“How do you do that? How are you not drowning in grief?” Because God knew I was, and I didn’t know how to come up for air. At least not on my own. Being around Noelle helped me to breathe, but without her…
She set down her fork and looked at me, so deeply and so intensely I felt it in every pore of my skin. “It’s a choice. Not at first, of course. When someone you love first dies, it’s hard to think about the good things in life. You can only think about how much you miss them, how you don’t know if you can function without them. But once some time has passed and you’ve been able to grieve, you make a choice to live every day of your life looking for the good you can find.”
I let that sink in for a minute, pondering each of her words individually before moving on to the next. I’d been focusing on the negative for so long that I didn’t know if I could think about the good. Where could I start?
Noelle was smiling again as she took another bite of her sandwich. A piece of turkey fell out and landed on her shirt. She giggled, then picked it up and popped it in her mouth.
She seemed as good a place to start as anything. Noelle was in my life, and she radiated goodness. Since I’d met her, her exuberance and joy had been rubbing off on me, a bit at a time. I could focus on her, on being thankful to have someone in my life who could make me feel the things she did. Like it was okay to laugh again. Like it took too much energy to be down.
I made up my mind to focus on Noelle for the rest of today. Tomorrow, I would find something else good to add to my list, and on and on until I couldn’t see the bad for all the good. If she could do it after what she’d been through, I could, too.
“Will you tell me more?” I asked after a minute. “How did you manage to take care of your brothers?” She’d practically been just a kid herself when her parents had died.
“The insurance helped a lot,” she said. “I set aside enough money out of the settlement that I could pay for college for both Ethan and Chris. Then with what was left, I knew I could afford the mortgage payments on Mom and Dad’s house as long as I had a job. When I got back to Portland, there was a dog rescue organization I’d volunteered with during high school—Helping Hands.”
A dog rescue. That made so much sense it was scary.
“I begged them for a paying job, not just a volunteer position,” she said, “and they gave me one even though they couldn’t really afford my salary. Mainly because they knew the situation, and they knew I would work hard. It worked out great until several months ago, when they really couldn’t afford to pay me anymore. One of the big donors stopped donating. It was me or the dogs. They’re such a small company that they didn’t have any unemployment insurance. So when I got laid off, I didn’t have any sort of a backup plan.” She blushed, taking another bite of her sandwich. “I’m not very good about thinking ahead,” she said, her mouth still full of food so she had to hold her napkin over it.
I already had that sense about her. Noelle was the sort of person who lived in the present, always focused on what was right in front of her—never too far ahead or too far behind. I used to be a forward thinker. A lot had changed inside me when Liv had died, though. These days, I seemed to always be living in the past, or wishing I could.
“So what happened when you got laid off?” I asked. “Didn’t your brothers think they should help you out? They’re adults now.”
“I didn’t tell them,” she said. She gave me a look that said I’d clearly lost my mind. “They would have worried and dropped out of college and stayed here in Portland and gotten jobs, and I didn’t want them to do that.”
“Why not? That’s what families are supposed to do. You took care of them, so maybe now it’s their turn. Maybe now they should be taking care of you.”
“I didn’t want that. I want them to finish college and get their degrees. I want them to become the men that they want to be.”
“And what about you? You dropped out of school for them.” I was getting angry with these two young men I’d never met, but that wasn’t fair. She hadn’t told them. She was keeping them in this protective shell and not letting them help.
She shrugged. “It’s different for me. I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher—but it was really just that I wanted to do something that mattered, you know?” She picked up her water glass and swallowed a sip, staring at me over the rim. “I want to be somewhere that I can make a difference for someone, but there are lots of places I can do that. It doesn’t have to be teaching. It doesn’t have to be something that requires a degree. What my brothers want to do, though, they need an education for. And I can give them that.”
“And be homeless,” I added.
“I didn’t lose the house right away,” she said, as though she was trying to justify her actions to me. “I was able to keep up the mortgage payments for about three months. But then I didn’t have enough money left and I hadn’t found a job, so the bank foreclosed.”
“How long were you living out of your car?” I held my breath, sure she would answer with something that would make me furious.
“Six weeks or so? My friends at Helping Hands, Cindy and Phil, were letting me come in there and clean up when I needed to. They’re the best friends I’ve had for years. The only friends I have, really…other than my brothers.”
Yes. Furious. Six weeks. Six whole fucking weeks, she spent living in a car. Alone. With no help.
“If they’re such good friends, how come neither of them offered you a place to stay?” I demanded now that thoughts were leaping wildly from one place to another.
“Cindy offered to let me sleep on her couch, but I couldn’t do that unless I paid her for it. I don’t like to be a burden on people.”
“How did you eat?” I asked, but my voice sounded like a low and menacing growl. She probably hadn’t been eating. At least not enough. That would explain why she was so damn skinny.
“I worked odd jobs when I could get them. I’m not proud. I’ll do any job anyone has for me, as long as it pays. I was able to work enough to eat at least every day.”
