Sweet Noel

by Jeanette Lewis

  “Guess we’ll have to wait for June to come back, then. She’s probably got a few more sayings to tickle your funny bone.”

  He tipped his head down, but too late. His smile broke free, and the knot between Gina’s shoulders relaxed even more.

  “There!” she laughed. “I knew you could do it. You have a nice smile; you should use it more often.”

  “Who’s to say I haven’t?” he asked. “You’ve been hiding from me all week, so how would you know?”

  Gina shifted into reverse and backed out of the parking spot. Something was humming in the space where her ribs met. Something was dancing. “I haven’t been hiding,” she said. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure,” he said.

  They rode in silence for a few minutes, and eventually, Gina sighed. “Okay, yes, I’ve been hiding. I’m sorry. I’m not good with awkward situations.”

  “Neither am I,” Noel admitted. “But I am really good at taking any situation and making it awkward. Case in point, Thanksgiving night.”

  “That wasn’t …” Gina trailed off. She’d been about to reassure him it wasn’t awkward, or at least it hadn’t been his fault. But he was right. “I’m really sorry I hit you,” she finally said. “I wasn’t trying to.”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose and shot her a side-eye. “I know, silly. That’s why we call them accidents.”

  “Yeah, but you definitely got the worst of it.”

  “I guess that’s what happens if you’re an idiot and run in front of a car with a titanium bumper.”

  “Sure, titanium. If so, that’s the only part of it that’s valuable.”

  He smiled again, and her heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. No, lighter than it had in months.

  9

  If he was being honest with himself, Noel would have to admit he was as guilty as Gina when it came to hiding. He’d been lying low in his room ever since he’d come to stay, listening to the sounds of the family moving around him.

  In particular, he’d been listening for Gina’s voice. Her bedroom was directly above his, and he’d come to recognize the different cadence to her footsteps. Fast and short when she was leaving for work. Slower and tired when she came home. And sometimes, he could hear the soft thump of her bare feet as she paced back and forth in the early hours of the morning. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who sometimes had trouble sleeping.

  But, neither of them was hiding tonight. Marjorie had been thrilled when Noel joined them at the table when they got home from the market. Now they all sat together: Peter and Marjorie at either end, Gina and Arthur on one side, and Noel and Jordan on the other. The roasted shrimp and potatoes were delicious, but the company was even better.

  Noel wasn’t much of a kid person, but he had to admit that Gina’s boys were endearing. Their energy was infectious, and they kept the conversation lively around the table. He’d never sat through a noisier or more enjoyable meal.

  “Marjorie tells me you’re quite an artist,” Peter said when the boys paused for breath.

  “I try.” Noel pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the photos. “This is the sculpture I did last year that won the Monterey Beach contest.” He slid the phone across the table toward Peter, and the boys left their chairs to hover at their grandfather’s shoulders.

  It was a dragon made of sand sitting on a pile of sand treasure. The dragon’s head was up, its nose thrust toward the sky as if it would take flight at any moment. He’d worked hard to build the brooding restlessness, the tension in its body.

  “Cool!” Jordan breathed.

  Peter passed the phone to Gina and her eyebrows went up. “You built that?” Gina asked. “How long did it take?”

  “About twelve hours,” Noel said. He couldn’t keep the satisfaction from his voice, nor the pride that came with impressing her.

  “And you won the competition?” Gina asked.

  “I did.”

  “I should hope so. It’s incredible.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So if you can get to New Orleans in time and if you win …” She trailed off, as if she feared the question was too personal.

  “It’s a big prize and would help me out a lot,” Noel finished for her. “All things considered.”

  She looked back at the picture of the dragon. “They might be interested in this at the Cottages,” she mused.

  “Cottages?”

  “The Indigo Bay Cottages Resort,” Marjorie said. “It’s a resort made up of a bunch of quaint little cottages.”

  “They host lots of weddings and reunions, other events,” Gina put in. “I wonder if they’ve ever had a sand-sculpting competition.”

  Noel raised his eyebrows. “That’d be cool.”

  “I could talk to Dallas, the owner,” Marjorie offered. “He wants to plan something like that for the summer.”

  “I’d be happy to consult,” Noel said.

  “Can we make one, Mom?” Arthur asked, still staring at the dragon.

  “Not likely,” Gina said. “You’re lucky I can manage a fairly decent sand castle.”

  She held the phone out to Noel, and he reached to take it. Their fingers brushed, sending heat rushing up his arm. He hurried to break off the contact and put the phone back in his pocket. The last thing he needed was to get his heart involved, and with this family, especially Gina, it would be all too easy.

  After dinner, Gina rinsed the last plate and loaded it into the dishwasher.

  “I used to have a dog named Lola,” Noel said from his seat at the counter. “She was a beagle, and she always had to lick the dishes in the dishwasher. We called it the pre-pre-rinse cycle. Very important.”

  Gina made a hushing motion. “Don’t say that word when the boys can hear you. They’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

  “They’re asking for a dog, huh?”

  “Endlessly,” she said. She scooped a handful of forks from the countertop and began dropping them into the silverware holder.

