The Noel Stranger
Page 19
I met my driver in the terminal. He was holding a piece of cardboard with my name written on it. He grabbed my bag, then asked me for the name of the hotel in Todos Santos I was staying at. I told him I didn’t even have an address. We talked the whole ride about life in Mexico. He asked me how long I was staying. I told him I had no idea.
Kostya left the highway a few miles past the Todos Santos town sign. At my instruction, he turned down a short dirt road, then drove up onto the sandy beach. There was the house Aaron had shown me, except the For Sale sign was gone.
He drove to within thirty yards of the coral-pink structure and stopped. “Is this good, Mag-gie?”
“Yes. Thank you.” I paid him in pesos I’d exchanged my dollars for at the airport. Then I gave him a hundred-dollar tip for Christmas. He was beyond happy. We got out of his car and he lifted my bag out of the trunk.
“Mag-gie, do you want me to wait?” he asked.
“Yes, please. I’d better make sure he’s here.”
The pink stucco home glowed brilliantly against the blue ocean backdrop. Palm trees surrounded the house; some of the shorter ones were wrapped with Christmas lights. A rope hammock had been tied between two of the trees. It rocked, unoccupied, in the wind.
As far as I could see, the only signs of occupancy were a motorcycle parked to the side of the house and clothes hanging on a line, rippling like flags in the ocean breeze. I recognized one of Aaron’s shirts from our trip together.
I walked up onto the front porch and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I tried the doorknob. It was unlocked, so I opened the door and looked inside. “Aaron?” The room inside was clean and spacious but showed no sign of anyone living there.
I walked around the side of the house. The back of the property was neatly landscaped with palm trees, cactus, and terra-cotta-potted kumquat trees set on beige slate pavers surrounding a bright-blue brick-and-mosaic-tile-lined swimming pool.
The property continued on about a hundred feet down to the ocean, with a wooden dock extending out over the water. A fishing boat was secured to the end of the dock. What had he called it? I couldn’t remember its Spanish name, but I remembered the translation, because I remembered thinking, How appropriate. The Dream.
As I neared the dock, mixed with the sound of seagulls and crashing waves, I could hear music. Seventies music. Supertramp. “Goodbye Stranger.” Aaron had to be there.
I turned and waved to Kostya, who was sitting on the hood of his car smoking a cigarette. He waved back, got into his car, and drove away.
Then I walked out onto the dock. In the distance, a line of pelicans roller-coastered past the beach. As I approached, I could see that a new name had been painted on the boat.
AGNETHA
Then I saw him. I’m not exactly sure what he was doing; he was facing the sea, kneeling on the boat’s hull, sanding or polishing. He wasn’t wearing a shirt or shoes, just a black, boxy bathing suit.
I had almost reached the end of the dock when he suddenly turned back as if he’d sensed someone’s presence. For a moment he just looked at me. Then he tossed aside whatever was in his hand, jumped down onto the dock, and started toward me.
He was tan, his hair mussed as if it hadn’t been combed for a while. I couldn’t tell if he was more shocked or awed. When he got to me, he just said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” I said back.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to wish you a merry Christmas.”
“You could have just texted.”
“You don’t answer my texts. And besides, I had something to ask you.”
“What’s that?”
“At my house I said, ‘What if I told you that I love you no matter what you’ve done or what your name is?’ And you answered, ‘I would say you’re a fool.’ Do you remember?”
He nodded. “It was something like that.”
“It was exactly like that,” I said. “I had a follow-up question.”
“Okay.”
“What do you have against fools?”
A large smile crossed his face.
“So here’s the deal, Mr. Hill. I want you. I want to explore life with you. I want to experience life with you. I want to battle life with you.” I lifted my arms and flexed. “I can do it. I’m pretty strong.”
“I have no doubt,” he said.
“So what will it be? Am I staying, or am I going back to Cabo tonight?”
“That depends on how long you were planning on staying.”
Suddenly the lightness left my heart. I looked at him seriously and asked, “How long will you let me stay?”
His voice and demeanor also took on a more serious tone. He looked deep into my eyes. “How about forever?”
I just looked at him for a second, then rushed into him and we kissed. After we had kissed for a minute, I started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, still trying to kiss me.
“It’s good you said that.”
“Why is that?”
“I already sent my car back.”
Then we really kissed. Soulfully, passionately, joyfully. And the sea and beach and sun all witnessed and applauded our happiness in their own ways. Sometime later (a long time later) when we came up for air, I whispered, “I love you, Aaron Hill.”
“I love you, Agnetha.”
I smiled. “Merry Christmas, my stranger.”
“Merry Christmas, my love,” he whispered back. “Welcome to forever.”
EPILOGUE
For far too long, all I saw was the night, forgetting that the sun must set if it is to rise again.
—Maggie Walther’s Diary
Mi español está mejorándose. My Spanish is getting pretty good. At least I can order a coffee and concha and find a bathroom. What else really matters?
Aaron and I have breakfast or coffee every morning outside on the porch, with the cool Pacific breeze dancing in our hair. Sometimes I go out fishing with him, but not often. I’m still afraid to go into deep waters on account of his Humboldt squid story. One night at a Todos Santos pub a man lifted his shirt and showed us his scar from a Humboldt bite. It was horrific.
