no longer sleepy.

Lena leaned over, shouting into the phone. "Uncle Bernard, I bounced my ball ten times in the airport!"

"Lena. Lena, that is so many bounces. I am proud of you," Bernard said. I could hear the smile in his voice. "Did you remember to stop at ten?"

Lena looked at me, then back at the phone. "I almost remembered."

"That is good enough for me. Put your mother back on, my warriors."

I took the phone back. In the backseat, the children were already debating whether the robot should be named Bolt or Captain.

"Nora," Bernard said, his voice low. "Tonight. After the children sleep. You will tell me what happened. I am going to be on a plane in an hour, but I will make sure to call you again."

"I know."

"Take care of yourself. Take care of the children. Tell Lena I said ten means ten."

The line clicked shut. I almost smiled.

The car was on the Van Wyck now. The adrenaline had faded, leaving the children slumped against each other. Theo’s head rested on Lena’s shoulder. Lena’s hand was still loose around her ball, her eyes half-closed.

Naomi was silent in the front seat. The afternoon light was low. I looked out at the skyline. Manhattan was rising in the distance, familiar in a way I had not let myself remember for five years.

I had known for four years that he looked for me.

Iris had told me, the first time, when I had been in London for six months. A man had come to Helena’s apartment three days running, asking the doorman if Mrs. Sinclair was upstairs, asking for an address, asking for a phone number. The doorman, who was paid by the company and not by Charlie Sinclair, had given him nothing. Iris had told me in her kitchen, and I had said then that I did not want to know.

I had not let myself ask why.

Did he look for me because he wanted to apologize? Charlie Sinclair had never apologized for anything in his life. I had lived with him for three years; I knew the architecture of his pride.

Did he look for me because he wanted to hurt me? This was possible. He was capable of it. He had done it before, with a marriage license and a cold bed.

I did not know which one he was now. I had spent five years not knowing because I could not bear to find out.

Today he saw me. And tomorrow, the news of the new Beaumont merger would be all over New York. He would know exactly where I was.

I closed my eyes. The question was not whether he looked for me. The question I had not let myself ask in five years was the only one that mattered.

Why, Charlie? Why exactly were you looking for me?