  “So I take it you’re not a fan of dogs?” Noel guessed.

  “They’re okay,” Gina said. She loaded spoons in with the forks. “But I definitely don’t need anything else demanding my attention right now. Not with my boys and work.”

  “Seems like they keep you pretty busy. I mean, you haven’t been around here much, as far as I can tell,” Noel said.

  She turned her attention back to the dishes. After the last few hours, the idea she’d been actively avoiding him seemed kind of silly. “It’s just a lot of busywork,” she told him. “Definitely not my dream job, but it pays the bills. Some of them, at least.”

  Noel shifted his weight, repositioning his bad leg. “So what is your dream job, then?”

  She laughed wryly. “I wanted to be an architect.”

  “Wanted to? But not anymore?”

  “Marriage and kids got in the way,” she admitted. There had been a time when she’d thought she could do both, but then the business of being a mother had overwhelmed her, and before she knew it, the years had slipped away.

  “So are you one of those types who thinks you have to pick?” Noel asked. “Career or family, you can’t have both?”

  “Not necessarily,” Gina said. “I wanted to finish school, but things didn’t work out.”

  “You could go back now.”

  “Yeah, right,” she scoffed.

  “No, really. Why not?”

  She’d had this argument with herself many times. “A single mom, working full-time, and trying to juggle a demanding school schedule? Not to mention being an architect is pretty intense, so I hear.”

  “So you’re going to work as a receptionist the rest of your life?”

  “There are worse ways to make a living,” Gina said. Her throat felt tight. “Though I never expected to be here, never thought I’d be the one having to earn a living. I should have known better.”

  Noel was quiet for a minute, running one finger along the pattern in the marble countertop. �
��Your mom has told me a little bit about your ex-husband,” he said.

  “What’d she say?” Gina pressed her lips together. She felt vulnerable, like he knew secrets that were better left alone.

  “Nothing too personal,” Noel said quickly. “But I got the impression the divorce was not … mutual.”

  “Well, it is now,” she said. She’d sat in front of the house in Cinnamon Hills on Thanksgiving and hoped Lee would want to reconcile, while the whole time he was inside with his new girlfriend. How stupid and naïve could she be?

  Gina threw the soap pod into the dishwasher and slammed the door. “That’s done. Thanks for your help.” She grabbed the washcloth and started wiping down the counter, but she paused at Noel’s next question.

  “Predock or Wright?”

  “What?”

  “Do you like modern or traditional architecture? If you were to design, say, a museum, what would it look like?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You know about Predock?”

  “Sorta. It’s not really my thing, but I remember reading something about him in a humanities class once. So answer the question: What does your dream design look like?”

  “Like a pipe dream,” she said.

  His expression becomes pained and he scratched the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me you’re using that as a figure of speech and not as an admiration of Centre Pompidou.”

  Centre Pompidou was a modern art museum in Paris, covered in literal pipes. Gina thought it was hideous. But it was relatively obscure in the United States. She stepped around the island and gave him a skeptical look. “Are you serious right now? Do you have your phone and you’re secretly looking up famous architects just to impress me?”

  Noel put one hand on his heart. “I’m hurt, Gina. You doubt me?”

  “Then how do you possibly know about Pompidou?”

  “I got lucky.” He grinned. “That building is so awful, it stuck in my head after I saw it. First thing that came to mind when you said ‘pipe dream.’”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know,” Noel said easily. “But why? Why would a career in architecture be out of reach? You’re still young. Why not go to school, get your degree, and see what you can do with it?”

  Gina’s cheeks went hot. There were several reasons school would be impossible, but the biggest two were out on the beach with their grandparents. She didn’t want to resent her boys, didn’t want to go down that road of what-ifs that would ultimately lead nowhere.

  She scrubbed at a stain on the stovetop with the dishrag. “You think I should take advice from someone who wanders around drunk as a fish and lives in a van?” she asked, trying to get back on the offensive. Anger would give her a shield from his questions.

  He scowled. “Maybe you shouldn’t make so many assumptions.”

  “I don’t need to assume when I saw it with my own eyes,” she said.

  “I pay for my mistakes,” Noel said, his gray eyes steely. “Sometimes I pay for the same mistake over and over, but I always settle up.”

  Gina set her rag down. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Let’s just say there have been plenty of mistakes in my past and sometimes they like to come back for a visit.”

  “There has to be a healthier way to deal with it than drinking,” she said.

  “Like there has to be a healthier way to deal with it than changing the subject every time you start to get uncomfortable?”

  “I don’t do that.”

  “Really? Tell me, how have your boys been about the divorce?”

  Her heart turned to lead, and she grabbed the washcloth again and continued scrubbing, this time with more force than necessary. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she muttered.

  “See? You change the subject,” Noel pressed.

  “I don’t want to discuss personal things with a stranger,” Gina said. “That doesn’t mean I’m running away from them.”

  “Oh, really?” he asked softly.

  Gina raised her head around to look at him. Noel’s eyes were troubled, like the clouds above the bay just before a thunderstorm. There were faint lines in his forehead and around his eyes, and she wondered how old he was. She’d assumed he was close to her age, but up close like this, he looked older, more careworn than someone in his early thirties.

