The sound of Adelaide's voice had me turning around in my chair completely, Tate's hand dropping its comforting position on my back as he too turned to look at his sister.
"Nora?" I questioned. How did Adelaide know who I was talking about? How did she know this ladies name?
"Yeah. Nora Montgomery." Adelaide added on. Before I could ask her another question, like if she had seen her too, and how she knew this information, Adelaide had turned around and walked away. Well that was great.
"Who's Nora Montgomery?" I asked Tate, hoping that he would be able to give me some answers. I got nothing from him but a tight-lipped shrug. Not even his eyes gave anything away as they flicked away from me.
"I think you'd better go, Calypso." He finally said once silence had settled over us. I nodded stiffly, hurt, but in a way, unsurprised at this rejection. Grabbing my backpack from the ground at my feet, I hurried to get out of the house, not liking how it felt like someone was watching my every move all of a sudden.
I was missing part of the equation here, but I had no idea what it was. I didn't even know what to look for.
Tate avoided me for the next few days, leaving for school early, and heading home late so that he didn't have to walk with me. I understood that what I had said sounded a bit crazy, but the fact that his sister had seemed to know exactly what I was talking about was even weirder.
Plus, the fact that Tate would just up and ignore me like this hurt. I had thought that we were friends, but it appeared not.
I had almost reached home by this point, and routinely looked up at Tate's house as I walked past it, even stopping before it. Realising after a second that I was alone, and that there was nobody to say goodbye to, I began to turn away from the house, planning on heading home and eating away my problems. I didn't know what to do.
But a movement in the window caught my eye. Turning back, fear froze me to the cement below my feet at the sight of the woman…Nora…who was standing there, with those pleading eyes, mouth opened in a silent scream – but she was gesturing at me this time, like she had at the door to Tate's room. This time it seemed more frantic though, like she was begging me to come inside and help her.
I forced myself to turn away, tearing my eyes away from her and planting one foot in front of the other until I had managed to make my way to my own front door, through the house, up the stairs and to my own room. I collapsed onto the bed, hands shaking.
That was when I heard something break.
Well, crash was more accurate, but still, something had been broken, and now I could hear raised voices. This was not coming from my own home however. Moving slowly, I stood up from my bed, peeking out of my window and across to Tate's. I wasn't sure what to do. I could see him in there, pacing, a frustrated looking man standing at his door. No more words were passed for a few seconds, and then the man at the door, who I assumed to be Tate's father, slammed the door closed.
It was only now that I had realised that I had never met Tate's father, and that he had never mentioned him. Interesting. Maybe he just wasn't around a lot. With my messed-up family, who was I to judge?
I watched as Tate ran his fingers through his hair, eyes downcast – and then disappear from view. Quickly, I reached for the notebook and pen I now kept beside my window and scrawled out a quick message. It didn't take long for Tate to come back into view, it seemed like he was pacing. I held up the piece of paper, waiting for him to look up to see it.
When he finally did, he froze, eyes transfixed on the words on the page, and then flicking up to my face. He seemed almost shocked.
I'd written three simple words on that page, words that I would hope that he would still ask me if he saw anything like what I'd just seen. Tate seemed to consider for a few moments, his eyes flicking from the page, then back up to me. He walked closer to the window, and for a second I thought that he was going to draw the blinds closed on me, shutting me out once more.
Instead, he gently placed a hand on the glass, as if he was reaching out to me.
Raising my own hand, I did the same, watching as Tate smiled a little. It was smile, and seemed kind of forced, but he was accepting the olive branch and letting me back in. That was all that I cared about right now. With a stiff nod, Tate removed his hand, and then closed the blinds, leaving me blinking at a window filled with white.
I dropped the notebook back onto the window sill and moved away from the window, opting to collapse back onto my bed. Dragging a pillow closer, I curled up a little as I began to think.
I wanted to be able to help Tate with what he was going through, and if this was what was going on for him right now, I could understand his behaviour over the past few days. What I didn't understand was why he had felt like he couldn't tell me. I'd certainly unloaded enough of my problems onto him, so it seemed only fair that he should be able to do the same. He was a pretty private person though. Maybe he just didn't want to talk about it. I could understand that too.
My thoughts drifted to Nora, about how she had appeared in the window – the fear and sadness that came with her leaving me paralysed out on the street for a few solid seconds. And that was when I realised. Maybe that was what she had been trying to tell me.
She had been gesturing urgently at me to come into the house, like she needed help. But maybe it wasn't her that had needed help after all. Maybe it was Tate who needed help.