Safe in Noah's Arms

by Mary Sullivan

  “I came to this town bitter and more alone than I’ve ever been in my life. At first I wanted to get as much money out of our father as I could. But he was more generous than I could have possibly hoped he would be. Then I met you and saw everything that you have and all of the things I’d missed out on while growing up. I became consumed by envy.”

  Marcie could almost hear her words bouncing back from the shield Monica had erected against her.

  “The more I saw of you, the more I wanted everything you had. Actually, I guess I wanted to be you. I’m not good and kind like you are. If we’d grown up in the same house, you would have been the good daughter and I would have been the rebel. I don’t know how to change or if I can.”

  Marcie perched on the edge of the sofa and gripped one hand inside of the other.

  “I heard you returned the money to Noah,” Monica said. Marcie couldn’t determine her mood from her flat tone. “He called me. He also said that he’s willing to not lay charges, as long as I’m okay with that.” Monica turned from the window to look at Marcie for the first time since she’d entered the room. Her expression shifted. Yeah, Marcie knew she looked like hell, but Monica looked more like the ice goddess than ever. “I told him that I’m fine with you not getting charged. There’s only one thing I want from you now.”

  “Anything,” Marcie whispered fervently.

  “Where is our mother buried?”

  “I can tell you that. It’ll take you about eight hours to drive there.”

  “Eight hours. She was so close all along...”

  “Yes.” Marcie paused. “I know I have no right to ask, but there’s something I want from you, too.”

  “What?” The chill emanating from Monica was downright regal.

  “I know that I threw away my best chance of ever having a family, but I would like to find a way to start over.” She gathered her courage around her, because rejection was the one thing that could wound her most right now.

  She crossed the room, hand extended, and infused her voice with her truth. “Hello. I’m Marcie and I’m truly happy that I’ve found my sister. I’d like to get to know you.”

  She didn’t know what Monica saw on her face and why she trusted her now and never before, but slowly she reached out and took Marcie’s hand. “Hi. I’m Monica. And I would like to try.”

  It was more than she had hoped for. It was more than she deserved.

  Next stop, her father and asking his forgiveness.

  * * *

  MONICA STOOD IN front of the small unassuming headstone, a profound sadness suffusing her. In not knowing her mother, she had missed so much.

  They could have shared laughter, tears and Monica’s many firsts. How much easier would her life have been had she been able to talk to her mother when she got her first period, rather than being directed to one of Dad’s female friends?

  So, if Mom had been there, what would you have said to her?

  I don’t know. Maybe I would have wanted her to commiserate with me in what a pain this new event was going to be in my life.

  So, tell her.

  What? Now?

  Yes. Tell her.

  “It was a pain.” She felt foolish, talking out loud to a headstone. “It was such a pain. I was only fourteen and knew that I would be in for discomfort once a month for decades to come.”

  She sat down on the grass and rested her hand on the headstone.

  “I wish you had been there to talk to.” She sighed and it felt like it came from her heart instead of her lungs. Everything hurt. “I wish I’d known you.”

  That one sentence embodied all of her regrets. “I wish I had known you.”

  She sat for long minutes while the breeze played with her hair and a peace she’d never known before settled over her.

  She was coming to accept she might never have the kind of relationship with her sister that she craved. They might never have a friendship.

  But when Marcie had come to Monica’s apartment to apologize, she’d seemed different and her sincerity real. Maybe there had been a turning point in her twin.

  It remained to be seen whether they could have a relationship, though.

  And Noah? How could they work it out after his betrayal? Maybe Monica was too used to being alone. Maybe she was a little like those poor monkeys who’d been experimented on, the ones who were deprived of touch as infants and then later in life could never take the affection they so desperately wanted.

  She had never been deprived of touch—Dad had been wonderful—but she hadn’t had enough company, enough social interaction with adults and with other children. It had left her feeling like an island in the midst of a colorful, roiling ocean.

  Noah had brought her out of her shell, but where did they go from here?

  What about Noah? What do I do about Noah?

  If she couldn’t trust him, if he couldn’t trust her, it was over.

  She would have to find her own joy. The emptiness inside of her was hers, and hers alone, to fill.

  She would find joy in her new shop. She would love the work. She would be fine.

  She stayed overnight in a cold motel room not far from where her mother was buried, curled into a ball under the covers.

  How could she return to Accord and pass Noah on the street without wanting him? Yes, she was still full of anger, but it was abating.

  Realistically, when Noah had seen Monica, or the woman he had thought was her, stealing and given his past experience, he was primed to overreact. Marcie had pushed all of the right buttons.

  Could Monica forgive him? She just didn’t know.

  * * *

  NOAH WATCHED A delivery van drive up to the house.

  He trudged in from the fields to find out what the guy jumping out from behind the driver’s seat could possibly have for him. He hadn’t ordered anything.

  “Hey,” he called.