Aaron and I were married on November 10, 2017—a year to the day after we met at Aaron’s Christmas tree lot. The marriage was performed by a local minister. I’d always wanted a beach wedding. Carina was my maid of honor. Andrew was Aaron’s best man. I was hoping to hook the two of them up, but it just wasn’t there. Sometimes the magic happens, sometimes it doesn’t. There’s no rhyme or reason to love.
Life is slower here. More deliberate. We have time together. We sleep in, make love, take long walks on the beach—pretty much all the things dreams are made of.
I gave Carina ownership of Just Desserts, passing it on just as Marge had done with me. But my entrepreneurial drive is still intact. I’m opening a bakery in town, and already have contracts with several local resorts.
Clive had his day in court. He was fined ten thousand dollars and ordered to perform two hundred hours of community service. No jail time. Some people thought he got off easy, but I don’t. He was given a life sentence when he lost his dreams and political aspirations. And me.
Aaron continues to manage his investments, but lately, most of the time he works on his book. It’s almost done. It’s pretty good, really. It’s about a twin who goes to prison for his brother. I’d always wondered how authors came up with their ideas.
I still slip up sometimes and call him Andrew. Whenever I do, he threatens to change his name to a glyph that has no pronunciation, like Prince did. I just tell him it will get in the way of his publishing career and maybe even our love life, and he quickly retreats.
We’ve continued the Thanksgiving tradition, though our list of recipients just keeps getting longer.
Andrew—the real Andrew—moved to Connecticut. He now has a fiancée. Her name is Emma. She’s lovely. They visit often, though they usually stay in Andrew’s condo in Cabo. Whenever they
come, the brothers take a cooler with some fruit, a couple of six-packs, a loaf of bread, and a couple of chorizo sausages and go out on the Agnetha. What is it with men and boats?
Our love continues to grow. So does our happiness. That’s how it’s supposed to be, right? Our love is also growing in other ways: I’m five months pregnant with a little girl. We plan to name her Marissa, which means “of the sea.” Marissa Hill. We still haven’t decided whether we’ll raise her here. I’ll guess we’ll see. We’ve got a few years before school starts.
Time rolls on. When I think back on all that happened that year, I’m still amazed that we survived it all. But that’s what we do. That’s what life and love require of us—to walk on in spite of the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” to walk on and hold to love. If we do that, we may suffer for a time, but we will not fail. In the end, love wins. It reminds me of a Mexican proverb that describes us perfectly: Quisieron enterrarnos, pero se les olvidó que somos semillas. It means, “They tried to bury us. They just didn’t know we were seeds.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to acknowledge and thank my Simon & Schuster friends, especially Carolyn Reidy and Jonathan Karp, for their continued friendship and support of my writing. To my new editor, Amar Deol, I look forward to working on more books with you. Continued love and appreciation to my agent, Laurie Liss, and my staff: Jenna Evans Welch, Barry Evans, Heather McVey, and Diane Glad. Also, to all my brothers in the Tribe of Kyngs.
Appreciation to award-winning producer Norman Stephens; it’s been such a pleasure working with you on all those movies. (I’m so glad your wife found me.)
Most of all, to my sweet wife, Keri. This book is for you.
More from this Series
The Noel Diary
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The Forgotten Road
The Broken Road
The Mistletoe Secret
The Mistletoe Inn
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
© LAURIE LISS
Richard Paul Evans is the #1 bestselling author of The Christmas Box and the Michael Vey series. Each of his more than thirty-five novels has been a New York Times bestseller. There are more than thirty million copies of his books in print worldwide, translated into more than twenty-four languages. He is the recipient of numerous awards, including the American Mothers Book Award, the Romantic Times Best Women’s Novel of the Year Award, the German Audience Gold Award for Romance, four Religion Communicators Council Wilbur Awards, the Washington Times Humanitarian of the Century Award, and the Volunteers of America Empathy Award. He lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, with his wife, Keri, not far from their five children and two grandchildren. You can learn more about Richard on Facebook at www.facebook.com/RPEfans or read his blog at www.richardpaulevans.com.
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ALSO BY RICHARD PAUL EVANS
The Mistletoe Collection
The Mistletoe Promise
The Mistletoe Inn
The Mistletoe Secret
The Noel Collection
The Noel Diary
The Walk Series
The Walk
Miles to Go
The Road to Grace
A Step of Faith
Walking on Water
The Broken Road Trilogy
The Broken Road
The Forgotten Road
The Four Doors
A Winter Dream
Lost December
Promise Me
The Christmas List
Grace
The Gift
Finding Noel
The Sunflower
A Perfect Day
The Last Promise
The Christmas Box Miracle
The Carousel
The Looking Glass
The Locket
The Letter
Timepiece
The Christmas Box
For Children and Young Adults
The Dance
The Christmas Candle
The Spyglass
The Tower
The Light of Christmas
Michael Vey: The Prisoner of Cell 25
Michael Vey 2: Rise of the Elgen
Michael Vey 3: Battle of the Ampere
Michael Vey 4: Hunt for Jade Dragon
Michael Vey 5: Storm of Lightning
Michael Vey 6: Fall of Hades
Michael Vey 7: The Final Spark
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Richard Paul Evans
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN 978-1-5011-7205-2
ISBN 978-1-5011-7206-9 (ebook)
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright