Running to New York
The days after Silas’s confession were a blur of grief and disbelief. Nora moved through the motions of life—eating, sleeping, walking to the library—but her mind was elsewhere, trapped in the past, replaying the memories of a brother she had never known.
She found herself staring at old photographs, searching for clues she had missed. There were no pictures of Thomas Jr. in her family albums. Her mother had erased him, just as she had erased Margaret. The lies ran deeper than Nora had ever imagined.
Eli was patient. He held her when she cried, listened when she raged, and sat with her in silence when words failed. But she could see the toll it was taking on him. His illness was progressing, and the stress of her grief was not helping.
“You need to take care of yourself,” she told him one evening.
“I need to take care of you.”
“I’m not the one who’s dying.”
The words came out harsher than she intended. Eli flinched.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”
“You did. And you’re right. But I can’t stop caring about you just because I’m sick.”
She took his hand. “I know. I’m sorry.”
They sat in silence, the weight of the unspoken between them.
The call from New York came on a Tuesday.
It was her boss, reminding her that she had been gone for weeks, that the Henderson project was falling behind, that they needed her back.
“Nora, I understand you’re going through a difficult time. But we have a business to run. You need to make a decision.”
She looked out the window at the bridge.
“I’ll be back next week,” she said.
She hung up and stared at the phone.
“You’re going back,” Eli said.
“I have to. My job, my life—”
“Your life is here now.”
“My life is a mess. Here and there.”
He stood up, wincing slightly. “Running won’t fix anything, Nora.”
“I’m not running. I’m regrouping.”
“You’re running.”
She didn’t answer.
The next morning, she packed her bags.
The inn room felt smaller than before, the walls closing in. She folded her clothes, placed the box of letters in her suitcase, and looked around for anything she might have forgotten.
Eli stood in the doorway.
“You’re really leaving.”
“I’ll be back. I just need some time.”
“How much time?”
She didn’t have an answer.
He walked to her, took her hands. “I’m not going to be here forever, Nora. The demolition is in two weeks. After that, I don’t know what happens.”
“You could come with me.”
“To New York?”
“Why not?”
“Because this is my home. Because I’m sick. Because I don’t want to die in a city that doesn’t know my name.”
She pulled him into her arms. “You’re not going to die.”
“Everyone dies, Nora.”
“Not you. Not yet.”
He held her tight.
She drove to New York that afternoon.
The four hours passed in a blur, the landscape changing from hills to suburbs to the skyline of the city. Her apartment was cold, the heat still off, the mail piled by the door. She dropped her bags and stood in the middle of the living room, feeling like a stranger in her own home.
The city was loud, bright, indifferent.
She missed the quiet of Hudson Falls. She missed the bridge. She missed Eli.
She called him that night.
“I’m here,” she said.
“How is it?”
“Lonely.”
“You’re not alone.”
“I feel alone.”
“Then come back.”
She looked out the window at the lights of the city. “I can’t. Not yet.”
The next days were a blur of meetings, deadlines, and endless emails.
Nora threw herself into work, hoping to drown out the voices in her head. But the bridge followed her everywhere — in her dreams, in her memories, in the letters she kept in her desk drawer.
She didn’t tell anyone about the brother she had never known. She didn’t tell anyone about Eli.
She just worked.
Her boss praised her focus. Her colleagues were relieved to have her back. But Nora felt like a ghost, going through the motions of a life that no longer fit.
On the fifth day, she received a letter.
It was from Eli.
Dear Nora,
I miss you. The library is quiet without you. The bridge is still standing, but it’s lonely too.
I’m not going to pressure you to come back. I know you need time. But I want you to know that I’m here. Waiting.
Don’t wait too long.
Eli
Nora read the letter three times.
Then she packed her bags again.
She drove back to Hudson Falls that night.
The moon was full, the roads empty, and the bridge was waiting.
Eli was at the library, working late. He looked up when she walked in, his eyes wide.
“You came back.”
“I came back.”
He stood up, and she walked into his arms.
“I’m done running,” she said.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”