He began to sob. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
Macy’s voice softened. “I need to go now,” she said. Macy leaned forward and held him.
When he could speak, he asked, “Will I see you again?”
She nodded. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
He continued to weep as Macy walked out of the room. I glanced back once more at him before I left. I pitied him too.
Macy was quiet for most of the drive home. I couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. When we stopped at an intersection on State Street, she erupted, “Why do I have to go back there? Why does that woman have to be part of this?”
I glanced over at her. “Remember, you dreamed about this; that you had to go back to the Hummels’ to find Noel.”
“It’s not fair.”
“Maybe there’s a reason you need to go back.”
“Yeah,” she said sarcastically, “like I haven’t suffered enough.”
“Maybe it’s because you have.”
She didn’t answer me, just looked out the window the rest of the way home. It was late and I sensed that she wanted to be alone, so I dropped her off, then went back to my apartment.
I don’t know exactly how or when it happened, but Macy has me.
MARK SMART’S DIARY
Once, in a church sermon, I heard a preacher say that if you drop a frog into a pan of boiling water, it will hop out. But if you drop the frog into cool water then add boiling water a teaspoon at a time, you can boil it alive.
The preacher was speaking metaphorically about sin—which is good because I don’t know why anyone would want to boil a frog. But I think the preacher could have used the same analogy about romantic love as well. Sometimes love happens so gradually that by the time you realize you’re in it, you’re already cooked—if you’ll pardon the pun. At least that’s the way it was with Macy and me.
I couldn’t tell you when I decided to ask Macy to marry me, but it was on the way home from her father’s house that I first realized that I had.
To an onlooker, I know this probably seems crazy. After all, I’d only known Macy for three weeks, but it seemed much longer. To misquote Frost, what my feelings lacked in length they made up for in height. I was madly, head-over-heels, pinch-me-if-I’m-dreaming in love with this girl. I wanted us to be together and couldn’t imagine any other alternative. When you’ve finally met the one person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. I decided Thanksgiving was the right time to pop the question.
Today Macy confronted her greatest fear and in doing so, herself. Usually life’s greatest gifts come wrapped in adversity.
MARK SMART’S DIARY
The school was closed Monday for parent-teacher conferences, and I had to go in to work early. I was finished by three and called Macy on the way home to check up on her. “I’m going to see Irene,” she told me. Her voice sounded hard with determination.
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“I have to do this alone. Will you come over later tonight?”
“Yes. What time?”
“About eight.”
“I’ll be there. Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’ll need it.”
Driving back to the old neighborhood filled Macy with dread. The Hummel home was only five miles from where she and Joette currently lived, but in Macy’s mind it had been relegated to another part of the world. Or solar system. Her hands were clammy with cold sweat and she wiped them on her pant legs.
The street was shorter and narrower than she remembered. It had been almost seven years since she’d been there, and she felt like a war veteran returning to the scene of a great battle. It looked so harmless and peaceful now.
She parked across the street from the house. It hadn’t changed much since she left, though it too looked smaller than she remembered. Very little ever changed at the Hummel house by design; only by neglect and deterioration.
There was an old tomato-red Dodge truck parked in the driveway with a yellow snowplow mounted on its front and a magnetic sign on the driver’s side door that read HUMMEL YARD CARE.
Macy stepped out of her car, walked up to the front door and knocked firmly, as if to prove to herself the strength of her resolve. She didn’t bother with the doorbell. It had never worked while she lived there, and she knew no one would ever get around to fixing it.
Bart answered the door. Macy hadn’t seen him since she left. Even when they were children he was much bigger than she, and he’d grown considerably: he was now nearly a foot taller than Macy. Even though it was winter, he wore basketball shorts and a T-shirt. His jaw was shaded with stubble and he held a can of cheap beer in one hand. He looked at her and a smile of recognition crossed his face. “Hey, Mace!”
“Hi, Bart.”
“What are you doing here? Come in.”
She was surprised by his welcome. She stepped inside the house. The house looked almost the same as when she left—in fact, it looked the same as when she first came to the Hummels’. The one change was a new armoire with a television inside.
As she looked around the room, memory and resentment poured in like water into a capsizing boat. The house still stunk of dog and it made her nauseous. She wondered how she’d lived with it for all those years. She expected Buster to come charging in at any moment growling and threatening as he did with all intruders. He didn’t.
“Buster still around?”
“Nah. He died a couple years back.” Bart shut the door behind her. “Want a beer?”
“No thanks.”
He pointed to the sofa. “Take a load off.”
Macy looked around cautiously. There was no sign of Irene. She sat down on the sofa. The fabric on the cushions was worn thin, and the springs gave more than they should for a person her size.
“I didn’t think we’d ever see you again.”
Macy looked at the cold piece of buttered toast sitting on the cushion next to her and wondered how old it was. She set it on the armrest. “Neither did I.”
Bart sat down across from her, holding the can with both hands between his legs.
