Before the Morning [BEING EDITED]

35 | The Airport

"Have you talked to him?"

Nora tore at the tape that bound one of the many cardboard boxes strewn about what was previously Rachel's guest room. It only traveled halfway down the box before breaking apart. She grumbled under her breath and tossed the piece of tape onto the floor.

"Nora."

She sighed and looked away from the box. Willow was perched on the twin-sized bed, which now donned Nora's bedding from home. Home. It was unnerving, seeing her bedding in a room that wasn't hers. But, this was her room now.

Over the years, Nora had stayed in the guest room numerous times. It was comfortable, just like the rest of the house, and filled with the essentials—bed, dresser, and a nightstand with a lamp on top. Photographs decorated the walls—pictures Rachel had taken while out on her adventures. Would she still go exploring? Or was she stuck here now?

Nora only had good memories of this room. But now, as she scanned the walls, the photographs, the furniture, the walls, she wanted to throw up. "No," she said finally. "And I'm not going to."

She dug at the tape. It barely budged. She sighed and took to searching for the pair of scissors she and Willow had been sharing since they started unpacking thirty minutes ago. Where did they...?

"He was looking out for you," Willow said. "You know that, right?"

Nora shoved boxes around. No scissors to be found.

"Nora."

"Yes." She glared. "I know. But that doesn't change the fact that he lied to me."

"Would you have stayed if he told you the truth?"

Her jaw locked. Of course I would have. But the words—the lie—refused to leave her throat. "That's not the point," she managed.

"What is the point, then?"

She lifted another box. No scissors. Where were they?

"Nora."

She let out an exasperated sigh. "I can't trust him anymore," she snapped. She'd ruined it all—and for someone she couldn't even trust. "Now, can we not spend your last day talking about this? Please?"

The melancholic sympathy on Willow's face simultaneously made her want to throw something and burst into tears. "Okay," Willow said softly. She smiled and held out the scissors.

Nora's gaze flattened, and she took them from Willow's outstretched hand. "Thanks," she said.

"Yup."

"How's it going in here?"

They turned. Rachel leaned against the open doorway, her arms looped over her chest. Nora smiled wanly and looked away.

"It's looking good in here," Rachel said. "You sure you don't want any more help?"

"I'm okay," Nora said. "Thanks, though."

"Okay, hon." There was a little hurt in her smile, and Nora's insides twisted. "Maybe a few more days, and you'll be all set up."

She nodded. All set up. Just another reminder that she wasn't home.

Yes, living with Rachel for the past week had been the most comfortable she'd been in a long time. She didn't have to tiptoe around the house. Didn't have to clean bottles and throw up from the counters and floors. She had someone to laugh with, chat with. This house was warm, light, loving. Everything her home wasn't.

But...

She imagined her dad—sitting on a bench, if in a jail cell, or on his new bed, if in a prison cell. His head bowed. Afraid. Trapped with murderers and who knew who else. Because of what Nolan said to the police after Nathan called them. Because of her.