Noel Street

by Richard Paul Evans

  “What a good woman,” William said.

  “Yes, she is.” I smiled sadly. “She saved my life. I found out later that her only son had committed suicide just two months earlier and she was still raw.”

  William seemed to process this. Then he asked, “She offered you a job?”

  “No, she never really hired me. It more or less just happened. At first I started helping out just to thank her. I did dishes, helped in the kitchen, then I started pouring water and bussing tables for the waitresses. They started sharing their tips.

  “The other waitresses were sweet as can be. It was like Dylan had a plethora of mothers. They helped watch Dylan and I helped them all I could. I don’t know where I’d be without them.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “I haven’t talked to them since I left home. They’re pretty much dead to me.”

  “What was your relationship like before you left?”

  His question surprised me. “It was good, once. My father and I used to be really close. When I was sixteen, I didn’t get asked to my first prom. That night I was in bed, crying. He knocked on my door and then came in. He said, ‘Why aren’t you dressed? We have reservations.’ He had bought me a corsage. He took me out to dinner and dancing.” I looked down, the memory freshly burning. “We used to be close.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “We never really got along. My mother drank a lot. She really struggled, but the demon owned her. I used to ask my father why he stayed with her, but he just said, ‘A soldier never leaves his post.’ ”

  I swished what was left of the wine in my glass. “You have to give him credit. He was loyal. At least to her. Not so much to me. Maybe that’s what makes it hurt so much.”

  “I’m really sorry,” he said.

  “So here I am. I always thought, once my husband gets back, everything will change. I might even finish school.”

  “What did you want to do?”

  “I wanted to be a writer.”

  “Like… books?”

  I nodded.

  “Maybe someday I’ll write my story.”

  “I’d read it,” he said.

  “Thanks. I’ll autograph it for you.” I breathed out. “Enough about me. What about you? What brings you to Mistletoe?”

  “My truck,” he said.

  “Something brought you here,” I said. “No one arrives in Mistletoe by accident.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” he said. He took a drink of wine, looked at me, then said, “I figured it was a nice place to die.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was joking or how to respond, but the moment was interrupted by our waitress. “Sorry for the wait, here is your Spaghetti alle Vongole,” she said, setting the plate in front of William. “And your lasagna, ma’am. Would you like some Parmesan cheese?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The waitress grated cheese over my pasta. “And you, sir?”

  He raised a hand. “No, thank you. I have it on good authority that Italians never put cheese on seafood.”

  “Very well,” she said. “Buon appetito.” She walked away.

  I picked up the conversation. “So, you won’t tell me what brought you here, maybe you’ll tell me where you came from.”

  “Denver. Most recently.”

  “What did you do there?”

  “I worked at a car dealership for a while, maintaining cars.”

  “Did you always want to be an auto mechanic?”

  “It was more something I did than aspire to. I was raised in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I guess being that close to the Indianapolis Speedway, cars got into my blood. I always wanted to race cars.”

  “But you moved to Denver?”

  “After the war…” He hesitated. “Things changed.”

  We ate a moment in silence. Loretta was right; the lasagna was delicious.

  William took another drink of wine, then said, “The thing about war is, everything you think you know about humanity, or about yourself, is challenged. Especially in a conflict like Vietnam.” He looked at me over his glass. “Did you know that Vietnam wasn’t even a war? It was never approved by Congress, so technically it’s considered a conflict.” He shook his head. “Semantics and politics. When bullets are flying at you, it doesn’t matter what you call it.”

  “Were you drafted?”

  “Sort of,” he said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “If I tell you, you’re going to totally wonder what you’re doing with me.”

  I smiled. “I already am.”

  “Then I have nothing to lose,” he said, grinning lightly. “So I’m what they call a two-or-ten.”

  “Two or ten?”

  “The judge pounded his gavel and gave me a choice: two years in ’Nam or ten years in prison. I chose the former.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Got in with the wrong crowd, mostly. I ended up spending time in prison anyway—the Hanoi Hilton. I would have done better at home.” His voice fell an octave. “At least they’re not allowed to torture you in US prisons.”

  I let his words settle. “You served your country. That was an honorable thing.”

  “I wish it were that simple,” he said. “I risked my life and had no idea what I was fighting for—a corrupt dictatorship that represented almost everything we’re fighting against?” He took another drink of wine. “Needless to say, I’m pretty much a hot mess.”

  I had never before heard the term but liked it. “A hot mess. That sums us both up.”

  “The difference between you and me is that you can’t afford chaos,” he said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you care about your son more than yourself,” he said. “You’re a good person.”

  “So are you,” I said.

  He looked at me skeptically. “Now that’s the wine talking.”

  I reached over and touched his hand. “No, it’s my gratitude talking. What you did for me… Aside from Loretta, no one has ever helped me like that. Dylan and I are barely getting by. It would have taken me years to pay off that debt. You didn’t even know me and yet you helped us. Hot mess or not, you have a good heart.”