“You got really pretty. You married?”
“No.”
“So what brings you around?”
“I came to see Irene. Is she here?”
“She’s always here.”
“She doesn’t leave anymore?”
“The house?” he asked, as if she were joking. “Nah, she leaves the bedroom sometimes, but not even that much anymore.” He lifted the can to his mouth and drained it. “She mostly just lays in there and hollers for me.”
“Is she sleeping now?”
“That or watching TV.” He crushed the can in his hand. “So where do you live? Are you still in Utah?”
“I live downtown.”
He nodded. “How’s your place?”
“It’s nice. I have a roommate.” Macy glanced nervously toward the hall, wondering if Irene might choose this time to make a rare appearance.
“So what do you need to talk to her about?”
“I’m looking for my sister.”
Bart looked at her quizzically. “Sheryl’s in Colorado.”
“My real sister.”
Just then a shrill screech came from the hallway. “Bart!” A sardonic smile crossed Bart’s face as if to say See what I put up with? Not thirty seconds later it came again with the same intensity. “Bart!”
“What!” he shouted back.
“Who’s there?”
He looked at Macy. “She’s really on one today. It’s one of her migraine days. You sure you want to see her?”
“I’m sure I don’t want to. But I need to.”
“Okay.” He stood. “C’mon.”
They walked to the door at the end of the darkened hallway. Bart opened the door slightly, stepping into the shadow of the room. The light was off and the blinds were drawn. Macy slipped in behind him.
; “Who’s here?” Irene asked. Her voice was low and grating. All Macy could make out was a large mass in the bed. The top of the mass turned. “Who’s that with you?”
“It’s Macy.”
“Who?”
“Macy. Your daughter.”
The mass didn’t move. “What does it want?”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
Macy moved closer to the bed. She could now make out the woman underneath the blankets. Irene had gained at least fifty pounds, and Macy was surprised to see how much she had aged in the years since she left. Macy spoke calmly. “I came to see if you know where my sister Noel is.”
The woman reached over and took a drink from a glass on the nightstand. She choked on it. After she stopped gagging, she said, “Why would I know that?”
“Because you know who her adopted parents are.”
Irene sniffed a little. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. I need to know what their last name is.” Irene again reached for her glass and took another drink, followed by an even greater eruption of coughing. She wiped her mouth with her arm. “Where you been?”
“I need to know what Noel’s parents’ name is.”
“Can’t help you,” she said, turning over.
Macy exhaled in frustration. Bart approached the bed. “Tell her, mother.”
“I won’t,” she said, sounding absurdly childish.
“Tell her now.”
Mrs. Hummel said nothing.
“Okay. I’m calling.” He walked to the phone and lifted the receiver. “I should have done this months ago.” He pressed several numbers on the keypad.
“Wait, don’t,” Irene said. There was panic in her voice.
“Then tell her.”
The woman’s anxiety was palpable.
“Better hurry, it’s ringing.”
“It’s Thorup,” she bleated.
“Thorup?” Bart echoed.
“He’s a lawyer. Lived up in one of them fancy rich neighborhoods on the mountain.”
Bart hung up the phone.
“Are you sure?” Macy asked.
“Course I’m sure,” she said bitterly. “You don’t forget a name like Thorup. Sounds like ‘throw up.’”
Macy just shook her head, then looked over at Bart. “Thank you.” She walked to the door.
“Where you going?!” Irene shouted.
“Home,” Macy said.
Bart followed her out to the front porch. Macy stopped to talk to him. “Thanks for your help.”
“Least I could do. You okay?”
“Yeah.” She cocked her head. “Who were you calling?”
“Actually no one. But she thought I was calling the old folks home. It’s like a cattle prod. I just keep threatening to have her sent away. Sometimes it’s the only way to get her to do something.” He frowned. “It had to be hard for you… coming back here.”
“I thought it would be worse. You know, you build some people up in your mind, and they become powerful and frightening. When I saw her lying there, all I felt was pity.”
“I’m sorry about how she treated you. How we all treated you.”
Macy looked at him thoughtfully. “You’ve grown up.”
Bart smiled but didn’t reply.
“Where’s Ronny and Sheryl?”
“Ron got married and joined the army. He’s stationed in Maryland. Sheryl got married too, but she’s already divorced. She lives in Boulder with her little boy.”
“What about you? What are you up to?”
“I mow my lawns. In the winter I push snow. And between that I take care of Mom.”
“Lucky you.”
“Someone’s gotta do it. But it’s not all bad. She keeps to her room most the time. It’s free rent and she’s got cable.” He rubbed his nose. “I don’t think she’ll be around much longer. Doctor says she has early-onset old-timers; half the time she don’t know where she is. You’re lucky you asked her before she forgot.”
“I guess I am.” Macy leaned forward and for the first time in her life, she and her brother hugged. “Take care, Bart.”
“You too.”
Macy stepped down the sidewalk. When she got to the curb, Bart shouted after her.
