Nobody's Baby but Mine

by Marianne Evans

  “I want a workshop so much.”

  He passed the remark casually as he knelt to study a tractor and trailer set so expertly crafted it shone in the sun. Charlotte dug a bit deeper, to the wistfulness that ran just beneath Noah’s words. When she joined him and stroked her fingertips against the wheels, the silky texture of the wood dazzled her and instantly won her respect.

  “Did you have a workshop? When you were in Shreveport?”

  “Yeah, by mere happenstance the apartment complex where I lived had a number of attached storage units. The guy who owned the place converted one into a workshop. That motivated me to invest in some tools.” Noah looked over his shoulder. “He gave me free access once I built it up. That’s how I started my job as a handyman at the facility.”

  “Where are the tools now?”

  “They’re in storage.” Yoda plopped into an untidy sprawl at Noah’s feet. “They’re there, and they’re mine. I’ll reclaim them when the time is right.”

  Charlotte filled Yoda’s water bowl then stretched her back, savoring the sensation of sunlight on her cheeks. “I’ll bet Kevin Mitchell could hook you up with some space at the Haven.”

  Tractor and trailer in hand, Noah stood up while Charlotte’s fur-baby lapped water like a greedy sponge. Charlotte grinned. Evidently, Dylan was in for a nice treat from his uncle tonight.

  “Actually, I called him. We’re going to meet tomorrow morning. He thinks I might be able to help him out around the complex. He wants to hear what I can do.”

  “That’s great news.”

  Therein he might find permanence, added roots pushing through rich, nourishing soil. Her heart tumbled and spun. When she returned the half-full water bottle to her knapsack, her fingertips slid against the edge of her cell phone. An idea struck.

  “Hey, Noah, come here. Let’s do a selfie.”

  Noah laughed at the request and nodded. “Absolutely. Hey, let’s not forget to be inclusive. We should complete the shot.”

  To Charlotte’s delight, he scooped Yoda against his chest and stilled the exuberant beast with enough skill that Charlotte could frame and reel off a batch of pictures before re-stashing her phone.

  “Oh, look at those!” She left Noah in the dust, Yoda and all, enchanted by a display of head wreathes crafted of shimmering tinsel fashioned by long ribbon streamers tipped with a dazzling array of crystals and stars. For a few moments she happily shopped, and ogled. Soon, Noah joined her with Yoda tugging at the leash. He carried a white plastic bag that contained the tractor and cart, and Charlotte flourished her chosen hair accessory for Noah’s inspection.

  “Gracie would love one of these!”

  Noah snorted. “I think Miss Charlotte would love one even more.”

  Blushing, she swatted Noah’s arm and huffed in mock exasperation. “I’ll admit it, I always wanted one. After all, every girl deserves to feel like a princess, right?”

  “Especially you.”

  He murmured the words, catching Charlotte off guard while she beamed at the simple joy of choosing an elaborate head dress and slipping one on to model. She stared into his eyes, lost to the power of his impact, and heart.

  Noah fingered back a few streamers that had landed against her shoulder and evidently required proper alignment. Charlotte didn’t care as long as he stood near, as long as she could absorb the gentle stroke of his fingertips. A delicious languor, paired with a dizzy sense of happiness, wove its threads within the space between them.

  “She’ll like this one, I think. Gracie, I mean.” Charlotte broke free of a spell, her tone husky. She cleared her throat and tugged the quasi-crown from her head, dodging her way to the cashier.

  Regrouping, finding her way to a few steady breaths, she pocketed her change from the purchase. In a sorry attempt at nonchalance, she breezed past Noah who still stood near the display of headdresses. “I’d like to treat you to an ice cream cone. Chocolate or vanilla?”

  “Chocolate would be great.”

  Charlotte gestured toward an empty two-seater park bench. “Why don’t you score us a spot over there?”

  “Ah…sure.”

  His brows furrowed. A subtle layer of confusion crested his features, but Charlotte paid the reaction fleeting notice. Right now she needed a measure of space before convoluted emotions morphed out of all control.

