Noel Street

by Richard Paul Evans

  * * *

  What I will always remember about that Thanksgiving is that the day started out good, ended good, and the dash between the two ends was a nightmare.

  It was snowing again when William arrived at noon. I had just brought out the turkey and the rolls were almost brown, so I asked him to carve the turkey, something he was keen to do, while I brought out the piping-hot rolls and saw to the rest of the meal. We set all the food out on the kitchen counter, then sat together around our tiny kitchen table.

  “I’ll pray,” I said. “Let’s hold hands.” I cleared my throat. “God, we thank Thee for the remarkable abundance of our lives. We are grateful that William has chosen to spend this day with us. Please bless us to serve all Thy children, especially those that are without. Amen.”

  “Amen,” my men echoed.

  I wondered if William had had a decent Thanksgiving since his childhood. He ate three plates of food, and two helpings of pie.

  “Remarkable,” William said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this full. I might pop.”

  Dylan looked concerned. “Really?”

  “No. But you should probably wear a raincoat just in case.”

  Dylan looked at me. “He’s kidding,” I said.

  “Only about the popping part,” he said. His face suddenly took on a softer expression. “How life can change. There was a time I was so hungry that I chewed on my shoe just to taste something.”

  “Yuck,” Dylan said.

  I looked at William sympathetically and took his hand.

  “Why didn’t you just go to the refrigerator?” Dylan asked.

  He looked at Dylan, then suddenly smiled. “I should have thought of that.”

  After dinner Dylan went to his room to play while I made William and myself some coffee.

  “Cream and sugar?” I asked.

  “Both, please.”

  I brought the cups over.

  “This is good,” he said. “What is it?”

  “It’s a special Kona coffee bean that Loretta buys. We don’t serve it; it’s too expensive for our customers’ tastes. But she gives it to us at cost.”

  “Membership at the diner has its privileges. Including this amazing dinner.”

  I looked at him happily. “What you said earlier, about chewing your shoe. Was that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you keep going?”

  “Some say it’s the survival instinct. But I don’t think so.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Nearly a million people take their lives each year. It’s not about survival; it’s about finding meaning in living. Even in our suffering.”

  “And you found meaning?”

  “In a twisted way, I didn’t want to let them win.” He shook his head. “Whatever it takes, I guess.”

  “It got you here,” I said.

  Just then there was a loud crash in the front room. William and I entered the living room. There was a grapefruit-sized stone in the middle of the floor. Dylan came out of his room to see what the noise was. William said to Dylan, “Stay here.” William ran to the window and looked out, but whoever had thrown it was gone.

  We both walked over to the stone. Written on it in Magic Marker was one word: NIGGER.

  William pushed the stone under the couch with his foot. “We’re getting out of here,” he said.

  I think I was in shock. “Where?”

  “My place.” He said in a voice surprisingly calm, “Dylan, how would you like to play at my house?”

  “Can I?” he asked.

  “We’ll all go,” I said.

  * * *

  Where I was paralyzed with fear, William seemed to be activated by it. “Do you want to pack some things?”

  I went into Dylan’s room and came out with his backpack. We drove in William’s truck to the side of his building, walking through thick snow to the lobby. The brindled cat I’d seen the first day was sitting on the balustrade looking down on us.

  “You have a cat?” Dylan asked.

  “He’s not mine,” William said. “He doesn’t belong to anyone. He just lives here. He might be the landlord.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I’ve named him Ho Chi Minh. Because he likes to sneak up on you when you’re not looking.”

  We walked up the stairs to William’s apartment and went inside. I took Dylan’s coat off and then my own. I noticed William left his on.

  “Can I have the keys to your house?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I took them out of my purse and handed them to him. “How come?”

  “I’m going to get some cardboard and patch up your window so the snow doesn’t come in. I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t let anyone in.”

  “Do you think we’re in danger?”

  “No. But I don’t take chances.”

  He walked out. “Where is Mr. William going?” Dylan asked.

  “He just went to fix something,” I said.

  “How come someone threw a rock through our window?”

  I didn’t know that he had comprehended what had happened.

  “I don’t know. Sometimes people do strange things because they’re afraid.”

  Dylan looked more puzzled. “What are they afraid of?”

  “Things they don’t understand,” I said. “What scares you?”

  “Bears,” he said.

  I nodded. “Me too.”

  “Did a bear throw that rock?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe.”

  * * *

  While William was gone I cleaned his apartment: washed the dishes, dusted, even mopped the floor with a cloth. The air was a little stale, so I turned up the heat and cracked a window to let some fresh air in. An hour and a half later William returned. He looked around his apartment.

  “You cleaned.”

  “I had to keep busy,” I said. “How did it go?”

  “I boarded up the window. I cleaned up the glass and then took the stone over to the police station. That one officer was there.”

  “Andy?”

  “No, the short one with a crew cut.”