At least every day. Not necessarily more than once a day.
I had an urge to go to the store and buy every jar of peanut butter they had so she could eat it as often as she wanted.
“And your brothers still don’t know?”
“I figured I could find a job before the end of the semester. I could get a place for us to live by then, so they could have somewhere to come home to this summer. Then I could tell them—once there wouldn’t be a reason for them to think it was a good idea to quit school.”
“But you haven’t found a job in months of looking.”
“No.” She took another bite of salad, contemplating me while she chewed. “But I was looking for a job that would mean something, other than the odd jobs I did here and there. I can find a job that will pay the bills. I can go bag groceries or pump gas or something. Like I said, I’m not proud. It wouldn’t have to be permanent.”
“And you would be miserable.” What she’d said about wanting a career with meaning really rang true to me. She wasn’t the sort of person who could stay long in a job where she didn’t believe wholeheartedly in what she was doing.
Noelle was smiling when she shook her head. “I don’t believe in being miserable. It wouldn’t be ideal, working in a fast food place or whatever, but I wouldn’t be stuck doing it forever. I would make the best of it. You know…find the good and focus on that.”
“It scares me,” I said, “but I think you’re right about that.”
If anyone could be happy working in a miserable job, it would be Noelle. She would find a way to make it work for her.
That sweet, glorious laugh of hers, the one that made me think of Liv’s wind chimes, filled the room around us. “Are you done?” She pointed at my empty plate and salad bowl.
“I am.”
She stood up and gathered all the dishes, loading everything into the dishwasher. While she did that, I put away the rest of the food. It only took
us a few minutes, and then we went into the living room.
I sat on the sofa, and Noelle took the seat beside me.
“Your turn,” she said. “Tell me about your family.”
For the next hour or more, we sat together talking about everything we could think of. We talked about family and friends; about how Liv used to make wind chimes and the beauty of Sweden in summer; about the trips her family used to take into the mountains when she was a little girl; about Swedish meatballs and lingonberry jam, my mom’s äggakaka, and how Americans’ ideas about pancakes were all wrong.
The longer we sat there, the closer we got to one another. Before long, I put my arm around her back and drew her into my side. She rested her head on my shoulder. Slowly, gradually, she dropped down until she was lying on her back, her knees bent up so her feet were on the sofa, her head draped over my lap. I couldn’t resist letting my fingers run through her hair. She took my other hand in hers, wrapping me up in her gentleness. It felt so easy and natural and right that it made my heart hurt.
We were still sitting like that and talking when Babs came in. Noelle convinced him to take a seat and tell her all about his family. He was the oldest of seven, all boys, and they all played hockey just like he did. The oldest of his younger brothers was apparently eligible for the NHL draft this summer.
I hadn’t known any of that about Babs, even though I’d been living with him for a couple of weeks. I just knew that he was an incredibly talented young hockey player who had a thing for Katie Weber and who couldn’t cook to save his life.
As she kept talking to Babs, I could only stare in wonder at Noelle. She made it so easy for everyone to open up to her. Even me. She made me feel as though everything I told her was sacred to her.
If I wasn’t careful, I could easily see myself falling in love with her. And that wouldn’t do either one of us any good.
Eventually, Babs headed off to his room. I forced myself to get up. I needed to call it a night. We had practice in the morning. I had my meeting with the organizer for the Light the Lamp Foundation’s first Portland fundraiser in the afternoon. In between those two things, I needed to get Noelle a cell phone and a watch.
I didn’t want to leave her side, though. I wanted to stay with her until the sun came up tomorrow. I wanted to learn everything there was to learn about her. I wanted to trust her with all the things I couldn’t tell anyone, because she would keep them safe.
My heart, too, would be safe in her hands. I knew it.
But it still belonged to Liv. Didn’t it?
“This was nice,” Noelle said. Before I had the first clue what she was going to do, she pulled in close to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and tucking her head in beneath my chin. It was as though my arms had a mind of their own. I put them around her and let myself revel in the sensation of her warm body pressed tightly against mine. I breathed in the scent of her hair, memorizing it and every other detail of how she fit with me.
Because she did. She fit with me. She belonged with me, whether I was ready for that or not.
I wasn’t ready to let go yet, but Noelle backed away just a bit. She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed the tip of my chin.
“Good night, Liam,” she whispered.
Then she went into her bedroom and closed the door before I completely lost my mind and did something I couldn’t undo.
Things were coming along well for the upcoming fundraiser. That was the main thing I took from the meeting I had with the new Portland-area VP of the Light the Lamp Foundation, Jessica Lynch.
She’d made arrangements with a local hotel for us to hold a silent auction in their grand ballroom. She’d selected a caterer, arranged for a crew to work the event, picked out a team to work on décor, and sent out invitations to the Portland Storm season ticket holders and other important people in the community. She was taking on the task of getting donations herself in addition to what I was already getting from the Storm, my teammates, and other players I knew around the league.