  He took another drink and said nothing. He went to pour more wine into my glass but I put my hand over it. “That’s enough. Are you trying to get me tipsy?”

  “I’m just trying to make you feel good.”

  I looked at him for a moment, then said, “It’s been a long time since anyone has tried to do that.”

  “Am I succeeding?”

  I smiled. “Spectacularly.”

  We split a piece of tiramisu and, I confess, I had another glass of wine. It was the most relaxed I had felt in years.

  Around nine o’clock he asked, “What time do you need to be back?”

  “It doesn’t matter. My sitter is spending the night.”

  “Can I show you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Come with me.”

  It was late and the restaurant was only half-full as we left the parking lot. William drove us about six miles up alongside a small canyon I’d never been to before. The canyon road was narrow and snow-packed. About four miles up the canyon he stopped his truck next to a large snowbank. It was dark, and the granite walls were mostly concealed by snow-frosted pines whose tops disappeared into the darkness of night.

  “Is this it?” I asked.

  “No. It’s down that road a quarter mile. But there’s more snow than I thought there’d be. I don’t want to get the truck stuck. And you’re not dressed for walking in snow.”

  “What is it that you wanted to show me?”

  “It’s just a place,” he said.

  “What kind of place?”

  He turned to me. “A peaceful place.”

  I looked at him for a moment and then said, “I want to see it.”

  “You’ll get cold. Especially your feet.”

  “It’s a small price to pay for peace
.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “I’m sure.”

  He got out of the truck and walked around to my door and opened it and helped me down. He took my hand. “If it gets too cold, just tell me and we’ll come back.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Hiking through the snow was harder than I expected. The snow was up to our knees in places as we trudged along a narrow, uncleared path surrounded on both sides by columnar trees, white and frozen, lining the path like marble pillars. The cold air froze our breath in front of us.

  Suddenly we came to a clearing that overlooked the valley below. William stopped. “This is it.”

  “Oh my,” I said. In front of us was a waterfall, the exterior draped in an intricate lacework of ice. The sound of laughing, rushing water escaped the ice veil and fell below into a river whose banks were piled with snow. Everything around us was white, crystal, and blue, lit by a full moon that hung naked in the winter air.

  “They call this Lace Veil Falls,” he said.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice muffled in the blanket of winter that surrounded us. I looked at him. “How did you find this place?”

  “I found it the day after I moved to Mistletoe,” he said. “I sat up here one night and just looked out over the valley.”

  “In the cold?” I asked.

  “In the cold…”

  His words trailed off in silence.

  After a while I said to him, “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said softly. He turned and looked at me. I had my arms crossed at my chest and I was shivering.

  “You’re freezing.”

  “I’m a little cold.”

  “Let’s get you back.” We walked about twenty yards when he looked at me and said, “Your feet must be frozen.”

  “It’s not much farther,” I said.

  “I can carry you.”

  “Really, you don’t have to…”

  He reached down and lifted me, his muscular arms embracing me. “This is better.”

  I was thinking the same thing. It felt good to be in his arms as he effortlessly carried me through the thick powder. He carried me all the way to his truck, set me down, and opened the door, then lifted me in. It was the most romantic thing I’d experienced in years. When he got back in the truck he was quiet. Then I noticed that his eyes were wet.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He didn’t look at me. He just started his truck and then reached over and turned on the heater, turning the vent toward me.

  “What is it?” I asked again.

  “It’s nothing.”

  I reached over and touched his arm. “Something just happened, didn’t it?”

  He took a deep breath, then said, “Thank you for sharing that with me. I wanted to share that with someone.”

  We drove in silence back to my duplex. It was almost midnight when we arrived. We parked at the curb, and William walked me to the door.

  “Thank you for tonight,” I said. “It was really nice talking to you.”

  “Would you like to go out again?”

  “I would love to.”

  He thought a moment, then said, “Is tomorrow too soon?”

  I was happy that he was so eager. “I’d love to but I work tomorrow night.”

  “How about Saturday?”

  “I work at night, but during the day I could do something.” I caught myself. “I’m sorry… I promised Dylan I’d take him tubing.”

  “We can do that,” he said.

  “You want to go tubing with us?”

  “It sounds fun. As long as you wear the shoes for it.”

  I smiled. “I wasn’t going to wear boots to a nice restaurant.”

  “And the evening was the better for it,” he said. “So, as far as the tubing goes, I have inner tubes and an air compressor at the shop. The tubes will fit better in the back of my truck than in your Fairlane.”

  “You talked me into it,” I said.

  “What time would you like to go?”

  “Is nine good?”

  “It’s good for me.”