  “Peter,” I said. “What did he say?”

  “He asked if we saw anything. I told him we didn’t, so he’s going to check with your neighbors to see if they saw anything.” He looked at me intensely. “He asked if you had any enemies they should know about.”

  The question angered me. I didn’t have time to make enemies. I just lived my life the best I could.

  “Not that I know of,” I said.

  “I told him about the Ketchup Lady.”

  “What did he say?”

  “The other officer had already told him about what happened at the diner. He’s driving over to her house later today to interrogate her.”

  “He knows who she is?”

  “Loretta did. She looked her up once—just in case she ended up causing any problems.”

  My heart hurt. I looked over at Dylan, who was still in the bedroom. “So what do we do now?”

  “I say we go for a ride and not let this nastiness ruin our holiday.”

  “Where?”

  “How about Salt Lake?” he said. “I heard that they turn the lights on at Temple Square Thanksgiving night.”

  “Whatever you think,” I said. The truth was, I was tired of always being in charge and having to figure out what to do. For once I just wanted to be looked out for. “When?”

  “Now.”

  I walked back to the bedroom. “Come on, Dylan. We’re going for a ride.”

  CHAPTER twenty-one

  My heart feels like a kite in a hurricane.

  —Elle Sheen’s Diary

  The drive to Salt Lake was slow. I-15 was slick and we found ourselves following a caravan of snowplows. I didn’t care. We weren’t in any hurry.

  When we arrived at the downtown area we were surprised at how empty the square was. William stopped at the curb near the center and got out. He asked someone wearing a name tag what tim
e they turned the lights on. He walked back to me. “Well, I messed that up. They turn them on the day after Thanksgiving.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s still pretty. Let’s walk around the grounds.”

  The truth was, I wasn’t disappointed. In my state of mind I wasn’t really in the mood to fight crowds. It just felt good to be somewhere else. Mostly, it felt good to be with William.

  We walked around the Temple grounds and then through one of the nearby indoor malls called the ZCMI Center. Our Thanksgiving gluttony had started to wear off, which we satiated with Chinese noodles, caramel apples, and saltwater taffy.

  The evening was calm and pleasant and, by dusk, I’d almost forgotten why we’d left Mistletoe to begin with. On the way back home Dylan fell asleep on my lap.

  “Looks like we wore him out,” William said, glancing over.

  “It’s usually the other way around,” I said.

  “Sorry I mixed up the night.”

  “I wouldn’t change a thing,” I said.

  “You can lean against me, if you want.”

  I lay my head against his shoulder. We didn’t speak much, in part because Dylan was sleeping, but mostly because the silence was enough. We drove back to his apartment.

  “I think you should stay at my place tonight,” he said softly. “You and Dylan can sleep in the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  I just nodded. William carried Dylan inside and I tucked him into the bed that I had slept next to when I was taking care of William that first night.

  “I don’t have anything to wear,” I said. In my hurry to leave I’d only packed for Dylan.

  “I might have something,” William said. He opened a drawer and pulled out a T-shirt with the Harley-Davidson logo on it. “Try this. It might be long enough.”

  He stepped out of the room. I took off everything except my underwear and donned the long T-shirt. It fell to my knees. I opened the door. “It fits.”

  He looked at me. “You look cute.”

  “If the shirt fits…”

  For a moment he just looked at me. Maybe longingly. Or maybe I just hoped.

  “Is there anything else I can get for you?” he asked.

  I walked over and hugged him. “Thank you for being so sweet. Today should have been awful. But I feel happy.”

  “So do I,” he said. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  As I looked into his eyes I felt drawn to him. Into him. We began kissing. It was several minutes before I pulled away. “I better go to bed,” I said reluctantly.

  He just looked into my eyes. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Good night.”

  “Good night,” he said. He kissed me once more, then sat down on the couch. “Sleep well.”

  “You too,” I said.

  I went back inside the bedroom and shut the door behind me.

  I couldn’t sleep. I could still taste his lips on mine. For more than an hour I just lay in the dark thinking about him. Wanting him. I looked over at Dylan to make sure he was asleep, then I pulled the covers up to his chin and got out of bed. I walked to the door, opened it, stepped out, and quietly pulled it shut behind me. William was asleep on the couch. He was mumbling a little.

  I knelt down on the floor next to him, then put my hand on his side. He stopped talking. Then he slowly turned around, his eyes open. “I want to lay with you,” I whispered.

  He just looked at me, his eyes gently studying my face, then moved as far back against the couch as he could and rolled onto his side, giving me a small perch to rest my body next to his. I climbed onto the couch, our faces just inches apart from each other. The darkness caressed his shadowed face. For a long time we just gazed into each other’s eyes. Then I said, “I’m falling for you.”

  He just looked back at me with soft eyes. “Don’t. I’m broken.”

  “I know.”