  “Hey, yourself. I’ve got a pretty big package for you.”

  He hauled it out of the back and Noah knew right away what it was.

  “Sign here.” The young guy handed him a clipboard. Noah signed. The truck drove off and Noah opened the box.

  There, among a ton of wasteful packing materials—which he nonetheless thanked his lucky stars for at this moment—was his vintage bike, restored to better than its former glory.

  All he had to do was put the front wheel on and align the handlebars properly and tighten them. He flexed the fingers of both of his hands. Earlier this morning, he’d finally had the cast removed. It felt great.

  After putting the bike together, he rode it around the farm yard, in circles, his mind echoing his movements. His thoughts had been going in circles since he’d screwed up with Monica. How did he get her back? Around and around he rode on his new-old bike.

  Getting it fixed must have cost Monica a small fortune. She couldn’t have done anything more thoughtful for him.

  She had said she would do it. When was he finally going to realize he could trust her?

  Monica. He missed her as though a piece of his flesh had been torn from his body.

  How many times could a man be the same fool? Couldn’t he just once change his knee-jerk response to her?

  He didn’t have a clue how to mend what he’d broken. His distrust of Monica had destroyed something sweet and beautiful. All he knew was that he couldn’t live the rest of his life without her.

  Around and around he rode. How could he fix this? He wasn’t about to find the answer in one of his many books. It had to come from within him...and that scared the daylights out of him. He was always so sure he knew the answer to everything. But what if he couldn’t come up with the solution to healing Monica’s heart?

  He needed to do something heroic, but he wasn’t a hero. He was an ordinary,
simple guy—a farmer, not a hero.

  While he rode his bike aimlessly, his thoughts consumed by Monica, he remembered every conversation they’d had, reviewed everything that had ever been said, that had ever been shared.

  In a wild jolt of awareness, it came to him. He stopped cycling and stared at his dilapidated old farmhouse. He knew exactly what he had to do to win back his princess.

  He needed to build her a castle.

  He would have to hustle to get it all set up before she returned home tomorrow.

  Would it be enough?

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, after one more visit with her mother, Monica drove home. She didn’t feel well. Even though she knew she could forge a new life in Accord without the love she’d thought she’d found with Noah, it would be hard.

  All through the long drive, she fought sorrow over having come so close to a transcendent love only to have it destroyed so easily.

  Tired, she unlocked her apartment door and dropped her keys onto the side table. She butted her suitcase against the wall then walked into the dark living room.

  She reached for the lamp on the glass table just inside her door. It wasn’t there. Where was it? Why wasn’t it where it should be?

  A lamp on the other side of the room flared to life. She blinked in the sudden brightness.

  Noah sat in a chintz armchair, white with large pink and green cabbage roses. It sat at the corner of a rose-colored carpet, the exact same shade as the roses in the chair. On the other corner was a matching chair, empty.

  A brass and stained-glass lamp sat on a small rosewood table with curled legs.

  Noah looked good. Better than good. He looked vital and big and colorful. The only thing missing was his usual confidence. He was unsure of her and her response. She didn’t blame him.

  She wasn’t yet sure of her response.

  He’d gutted her living room. Other than the cozy tableau he’d set up in front of the fireplace, the room was empty.

  What she really wanted to do was cross the great distance separating them, and she wasn’t talking about the bare room, but the gaping chasm of distrust.

  A large black-and-white photograph of Noah’s farm hung above the mantel. That’s how it must have looked in her great-grandparents’ time, the house still new and freshly painted.

  “I found the photo in the newspaper’s archives.” He sounded oh-so-hopeful.

  She didn’t know what to say, so she opted for the first thing that came to mind. “Where’s my furniture?”

  “In storage. I can have it all moved back here tomorrow and the apartment returned to the way it was, if that’s what you want.”

  No, that wasn’t what she wanted.

  “If what I did was wrong, I’m sorry. I needed to find some way to reach you, to break through your anger, and the pain of my betrayal. I’m not articulate enough to do this right by words alone.”

  He was doing all right so far. She wasn’t ready to let him off the hook yet, though. There was so much more she needed to hear.

  “Will you sit? Please?”

  She did.

  He kneeled in front of her. “I love you, Monica.”

  Yes. That was one of the things she wanted to hear. When she opened her mouth to speak, he stopped her.

  “Hear me out, okay?”

  She nodded.

  “I will never doubt you again. I have come to realize you are the most trustworthy, honest person I’ve ever met.”

  He grasped the arms of the chair, caging her. “I like your morals. I like your ethics. I like how you take the high road.”

  “Not lately.”

  “Lately you’ve been provoked beyond reason.”

  She nodded. “I have.”

  “I have loved you forever. I’ve loved you since I realized how much I liked the differences between boys and girls.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He’d done that once before. She’d liked it then and she still liked it now.

  “I have loved you since the day when I was a young boy and you walked past me on the street and I thought, she’s the one. I’ve loved you since I was a gangly, awkward, stuttering teenage fool.”