  Our words gone, we stood there quietly looking at each other. I wondered if he was going to kiss me. I was hoping he would. Instead he put out his hand. “Thank you.”

  I took his hand. “You’re welcome. Good night.”

  I opened the door and stepped inside. I couldn’t wait to see him again.

  CHAPTER fifteen

  Why is it that the people with the smallest minds have the biggest mouths?

  —Elle Sheen’s Diary

  “How did the date go?” Jamie asked the next morning, pouring cream into a coffee cup.

  I must have smiled. It was kind of automatic.

  “That good, huh?”

  “He was really sweet. And the restaurant was amazing.”

  “So, is there a sequel to this romance?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a romance.”

  “What would you call it?”

  I smiled wider. “Fun.”

  “That’s even better,” she said. “So when are you seeing him again?”

  “We’re going tubing with Dylan tomorrow.”

  “Getting in with the son. That’s fast.”

  “It’s not that. He asked me out and I’d already made plans with Dylan, so he offered to come along.”

  “Sounds like romance to me,” Loretta said, walking past us to the kitchen.

  “That woman should work for the CIA,” Jamie said.

  “Thought about it,” she shouted back.

  About an hour into my shift I got a call from Fran. She sounded awful. “Elle, I’m so sorry. I’ve come down with something. I’m so sick I had to miss school.”

  “What do you have?”

  “Everything. I’ve got a sore throat, chills, fever. I could feel it coming on last night. I don’t think I should watch Dylan.”

  I wondered if I passed it on to her from William. “I’m sorry. I’ll pick up Dylan and bring him here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. You get some rest. Get better.”

  “How was your date last night?”

  “It was nice,” I said. “You take care of yourself. I need you.”

  “I need you too. Bye.”

  It wasn’t the first time I had to bring Dylan with me to the diner. Fortunately, Loretta was always good about it. In fact, I think she enjoyed it.

  A little after two o’clock I picked Dylan up from school, stopped by home to get him something to do, then came back to work. Loretta was in her office when we walked through the back door.

  “I’m sorry, Loretta. Fran’s sick, so I had to get Dylan.”

  She smiled at Dylan. “Lucky us,” she said. “How’s my handsome man?”

  “Good, Ms. Loretta. Can I have a hot chocolate?”

  “Of course you can. With whipped cream?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You have such nice manners that I’m going to get you a donut to go with that.”

  “Just sugar him up,” I said.

  “Someone’s got to,” Loretta said.

  I said to Dylan, “Hang up your coat, then take your bag out to the corner table. You can do your Spirograph. Just don’t bother anybody.”

  “I won’t.” He hung up his coat and walked out to the table in the farthest corner of the dining room. There’s a reason I had told him not to bother anyone. Dylan was always well behaved, but he was naturally curious as well as a consummate socialite and liked talking to strangers. And, frankly, now and then there were people in the diner I didn’t really want him talking to.

  I took him his hot chocolate and donut, then went back to work.

  Around six o’clock I was taking an order when I noticed William walk through the front door. He was wearing a green army jacket with his hands deep in his pockets. I waved to him and he smiled and tipped his head. I finished taking the table’s order and then walked over to him.
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  “Hi. What brings you here?”

  “I just thought I’d come get something to eat.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Then your being here has nothing to do with me?”

  He grinned “Maybe a little.”

  I felt like a smile was commandeering my face. “I had such a good time last night.”

  “Me too,” he said. “You’re pretty good company. Sorry about the snow hike.”

  “Frostbite aside, it was my favorite part of the night,” I said. “I’m serving this side, so just grab a table. Dylan’s back there. Why don’t you go on back and say hello?”

  “Dylan’s here?”

  I nodded. “My sitter called in sick.”

  “I won’t be eating alone after all,” he said. He headed back toward Dylan. Dylan looked up with a big smile which, of course, translated to an even larger smile on my face.

  A few minutes later I took William’s order. It was interesting watching Dylan respond to being with him. He ordered the same thing William did—a toasted tuna salad sandwich with coleslaw and fries. And a large dill pickle. I don’t think I’d ever seen Dylan eat a pickle before.

  A few minutes later Andy walked in. He was in uniform but alone this time. I sat him just a few tables from William before wondering if, considering their last encounter, that was such a great idea. As I walked back to the kitchen I noticed that William got up and walked over to Andy’s table and shook his hand.

  It was about twenty minutes later when I was just coming back to the kitchen after serving Dylan and William that Jamie said, “Sorry, baby, she’s baaaaack.” I looked over. Ketchup Lady was there.

  “Oh no.”

  “My section’s light, I can take her.”

  “No, I’m good, if you don’t mind seating her.”

  “That woman seats herself, but I’ll take her a menu.” Jamie walked out to the woman, while I walked back and grabbed a pitcher of water. I passed Jamie on the way to the dining room. “She sat herself at sixteen. Her usual.”