We Loved Until We Couldn’t Novel – Chapter 10
I used to refuse to admit I kept a diary when I was younger — it just felt too cliché.
Instead, I convinced myself that what I was doing was cooler, because technically, it wasn’t a diary.
I addressed every entry to Nora Dawson, because I started watching her talk show the very first day it aired in 2003, when I was just a little girl. I watched it every day after school and was convinced that if Nora ever got to know me, she’d love me.
I wrote letters to her regularly until I turned sixteen, but they were really just diary entries — only disguised as fan mail. Of course, I knew the last thing Nora Dawson wanted was a random girl’s journal entries. Luckily, I never actually sent them. But I liked addressing everything to her, so I kept doing it until I eventually stopped writing altogether.
I open another shoebox and find even more of them.
I sort through the worn spines until I grab the one from when I was fifteen.
Flipping through the pages, I search for the day I met Julian.
There wasn’t much in my life worth writing about before he entered it, but somehow, I still managed to fill six journals before he ever came into the picture.
I swore I’d never read these again — but ever since my father’s death, I’ve been thinking about my childhood a lot.
Maybe if I read through these journals, I’ll find a piece of strength. Maybe even forgiveness.
Though a part of me fears it’ll only dig up more resentment.
I lie back on the couch and begin to read.
Dear Nora,
Before I tell you what happened today, I have a really great idea for a new segment on your show.
It’s called “Nora at Home.”
I think people would love to see what you’re like outside of work. I always wonder what you’re like when it’s just you and your wife and the cameras aren’t rolling. Maybe the producers could give her a camera and sometimes she could sneak up on you and film you doing normal things — like watching TV, cooking, or gardening.
Then she could shout, “Nora at Home!” and scare you.
It’s only fair since you love pranking people.
Okay, now that I’ve told you that (I keep meaning to), I’ll tell you about my day yesterday.
It was interesting — probably my most interesting day yet, if you don’t count the time Abigail Ivory slapped Mr. Carson for staring at her chest.
You remember a while back when I told you about Mrs. Burleson, the old lady who lived behind us?
She died during that huge snowstorm. My dad said she owed so much in taxes that her daughter couldn’t take ownership of the house.
Which I guess was fine by her, because the house was already falling apart.
It’s been empty ever since — about two years now.
I know it’s been empty because my bedroom window faces the backyard, and no one’s been in or out of that house for as long as I can remember.
Until last night.
I was in bed shuffling cards. I know that sounds weird, but it’s something I do. I don’t even know how to play cards — it just calms me down when my parents fight. The sound of shuffling gives me something to focus on.
Anyway, it was dark outside, so I noticed the light right away. It wasn’t bright — more like candlelight — coming from the old house.
I went to the back porch and found Dad’s binoculars, trying to see what was going on, but it was too dark to make anything out. A few minutes later, the light went out.
Then this morning, while getting ready for school, I saw something move behind the house.
I crouched by my bedroom window and saw someone sneaking out the back door. It was a guy — he had a backpack. He looked around like he was making sure no one saw him, and then he walked between our house and the neighbor’s, heading to the bus stop.
I’d never seen him before. It was the first time he rode my bus.
He sat in the back; I sat in the middle.
I didn’t talk to him, but when we got to school, I saw him walk inside — so he must go there, too.
I have no idea why he’s staying in that house.
There’s probably no electricity or running water.
I thought maybe it was a dare — but after school, he got off the same stop again.
He walked down the street like he was going somewhere else, but when I ran straight home and watched from my window, I saw him sneaking back into that empty house.
I don’t know if I should say something to my mom. I hate being nosy — it’s really none of my business — but if that guy doesn’t have anywhere to go, I feel like she’d know how to help him since she works at a school.