  His eyes suddenly welled with tears, which pooled above his nose and fell down his face. I gently touched the tears with my fingers and wiped them off. Then I pressed my lips to his and we kissed, softly, sweetly at first, then passionately. Everything around us dissolved into nothing. Only once before in my life had I felt that kind of love.

  CHAPTER twenty-two

  Sometimes we need the darkness to reveal our light.

  —Elle Sheen’s Diary

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 28

  I woke the next morning in William’s bed next to Dylan. Somewhere in the night William must have carried me back to his room. I was disappointed to not feel his body next to mine, but I was glad. It would have been confusing for Dylan had he come out of the room and found us together.

  With Dylan still asleep, I got dressed and went into the living room. William was gone. I didn’t know what that meant.

  Ten minutes later I heard the front door open. William walked in. His shoulders had snow on them and he was carrying a bag from the grocery store.

  “I got us something for breakfast,” he said.

  I took the sack from him and set it on the counter. Then I helped him off with his jacket, which he flung to the floor, and I put my arms around him, my head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me. I wanted to be held by him more than I could say. I didn’t know how he felt about what had passed between us during the night but I knew what I felt. I said softly, “I meant what I said last night.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “I know.”

  I knew he was having trouble saying how he felt about me. Of course, I wanted to hear it, but I didn’t care right then. He had already said it, just without words. He had shown me he cared in a hundred ways. He had shown me with his strength and anger and gentleness and vulnerability. I would rather have someone show me love and not tell me than tell me and not show me. I think we’re all that way.

  “Is Dylan still asleep?”

  I smiled. “You’d know it if he wasn’t,” I said. “Do you have any eggs?”

  “Maybe half a dozen.”

  “I can make French toast. Would you like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sit down at the table. Let me serve you.”

  “I’d rather be next to you.”

  I smiled. “Me too.”

  He stood behind me with his arms around my waist. It was romantic but not very practical to cook like that. I finally turned around and we kissed. After several minutes I breathlessly said, “Maybe you should sit on the couch or we’ll never eat.”

  He smiled, kissed me again, then walked over and sat down. As I worked I occasionally glanced over at him. His eyes were always on me, as if he were transfixed by me.

  I made coffee and cocoa and French toast, then took the remaining French toast batter and cooked it up into a light scramble.

  “I don’t have syrup,” he said.

  “You have sugar,” I said. “I can make that work.” I dissolved brown sugar and water together, then buttered a couple of pieces of toast for Dylan and put the rest on a single plate and poured syrup over the top. Then I scooped up the egg and put it next to the toast. I brought the plate to the table. “Breakfast is served.”

  “Where’s your plate?”

  “I’ll share yours.”

  He took a bite, then forked a bite for me. I opened my mouth and he fed me. I stared at him as I ate as if I couldn’t take my eyes off him. We ate the whole meal this way.

  “Do you have to work today?” he asked.

  “Tonight.” I looked at him. “How about you?”

  “Usual day.”

  “Could you drop by the diner after work? I’ll feed you.”

  “I’ll stay until closing if you want.”

  I smiled. “That would be nice.”

  He sat back. “Until we find out what happened, it would probably be best if Dylan didn’t go back to your place.” He added, “He could stay here.”

  “I think it would be better if he stayed with Fran. It would be more natural.”

&nbs
p; “Whatever you think is best.”

  I fed him the last bite of French toast. “Could you drive me to my car?”

  “Your car’s already downstairs.”

  “How did you get it here?”

  “I got Sam at the grocery store to drive it over.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He lifted our plate and stood. “I better get to work.” He took our plate to the sink and set it in water. “Would you like me to find someone to repair your window?”

  “No, I’ll call the landlady. She’s good about things like that.”

  “All right. I guess I’ll go.” He just looked at me as he breathed out slowly. “You make it hard to go.”

  I walked over to him and we kissed. “Thank you for making me feel safe.”

  “Thank you for letting me.”

  CHAPTER twenty-three

  I’m afraid I’m falling for him. That’s a lie. I’ve hit the ground without a chute.

  —Elle Sheen’s Diary

  Dylan and I returned to our duplex a little after noon. Not only had William picked up the broken glass from the window and put cardboard over it but he’d cleaned up after the Thanksgiving meal as well, wrapping the leftovers in plastic wrap or putting them in Tupperware. He had even vacuumed, which to me is one of the most romantic things a man can do.

  Gretchen, my landlady, was her typical efficient self and had someone there to repair the window even before it was time for me to leave for work. Dylan sat in the living room watching the man replace the window and chatting the poor man’s ears off.

  Fran arrived around two as the window repairman was finishing up. Outside our door was the previous window’s frame with its remaining shards and Fran had walked in past it, leaving her visibly upset.

  “Did they catch who did it?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “People are sick.”

  I looked at her softly. “Some are.”

  * * *

  I got Dylan off with Fran and then drove to work.