  Restored and steady, she carried two chocolate cones, both dipped in chopped nuts, to the bench where Noah sat with his legs stretched and Yoda’s leash wrapped around his hand.

  He accepted the treat and shot her a sly grin, handing over a small plastic bag. “For you.”

  Plastic crinkled when she reached inside. She giggled when her fingers closed lightly around bands of tinsel and a pile of streamers. Thoroughly undone by his gesture, she extracted a head wreath of blue, pink, green, and silver. The headdress was a perfect match to the one she had purchased for Gracie.

  “You realize you’ve obligated me to rainy afternoons full of dress-up and make-believe.”

  “Child optional, right?”

  Taking custody of the crown, Noah propped it neatly on her head then pulled his cell phone from the front pocket of his jeans. “Come here.”

  “No way!”

  Noah’s laughter filled the air. “Yeah, way. It’s my turn.”

  Following a melodramatic sigh, Charlotte relented. “OK, OK. I’ll send you mine if you send me yours.”

  “Deal.” He tugged her close and they made some funny faces then posed for a couple serious pictures. At that moment, their eyes met and moments of levity transformed to intensity—intensity wrapped in a sense of longing that took Charlotte by tender surprise.

  “Charlotte…am I…is…” Noah, it seemed, fought for the right words. Holding her breath, she waited. “Am I unique for you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well…I watch you…I spend time with you…and I wonder. Is your affection, your warmth, something that’s simply God-given, something that moves you when it comes to everyone you meet or is there something…do we…do I…?”

  Noah stumbled all over again, yet remained earnest about trying to express himself. Attempting to help him out and formulate a reply, Charlotte started to stammer, blown away by this sudden and most welcome sense of pursuit.

  “I admire your openness,” he continued, visibly resolved. “I’m so taken in by the way you care about Dylan, and yeah, even me. I guess that’s because I need that reinforcement so much right now. No matter what comes next, though, I find myself drawn to…to the idea…”

  There he stopped. All over again, Charlotte attempted to recover from an onslaught of mind-melting heat and the dance of butterflies against her senses. She gathered herself and made ready to take a jump for which she was in no way prepared.

  “You’re unique. Dylan is unique.” She whispered the words but meant them with the entirety of her soul. Perhaps that’s why she spoke with such quiet reverence and awe. Never, ever, would the methodical, pragmatic Charlotte Latherson have expected God to deliver her heart into the work-roughened, but gentle, hands of a quiet loner like Noah Talbert.

  What a miracle He had provided.

  “I have questions of my own, Noah. Is this moment about gratitude? Are you interested in me because of the connection to Dylan? Are you sure you would want a relationship…or…” She expelled a breath, trembling. He smelled of wood dust, warm sunshine. “I don’t know what to say…or do…or…”

  Noah slid his arm against her shoulders, solid and strong. Charlotte went weak. Her lashes fluttered closed but came open just in time to see his head dip. He released a startled, pleasured sound as his lips captured hers, playing soft, gentle, and silky against hers. Just like that, she was thoroughly and perfectly undone.

  “You don’t have to say, or do, anything,” he whispered. “Just let me know I matter. That this matters.”

  A soft wind carried against the tips of her crown of tinsel, rippling the fringed ends until they tickled her arms. G
oose bumps came alive while she thrilled at his words and rested in his embrace.

  “It matters, Noah. It matters very much.”

  “It does for me too, Charlotte.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Very much.”

  5

  “Noah, the list of projects I can have you work on is long and intimidating. You sure you’re available and game to take it on?”

  Over steaming mugs of coffee and breakfast sandwiches, Noah’s meeting with head groundskeeper Kevin Mitchell took place at a table in the rec center of Heart’s Haven. After a final bite of his sausage burrito, Noah wiped his mouth on a napkin and gave a nod. “I am. All my life I’ve earned a living by hand. I love woodworking most of all, but I have experience in construction and maintenance. I don’t have fancy furniture, or high-end tech gadgets, but I’ve invested in tools, and once I settle, and once I have the space to spread out, I fully intend to create a world-class workshop.”