  With his thumb, he rubbed her bottom lip. “I loved you while I chased all of those long-legged, blonde beauties who looked like you, but weren’t you. I was disappointed every time. There is no one on this earth like you.”

  He cradled her cheek in his big palm. “Imagine my surprise now that I know you and find how truly good and kind and wonderful you are. You are perfect. I have always loved you and I will love you from now into eternity.”

  “Noah?”

  “Yes?”

  “Some day I want you to tell me about all of those women, but not now.” She fished in her purse for an embroidered handkerchief and wiped her eyes so she could see his cherished face clearly. “Someday let’s talk about your gangly years because, honestly, I don’t remember you ever being gangly. I remember you as always handsome.”

  She touched the one freckle on his bottom lip. “Right now I don’t want to talk anymore. I want to make love. Can we do that?”

  “Oh, baby, we can do that until we’re both crippled.”

  She launched herself into his arms and he caught her. They fell back onto the floor with her straddling him.

  “While I love this position, you have to stop doing this. It’s hard on my back.” He tempered his criticism with a satisfied grin.

  His hands roamed her back. Her eyes flew open. Hands! She squealed. “You got your cast off.”

  “Yeah. Feels great.”

  “Noah, I’m so, so sorry I ran you down that night.”

  “I’m not. If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here right now. I would have still been wandering around town too intimidated to talk to you.”

  “And I would have still been intimidated by you. But I’m still sorry I hurt you.”

  He tucked her hair behind her ear, ran his fingers along her jawline and down her throat, and to shivery parts beyond, leaving a trail of goose bumps.

  “Oh, Noah, I do love you so.”

  They made love there on the floor, in the living room of her future. Noah had packed away the living room of her past for her and she couldn’t be happier.

  Much later, they showered then walked naked to her bedroom.

  Noah directed her to the white lace bed.

  “Lie down,” he said. “Since the first day I saw this bed, I’ve wanted to make love to you here.”

  “Really?”

  She stretched her lean body on top of the lace bedspread. The lace suited her. This room was warm, alive with who Monica was.

  “How could we have imagined all of those weeks ago that we’d end up here?”

  She reached for him and he lay down beside her. “I’m more happy than I’ve ever been in my life.”

  “Me, too. I didn’t know this kind of happiness was possible. It’s like I’ve lived my whole life with my eyes closed and now they’re finally open.”

  “Yes, and everything’s bright and vibrant.”

  He made love to her with all of her white lace embracing them.

  Later, sated beside him, she asked, “How will we work out our lives?”

  “Would you live at the farm?”

  “Of course. I love it there. It would feel a bit like coming full circle.”

  “Will you marry me and bring this gorgeous bed to the farm with you?”

  She giggled. “All you want me for is my bed.”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “All I want you for is what you do in bed.”

  “I have something for you.” She rose up onto her elbow and leaned across him, brushing the tips of her nipples over his chest.

  “
Hallelujah and glory be.”

  He tried to reach for her breasts, but Monica avoided his roving hands and giggled again. She opened the bedside table and took out a small bottle. “Smell this. It’s a cologne I designed for you.”

  He took it from her with wonder. “You made me my own cologne?”

  He sat up and opened the bottle. The scent that greeted him was rich and complex. “Cinnamon? I like it!”

  Monica combed her fingers through his hair. “I love your red hair. I thought the cinnamon suited you.”

  “Yeah, it does. I love this.”

  “May I ask you a favor? Can you grow back your hair and beard?”

  “Honestly, I’ve been missing it. Why are you asking me to grow it back? I thought maybe you found it too scruffy.”

  “At first I did, but not anymore. Now I love it. You have a handsome face, and I do like to see it.” She traced his freckles with her index finger. “But you are so you when you are covered with red hair.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. She kissed his bared throat.

  “Ah, Monica, I’m going to enjoy loving you for the rest of our lives.” He set about proving his point in the white lace of her bed.

  Fifteen Years Later

  STANDING AMID THE hustle and bustle swirling around her like a colorful carousel, Monica Accord thought back to when it all started. She wasn’t a violent person, but she thanked her lucky stars that she had broken Noah Cameron’s arm all of those years ago.

  She stood in the farmhouse kitchen on the living-room side of the counter and felt Noah come up behind her, his energy preceding him.

  He wrapped his arms around her from behind. She rested her head back against his shoulder.

  “It’s nice to have the family together, isn’t it?” His voice rumbled, getting deeper with age. Every spring, no matter what else was happening in their lives, or in town, the family came together for a full weekend to help Noah plant his fields.

  Monica closed up her shop, Hidden Treasures, and Marcie set aside her jewelry-making that Monica sold in her store. Both the shop and the gallery she opened all of those years ago had been a success. Her clientele had built slowly but steadily. Monica was her own businesswoman and she loved it.