“Hey.”
She turned.
“Don’t be a stranger. Come ’round sometime.”
Macy managed a half smile. “You take care of yourself.” She walked to her car, and for the first time she truly left the Hummels behind.
Tonight Macy fell asleep in my arms. I’m not sure that Heaven could be anything more than that.
MARK SMART’S DIARY
I was waiting for Macy when she got home. We sat together on the couch, the room dark except for the dancing indigo glow of the television. We weren’t as interested in the show as we were in holding each other. At the end of the program I shut off the television, leaving the room completely dark and momentarily silent. Macy snuggled into me.
“Mark, I’m scared,” she said softly.
“Of what?”
“Of finding her.” More silence. “You know, I feel like I’ve come all this way to stop a foot in front of the finish line. I don’t know if I can do this.”
Just then the grandmother’s clock in the entryway struck one, followed by a Winchester chime. When the sound dissipated, I said. “Are you afraid that she won’t care?”
She took a deep breath. “What if she doesn’t?”
“I don’t know.” I ran my fingers back through her hair. “But do you know what would be worse?”
“What?”
“If she had been waiting for you her whole life and you never went because you were afraid.”
She was quiet a long time. “You’re pretty smart sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?”
“Just sometimes.”
I pulled her in closer, then lightly tickled her back with my hand. When Joette came home, Macy was asleep on my chest.
I have never felt truly at ease around the clean, shiny people of this world. Life has taught me the most trustworthy and honest are usually those who are frayed around the edges. Not always but usually.
MARK SMART’S DIARY
It wasn’t hard for Macy to find the Thorups’ address. There were only two Thorups in the Salt Lake Valley and only one on the East Side. Still, it was two more days, the day before Thanksgiving, before Macy was ready to see Noel.
The Thorups lived in a well-groomed development of upper-middle-class homes—a demographic of soccer moms and luxury automobiles. Macy had never driven to this part of Salt Lake before. The snow on the ground was substantially deeper than in the valley, and the plows had left snow-banks in front of the homes more than a yard high in some places.
The Thorup home was at the end of a cul-de-sac lined with tall winter-barren trees that overhung the street. Macy rechecked the address, then parked her car in front of the house. She climbed out of her car and stared at the home in awe.
Noel lived in a two-story French chateau with a stone and glazed-stucco façade. Near the front door was a turret that rose nearly thirty feet and was capped with a weathered verdigris-copper roof and finial. The garage alone was bigger than Macy’s home, she thought, and it made her happy to think her sister had grown up in such a palace. It was the most beautiful house she’d ever seen.
The yard was edged with flat-trimmed shrubs. There were plastic reindeer on the front lawn and even though it was daytime, the Christmas lights had been left on. A Volvo station wagon with the dealer’s paper license plate still in the back window sat in the cobblestone driveway.
Macy walked slowly up the brick-lined walkway to the entrance, an enormous portico that protruded from the turret. The front door was a massive slab of oak, arched on top, with raised paneling engraved with hand-sized fleurs-de-lis. The center of the door was adorned with a large Christmas wreath of grapevine, holly and eucalyptus tied with ribbon and ornamented with pomegranates.
In front of the door was a seasonal red-and-green doormat that read WELCOME SANTA, which was partially eclipsed by a flyer announcing the local Boy Scout troop’s annual Thanksgiving food drive. Noel’s home was more than across town. It was a whole different world.
Macy stood on the doorstep for a moment, her breath clouding in the air in front of her. Thoughts began flooding into her head and the reality of the impending meeting filled her with panic. Would she recognize her sister when she saw her? Would her sister know her? What would she say if she didn’t? Hi, you don’t know me, but I’m your sister.
There was a massive brass doorknocker in the center of the wreath; Macy knocked with it three times. Though she thought she heard movement inside the house, no one came to the door. She pressed the doorbell. There was a bright, lengthy chime inside the home, followed by soft, quick footsteps.
The door was opened by an attractive woman who looked to be in her late forties. She was thin, with short, blond hair. She wore a gray wool turtleneck with a silver, flat-linked chain with three pearls, pearl earnings, a gray wool skirt and black leather pumps. Though she smiled at Macy, there was cautiousness behind her cheerful façade. “May I help you?”
Macy dug her hands deeper in her pockets. “Hi. Mrs. Thorup? I’m looking for Noel.”
The woman looked at her quizzically. “Noel?”
“Christina Noel?”
The woman’s expression became even more strained. “No one’s called her that for a long time. Christy isn’t here.”
Christy? “Do you expect her back soon? I can wait.”
“Christy’s not living here. May I ask who you are?”
Something about the way the woman asked made Macy even more uncomfortable. Then the woman’s expression showed sudden understanding. “You’re Macy, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Of course you are. You look like Christy.” The woman stepped back, unblocking the entry. “I was just on my way out, but you can come in for a minute.”
Macy looked around, suddenly apprehensive about entering the house.
Finding Noel Page 10