Chapter 8 - Ava Called Home Once
Nora refused to talk in the basement.
“I hated that room then.”
She looked toward the loose mats.
“I hate it now.”
We went to a diner two blocks away.
Public.
Bright.
Coffee that tasted burned.
Mason offered to leave.
Nora said:
“You need to hear some of it.”
Walter stayed too.
I hated that Ava's life still required an audience.
I also knew every person at the table held a piece I didn't.
Nora ordered tea.
Then:
“I drove Ava away from the dojo.”
“To where?”
“Not yours yet.”
My jaw tightened.
She held up one hand.
“You asked where. I'm saying no.”
“She's my sister.”
“Yes.”
“That matters.”
“Yes.”
“Enough?”
“No.”
I stared at her.
Nora did not flinch.
Walter said quietly:
“Emma.”
I ignored him.
Nora continued:
“Ava stayed with a friend for several weeks. Then she left Maryland.”
“Chicago?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because Daniel found Nora's organization.”
“How?”
Mason looked down.
I didn't need him to speak.
“You.”
“Yes.”
Nora looked at him.
Mason did not defend himself.
“What happened?”
Nora said:
“Daniel didn't threaten me.”
Important.
“He called.”
“Asked about Ava.”
“Yes.”
“I told him I couldn't give him information.”
“And?”
“He came to the office.”
My chest tightened.
“Did he make a scene?”
“No.”
That also mattered.
“He cried.”
I looked down.
Of course he did.
Daniel Carter loved his daughter.
That had never been the problem.
Nora continued:
“He said he thought Ava was being manipulated.”
“By you.”
“By Walter. By me. By anyone telling her she could leave.”
“He actually thought that.”
“I believe he did.”
“Then?”
“Ava heard he had found the office.”
“She panicked.”
“Why?”
“Because she had spent six weeks getting enough distance to decide what she wanted, and suddenly he was inside the new place too.”
So she left again.
Different city.
Nora helped with a legitimate transitional housing contact.
No fake names.
No elaborate escape.
A twenty-six-year-old woman moving away from a family she no longer trusted.
“Did you speak after?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“About a year.”
My heart tightened.
“You knew she was alive for a year.”
“Yes.”
“Police?”
“No.”
“Mom?”
“No.”
“Me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Nora looked at me.
“Because Ava asked me not to.”
I almost laughed.
“There’s everybody's favorite sentence.”
Nora's expression sharpened.
“Don't confuse respecting a competent adult's request with every lie told around her.”
Fair.
I hated it.
“What changed?”
“About three months after she left, Ava wanted her phone.”
My pulse changed.
“She called Dad.”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Nora looked toward Mason.
“Daniel refused to mail the bag.”
My throat tightened.
“He had it.”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“Ava to call him again.”
There.
Not ransom.
Not criminal leverage.
A father turning property into a second conversation.
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Twice.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did they say?”
“I wasn't there for the second call.”
“First?”
“Ava called from my office.”
Nora remembered enough.
Daniel cried.
Apologized for grabbing her.
Told her Claire was falling apart.
Asked where she was.
Ava refused.
Then he said Emma thought she was selfish.
I stopped breathing normally.
Nora looked at me.
“Ava asked him if you said that.”
I had.
Not directly to Dad? Probably yes.
One dinner.
Me yelling:
She is selfish. She doesn't get to make everybody sick and call it independence.
I stared at the table.
“What did Dad say?”
Nora answered:
“Yes.”
Nothing exaggerated.
He didn't need to.
“Then?”
“Ava hung up.”
“Did Dad mail the bag?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He said he would give it to police.”
“Did he?”
“No idea.”
“Second call?”
Nora said:
“Ava called him alone.”
“What happened?”
“She wouldn't tell me.”
“How did she seem?”
“Done.”
“With Dad?”
“With all of it.”
My throat tightened.
“When did she stop talking to you?”
“About eight months later.”
“Why?”
“She found work. Apartment.”
Nora looked toward the window.
“She said she didn't want me reporting her life back to anyone.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because even safe people can start feeling like part of the road you escaped on.”
That I could understand.
It still hurt.
“Last contact?”
“A text.”
“What did it say?”
Nora looked at me.
“She asked whether Daniel still searched publicly.”
My hands tightened.
“What did you say?”
“Yes.”
He did.
Posters.
Interviews.
Online pages.
Birthday vigils.
Nora continued:
“Ava said, ‘Then I’m still missing to them.’”
I stared.
“She never asked you to correct us.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I asked.”
“And?”
Nora took a long breath.
“She said because if she told you she was alive, your father would hear about it within an hour.”
I looked away.
At the time, she was right.
Then:
“Dad died three years later.”
“Two years after Ava left.”
Nora nodded.
“I know.”
“So why didn't she call?”
Nora's face changed.
“She did.”
Everything stopped.
“What?”
“Not you.”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
Claire.
“When?”
“Four months after Daniel died.”
My pulse pounded.
“What happened?”
Nora looked genuinely troubled.
“I only know because Ava called me afterward.”
“What did Mom say?”
Nora stared at me.
“Ask her.”
I stood.
Nora caught my wrist gently.
I looked at her hand.
She let go immediately.
“Emma.”
“What?”
“Do not go home assuming Claire rejected her.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because Ava didn't sound rejected.”
May you like
Nora swallowed.
“She sounded frightened.”
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