  Of course, she probably did too. The last few years had not been kind.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “They hate it,” she whispered. “They like living here, but they miss their dad, miss their old friends. They didn’t have to share a room back home, and here they do. They fight all the time. Jordan used to pester me about moving back, and now … it seems like he’s kind of given up. I’d almost rather have him still upset about it than resigned.”

  “Or maybe he’s adjusted,” Noel suggested. “Your parents are wonderful. I’m sure the boys feel loved and secure here.”

  “But it’s not the same as having their dad around every day.”

  “No.” Noel shook his head. “It’s not. But just because it doesn’t fit your Norman Rockwell ideal of what a family should look like, it doesn’t mean it can’t still be good, or even great.”

  The door flew open and the boys burst in, followed closely by Gina’s parents.

  “I could go for some ice cream right about now,” her dad said. “What about you two?”

  Her mother paused, sensing the tension in the room. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Yes, fine,” Gina said. She moved to the sink to rinse out the dishrag, turning her back on everyone so she could regain her composure.

  “So, is that yes for ice cream?” Her dad asked.

  “Can we have hot fudge on it?” Jordan put in.

  “Mmmm, hot fudge. That’s my man,” Noel said.

  Gina turned around in time to see him hold out his hand to Jordan for a fist bump. Jordan beamed, then lightly punched Noel’s fist with his own.

  “The ice cream is in the basement freezer, and I’m going to need some helpers,” Gina’s father said.

  The three of them clattered down the stairs, leaving Noel, Gina, and her mother in the kitchen.

  Gina smiled at Noel. “Thanks. Jordan loves the attention.”

  He nodded and ducked his head, but she caught the smile he tried to smother.

  “What’s that?” she demanded.

  “What?” Noel’s gray eyes widened, a picture of innocence.

  “Why are you trying not to smile?”

  His face suddenly turned serious. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want to get too attached. They’re good kids, and I don’t normally like kids. Well, I mean, I don’t usually want to hang around with them. But your boys are pretty cool.”

  “Why don’t you like kids?” Gina’s mother knit her eyebrows in concern. Gina knew exactly what she was thinking. Marjorie Andrews was a doting grandmother to more than her own grandkids. What kind of heretic wouldn’t like children?

  “Just never been around them much,” Noel said quickly. “I’m an only child, and we moved every year or so when I was growing up. And now, well, most kids I meet want to climb on my sand dragons or kick over my towers.”

  “Understandable.” Gina nodded. But the thought of Noel’s lonely childhood and even lonelier adult life sent a pang shooting through her.

  Marjorie evidently felt the same, because she reached out and patted Noel’s hand. “Well, you have us now,” she said briskly. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go get some laundry going.”

  Noel watched her leave. “She’s a real sweetheart,” he said. “Unbelievably helpful and kind.”

  “Yeah, she’s like that,” Gina said. “Likes to rescue lost souls.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, so you think I’m a lost soul?”

  “Not quite.” Gina’s cheeks flushed with heat. “But they have an apartment over the garage, and she likes to rent it for practically nothing to people who need it. Kind of give them a safe space to shelter in a st
orm.”

  He nodded. “A safe space. I like the idea.”

  “Are you?” Gina asked quietly. “A lost soul, I mean?”

  Noel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he concentrated on the handle of his crutches, running his thumbnail over the ridged pattern of the plastic. “Not entirely,” he finally said. “I mean, yeah, I had to put up with some crap in my life, but who doesn’t?”

  “Then why …?”

  “Why was I stumbling around drunk on Thanksgiving?”

  Gina nodded.

  “I’m not usually like that,” he said quietly. “It was … Thanksgiving is a hard holiday for me. An anniversary of something painful.”

  Footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs to the basement, along with the chattering of the boys. They were coming back with ice cream.

  Noel took a deep breath. “I need some air. Excuse me.”

  He stood up and leaned heavily on the crutches as he made his way toward the door. The lines in his face seemed etched even deeper.

  Gina moved quickly to hold the door for Noel, but instead of shutting it behind him, she stepped outside behind him. “Will you tell me?” she asked.

  He was silent for a long moment, leaning on the crutches and staring at the slowly darkening sky. Beyond the dunes, the water glowed faintly pink as the sun set to the west.

  “I lost my daughter,” Noel finally said. “Three years ago on Thanksgiving day. It was a congenital heart defect.”

  Gina drew a sharp breath. “How old was she?”

  “Almost four months,” he said quietly.

  Her mind immediately shot back to when Jordan and Arthur were that age. Smiling, cooing, starting to giggle and make eye contact. To lose either of them would have shattered her.

  “We knew she had something going on because of the ultrasounds,” Noel continued. “But we didn’t know how bad it was until she was born. The doctors told us we’d be lucky if she made it one month, but she held on for more than three.”

  Gina hugged herself against the sudden chill coming from the ocean. “Was she in the hospital the whole time?”

  Noel nodded. “She lived hooked up to a bunch of machines. She never saw the nursery I’d painted for her.”