Chapter 8: The Woman in Oregon
Her voice was not what I had expected.
I don't know what I had expected — guilt, perhaps, or defensiveness, or the careful distance of someone managing a difficult situation.
What I heard instead was something quieter.
Tired, maybe.
Or just old in the way that people get old when they have been waiting for something for a very long time.
"You know who I am," I said.
"I've known about you since the beginning," Paulette said.
"He told me about you on the third date.
He said he was married and that it wasn't going to change and that I could decide what I wanted to do with that information."
"And you decided to stay."
"I was twenty-six," she said.
"I made a decision I've had to live with for forty years.
I'm not asking you to understand it."
I looked at Dylan across the table.
He was very still.
"I'm not calling to argue with you," I said.
"I'm calling about Nora."
A short silence.
"What about her?"
"Raymond thinks she's going to do something.
Make a claim.
Confront someone.
He doesn't know what." I paused.
"Do you know where she is?"
"She's here," Paulette said.
"She's been staying with me for the past two weeks."
"Can I speak with her?"
Another silence.
Longer.
"She doesn't want to speak with you," Paulette said.
"She's angry.
She feels — she feels like she was lied to her whole life, and she's not wrong about that.
But she's directing it at the wrong person."
"At me."
"At you.
At Raymond.
At anyone who isn't her father, because her father isn't here to be angry at." Paulette's voice stayed level, but something underneath it shifted.
"She loved him.
She didn't know him, not really, but she loved the idea of him.
And now she knows what he was and she doesn't know what to do with that."
"Neither do I," I said.
A beat of silence.
Then something unexpected — Paulette let out a long, slow breath that was almost a laugh.
Not cruel.
Just exhausted.
"No," she said.
"I don't suppose you do."
"Paulette." I kept my voice steady.
"Is Nora planning to contest the estate?"
"She's talking to an attorney," Paulette said.
"She believes she has a claim to the property and the account.
She may be right.
I don't know.
I told her to be careful.
She didn't listen."
"She gets that from him," I said, before I could stop myself.
Another silence.
Then, quietly: "Yes.
She does."
I stood up from the table and walked to the window.
The empty feeder.
The garden I had planted myself.
"I need you to do something," I said.
"I need you to tell Nora that I want to meet with her.
Not through attorneys.
Not through Raymond.
Just the two of us, and Dylan if she'll allow it."
"Why would she agree to that?"
"Because I'm not her enemy," I said.
"And because whatever her father did or didn't do, she didn't choose any of this either.
She was a child who was told a story.
So was I." I paused.
"We were both lied to by the same man."
The line was quiet for a long time.
"I'll tell her," Paulette said finally.
"I can't promise anything."
"I know."
"Mrs.
Holland." Her voice dropped slightly.
"For what it's worth — I'm sorry.
I've been sorry for a long time.
I know that doesn't fix anything."
I didn't answer that right away.
"Tell Nora I'll come to Portland," I said.
"Whenever she's ready."
I ended the call.
Dylan was watching me from the table.
"You're going to Oregon," he said.
"We're going to Oregon," I said.
"If you're willing."
He picked up his water glass.
May you like
Drained the last of it.
"When do you want to leave?" he asked.