All the guys had agreed to be part of the event, even though we were holding it little more than a week before the playoffs would start. I didn’t want to waste any time, though, by putting it off until next season. Light the Lamp was my baby. It was all for Liv’s memory, a way to turn her death into something positive, and I wanted to make it a part of my life no matter where life took me. I wanted to see the good Light the Lamp could do, and before next season got underway.
We’d gotten it off the ground on Long Island, but now we were expanding to Portland. This silent auction was only the beginning. The money we were going to raise that night would help dozens of people, and the brief time I’d spent in the city had shown me there was a real need for what we could do. There were lots of addicts here. Lots of people who needed to make a change. I wished we could hold the fundraiser sooner, but events like this take some time to be set in motion.
At least I had Jessica around to handle all of the details. Jim Sutter had given me a list of names when I’d arrived in Portland after I’d asked for suggestions on who could handle work like this. Apparently, Jessica had worked with the Storm Foundation before, assisting some former players with their charitable causes. So far, she’d proven to be a perfect fit.
Which meant I had more time to sort out what was going on between me and Noelle.
The next game, I spent a few hours in the owner’s box again, but this time I sat with some of the players’ wives and girlfriends plus the head coach’s daughter, Sara Thomas. Katie stayed with us, too, but Maddie chose to hang out in her spot with a book instead of talking to us. I shared the blanket I’d brought with Katie, just like Maddie had done with her during the last game.
Part of me wanted to do exactly what Maddie was doing tonight—curl up with a book—but I didn’t want to be rude, and these women seemed hell-bent on including me after I’d spent a little time with them two nights before.
In the end, I was glad I sat and talked with them. Just like so many people tend to make snap judgments about me, basing their opinions on my choice of clothes and other superficial things, it seemed I had done the same when I first saw them, judging them because they wore designer brands and had their hair and make-up perfectly done.
It didn’t take me long to discover just how wrong I’d been about them. For about ten minutes, we’d been talking about Sara’s most recent date with a guy Katie’s mom, Laura Weber, wasn’t sold on. We all laughed and commiserated as she gave us far more detail than I felt comfortable with since I barely knew her, when all of a sudden the mood in the owner’s box changed.
The excitement in the arena, which had been ramped up with the Storm leading the Ottawa Senators three to one in the second period, dropped off to nothingness out of nowhere. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Well, there was one sound. An agonized scream.
It was full of pain, pain I hoped I would never experience. The scream was so intense that it ripped into me and burned until I could almost feel his pain, too. I leaped to my feet, the blanket falling to the floor as I clutched my hand over my heart, as though that could stop the stabbing torment that had settled within me at the first sound of distress.
Instantly, the rest of the women stopped laughing and looked down to the ice to see what was going on. My eyes followed theirs. One of the Storm’s players was down on the ice and not moving, but his arm was in a position that no human arm should ever be in. A few of the players on the ice were helping some men in shoes instead of skates rush across to where the injured man had fallen. At the opposite end of the rink, the officials opened the doors that housed the Zambonis and brought out a stretcher.
“It’s Monty,” Sara whispered.
As soon as those words left her lips, the women around me whipped into action. Rachel pulled out her cell phone and headed for the hallway. “Jim?” she said before the door closed behind her. Laura Weber and Dana Campbell got up and found one of the women in the other group, pulling her a
side and helping to calm her down.
“That’s Monty’s wife,” Katie explained to me.
Sara and Maddie went back to the corner where the other kids were playing. The two of them picked up some dolls and plopped down on the floor, cross-legged, with a couple of younger girls. Distracting them, I was certain. They must be Monty’s children.
As I watched all of the women coming together around me, the sharp ache in my chest slowly started to ebb and fade. Katie reached out a hand as though to comfort me. I took it and sat down again, picking up the blanket and situating it over her.
She didn’t let go of my hand, even though I was shaking. “It’s always scary when we see one of the guys get hurt. It doesn’t get any easier, but we help take care of each other.”
I nodded, mute. I couldn’t form words. I couldn’t explain that it wasn’t just fear that had clawed at my chest like a wild animal, but that it was actual pain. Anytime I tried to explain it to people, they looked at me like I was crazy, because, for me, it went so far beyond sympathy or even empathy. It was as though I could feel exactly what other people were feeling. I couldn’t control it. It just seeped into me and took over, and I was powerless to do anything but take on some small part of their hurts. Sometimes I was able to take all of the pain into myself and leave them lighter and freer. I couldn’t take as much pain as Monty was experiencing, though. I could only share in it because I also had some of his wife’s panic edging its way into me.
Later, I would have to find a way to purge it all out of my system again. But not now. Now I just tried to let it all come to me.
After a few moments, while I was still holding Katie’s hand, Rachel returned. “Annie-Claude?” she said to the woman who was barely containing her hysteria. “Jim said I should take you down to the ambulance.”
Light the Lamp Page 8