  The idea of doing so had struck home following Sunday’s date with Charlotte. Furthermore, Dylan had been thrilled by the gift of the wooden tractor and trailer combo. His nephew’s reaction inspired Noah to find a few child-friendly wood projects for the two of them to work on. Now, to scout out some space to occupy…

  “Intend to do that settling any time soon?”

  Kevin shot him a sly, knowing grin. Once again, Noah found himself wondering about mind-reading capabilities within the compound of Heart’s Haven. Heat crept upward in a steady line against Noah’s shoulders and neck because the question didn’t call to mind Dylan. It called to mind Charlotte. Always Charlotte. He needed to get a handle on that reaction—sooner rather than later. The kiss they shared had sent his world into a swirl of emotion, sensation, and color he had never before experienced and certainly never expected to find.

  “I’ll do anything for Dylan. What kind of projects do you have in mind?”

  “Most anything that goes along with the upkeep of an apartment complex.” Kevin shrugged broadly and allowed the quick topic shift. “Window boxes need creation, installation, or repair—Vivian is big on flowers. There’s lattice work in need of repair on a number of the trellises in front of the cottages. The gazebo could use some fresh paint and repair work along the bottom edge. Chipmunks, squirrels, and other wildlife from the forest tend to wreak havoc on the wood. Then, there’s the summer season of landscape jobs, planting, pruning, and weeding. My wife, Jodie, likes to help out in that regard, but between her radio show on KWJD and our little one, Marcus, what little free time she has is pretty much spoken for.”

  “Then count me in. The work you’re talking about is exactly what I’m after.” Noah knew he’d like working with Kevin. They shared a workman-style commonality—blue jeans, t-shirts, and an easy going disposition enhanced by a willingness to work hard for good results. Heart’s Haven paid loving testimony to the power of Kevin’s hands and the legacy of Andy Hart.

  “I’ll need final approval from Vivian. Once she signs off, we’ll move forward. I’m sure she’ll be in agreement with hiring you.”

  “Thanks. This job means a lot. I’d be available to Dylan at a moment’s notice, and I could even start getting him involved in after school stuff.”

  “I’ll circle back with you in a couple days. You know, little league is huge around here. A buddy of mine, Brody Lang, owns a gas station and repair shop in town, Lang’s Gas and Collision. He sponsors an under eight team your Dylan might enjoy. I’ll introduce you to him.”

  Your Dylan. More and more, Noah embraced that family tie and blessing. He grinned at Kevin then swallowed a last swig of coffee. Fingertips of grace and support continued to wind around Noah’s spirit, infusing him with strength, with a belief that he could make this new life work—for him and for Dylan.

  ****

  Charlotte’s optimism sank when Dylan’s battles didn’t improve any over the course of the next week. A wonderful worship service coupled with his enthusiasm and positive attitude afterward led her to hope Dylan’s disposition would stabilize.

  No such luck. Grief was a much trickier and debilitating rollercoaster than that. Monday’s counseling session had been an embattled affair, colored by Dylan’s resentment. He made it clear he didn’t like being called from class, and his uncharacteristic hostility pushed off the meter when Charlotte tried to raise the issue of Jennifer’s death.

  Wednesday morning arrived and she intended to initiate their second counseling session the next day. Curious about how Dylan was doing, she walked the locker-lined hallway, angling toward a large, open room where the kindergarteners gathered. Class visits were nothing out of the ordinary. Hopefully Dylan wouldn’t be upset by her arrival. She wanted today to be a good day. She’d be going to dinner with Noah later and longed to report positive news.

  Along the way, she passed large windows through which she admired the bloom of spring as it continued its sweep through the flatlands of Angel Falls. February had given way to March, and as the days grew longer temperatures rose. The change of seasons always left her introspective. More so this year, given the sharp changes of fate that had transpired.

  Entering the classroom, she wandered its perimeter while kids filed in and took their assigned seats following recess. Easing into the innocent scene, she welcomed the sense of eager expectation, of purity and hope. Her job depleted her energy levels at times, but here lived a taste of the future—a future where anything was possible. That’s what she loved most about her job—the unbridled enthusiasm of youth and the joy to be found in everything that stretched ahead.

  With one lone exception at the moment: Dylan Sommerville.

  Dylan sat at a table not far from the desk of his teacher, Melody Peterson. Hunched forward, dejected, Dylan rested a cheek against the palm of his hand, staring blankly at the fresh pieces of construction paper laid out before him. Back and forth his fingertips ran against a cream-colored sheet.

  As if some symbolic cue had drifted from heaven to earth, the sun slid behind a fat, billowing cloud, splitting golden light into shadows and shimmering rays that painted the walls and floors of the classroom.

  With her levels of concern rising, Charlotte greeted a few of the students as she traversed a narrow aisle of rectangular desks where students settled and buzzed. Melody stood and Charlotte slid to the background, giving her colleague a smile.

  Melody addressed her students. “Before lunch, we discussed our next assignment. What we’re going to do is create an art project about the seasons, and the way seasons change. We’re going to divide the paper into four even squares and find pictures in magazines to form a visual representation of the different seasons.”

  She detailed the aspects of each season to help her students along. Meanwhile, Charlotte took note of the way Dylan sighed, visibly lost in his own world while he thumbed listlessly through the glossy pages of a periodical. He didn’t seem to pay attention, but the assignment launched and most of the students chatted amiably, exchanging conversational tidbits about rain and snow and the heat of the sun. Dylan ignored everything.

  Come on, Dylan. Give it a go. Try, honey. Just try.

  Charlotte’s inner plea evaporated into the seconds and minutes that ticked by, marked by the ever-moving hands of a large, overhead wall clock. Meanwhile, the children chatted and made progress. Dylan barely moved.

  Charlotte met Melody’s sad gaze and shrugged. Melody crouched next to Dylan and offered him a smile. “Do you need any help?”

  “No.” He picked up his scissors and grabbed a magazine. With storms in his eyes, he began to hack away at several of the pages. Anger lit each harsh, tense movement until several classmates stopped working on their projects and stared.

  Charlotte wanted desperately to intervene, but Melody took hold of Dylan’s arm. “Dylan, calm down, please. What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t find pictures.”

  “You’re right. You can’t. Not unless you look at the images and think about how a picture you see relates to the weather.”<
br />
  “Weather doesn’t matter.”

  He threw his magazine on the table. By now the entire classroom had gone silent. A sigh rolled through Charlotte’s chest. Dylan stood so fast he toppled his chair; he chucked a pair of magazines clear across the room. Grieving boy or not, Charlotte needed to pull him out of the classroom. She took him by the hand. Her stride firm and purposeful, she led him to the corridor and closed the door behind them. She turned him and knelt so they were eye-to-eye, but Dylan stared at the floor, trembling within a lasso of emotions she knew he couldn’t contain, understand, or deal with.

  “Dylan, I’m sure you know your behavior wasn’t a good choice.” He replied only with stony silence. “We need to go to my office so we can talk this over.”

  “I don’t want to! Talking hurts! I don’t want to!” Dylan lifted his head, glaring, prickly, eaten alive by a mourning that continued to texture every move forward he made. Charlotte sagged at the shoulders. Dylan was at war with the world, and she understood that fact, but this kind of reaction couldn’t continue.

  I miss your mama too, Dylan. She was a wonderful woman; she worked hard to build a good life for the two of you. She was a precious friend to me. Before lifting to her feet Charlotte sent a petition to heaven. God, please help him. Please soothe him, heal him, and guide him.

  ****

  A phone call asking him to report to Charlotte’s office at Angel Falls Elementary wasn’t part of Noah’s intended day. Just after lunch, when his cell rang, his hopes rose that it would be Kevin Mitchell with a verdict about the job opportunity at Heart’s Haven. Instead, he was informed of an alarming outburst from Dylan during class that led him to stride the hallway of the school so he could have a consultation and pick up his nephew.