by Delia Latham
Then, in a split second, all the emotion in the room slammed her at once, with the force of a massive ocean wave. Sorrow, pity, sympathy, anger, confusion—they all became one immense, dark echo, and threw themselves at Noelle, knocking her off her feet.
She crumpled onto the fancy wingback chair her mother had purchased at an estate sale, insisting that every bride needed a ‘little bit of ritz’ in her changing room. Had it not been there, the bride on that day would have fallen to the floor.
“Mom?” Her face felt stiff, like plastic, and numbness tingled in her lips. “What’s going on?”
Her mother dropped to her knees beside Noelle and took her hands. “Honey, don’t worry. I’m sure everything will work out.”
“Tell me.”
Tears overflowed her mother’s eyes and created dark mascara streaks on her cheeks. “It’s Trevor, darling. He’s—”
Noelle grabbed for the trash can, and someone placed it in her lap. She bent her face over it, taking deep breaths. Please, please, God. I don’t want to get married with vomit on my breath.
Then her mother’s almost-explanation fried its way into her brain, and she sat up straight, clutching at the plastic trash container like a safety net. “What’s wrong with Trevor? An accident? Please tell me he’s OK.”
“Darling, I’m sure Trevor’s fine, but he’s—” The soothing voice broke, and Mom stopped to clear her throat before pulling in a breath. With every sense magnified, Noelle had the fleeting impression that her mother’s intake of air was too deep for one person’s lungs to handle. Mom allowed the breath to ease out, and then spoke the words that marked the birth of a new Noelle.
“He’s not here, darling. We’ve called everywhere we know, and his father even drove home, but he’s not there either. They thought he’d spent the night with Jason after a little bachelor thing last night, but Jason says Trevor left before anyone else.” Tears fell in constant streams while she spoke, and then she pulled Noelle into her arms. “I’m so sorry, darling.”
Noelle allowed the embrace for mere seconds before she jerked away. “He’s coming. He’ll be here. You’ll see.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t think—”
“Nancy.” Her father’s voice interrupted. “Why don’t you show all these people out of this room? I believe our daughter could use a bit of privacy.”
That was when Noelle knew she wasn’t dreaming. Something had gone seriously, irrevocably wrong. Trevor wasn’t coming.
Now—almost ten years later—she stared at the cloud of white lace and pearls she held in front of her like something unclean. With a choked cry, she pulled the dress into her arms and crushed it to her. For almost a full decade, she’d locked away all the hurt and pain and horror of that awful Christmas Eve, never allowing it to surface in her mind…not in its entirety. Tiny slivers of the pain escaped now and then, minute slices of hurt and humiliation brushed at her mind like oily tentacles. But she’d never once swung the mental door to those memories all the way open.
Now, at last, she turned the key, twisted the knob and gave a mighty tug on the rusty portal, allowing those captive memories to emerge. They saturated her being and drove her to her knees, the dress hugged to her heart.
Someone screamed—a piercing, banshee cry that froze Noelle’s blood. The tearing pain in her throat provided a vague indication that the horrific screech erupted from her own mouth. Sobs so deep they hurt her stomach wrenched her body in wave after wave of long-delayed grief.
Noelle made no effort to stop the painful onslaught of memory. Let it do its worst. If remembering killed her, she’d be in a place beyond hurt. If it didn’t, perhaps she could learn to live—really live, without the locked door in her mind that turned her into someone she was not.
6
Noelle’s collapse terrified her parents, who came running when she screamed. They pulled her from the abyss of overwhelming memory, praying aloud while Mom ran an icy washcloth over her face.
When she was at last able to speak, they helped her onto the bed. She climbed under the covers, fully dressed, and refused to let them take her to see a doctor. “I’m fine. Really.” She closed her eyes and turned to face the wall. “Mom, would you mind putting that thing back in the closet? I don’t want to see it again—at least, not today.”
“Of course, dear. I’ll take it to the spare room.” Mom gathered up the yards of satin and lace.
Dad kissed Noelle’s cheek. “We’ll be nearby, Noey. If you need us…”
“I know, Dad—just holler.” She managed a shaky smile. “I think I’ve shown that I can do that pretty well.”
“True enough.” He patted her shoulder, and then crossed to the door, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet. “Get some rest, Noey girl.”
“I will.”
As soon as the door clicked shut, she closed her eyes and huffed out an exhausted breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever rest again,” she breathed.
Her mind raced back over the events of the day. Her searching trip through Michael’s home, the lack of personal items in the two rooms that should have been most lived in. Searching her mind for echoes, and hearing nothing significant. Michael’s appearance in the foyer, the smiles and laughter they’d shared over Josie’s ‘snack’…
Her chin bobbed a few times as she tried to work through the emotional impact of the day. She didn’t want to sleep. Her dreams were certain to be disturbing, and she wasn’t up for any more emotional upsets.
Finally, her body’s need for rest conquered Noelle’s determination to deny it, and she slept—all evening, all night, and into the early hours of morning, without a single dream to disturb the healing slumber.
She didn’t go to Holliday House the next day, using the time instead to regroup, work on some drawings, and make herself think of Christmas the same way she had before pain and loss destroyed its magic.
Until the wedding day that wasn’t, she’d loved everything about the entire Christmas season. A time to celebrate the birth of Christ, Who’d been her best friend, and her Savior. A time when families showed their love for one another in ways they sometimes neglected throughout the rest of the year. Lights…bells…gorgeous holiday décor. She’d loved Christmas and all the trappings that came along with it.
Since then, she’d refused to even recognize the day as being of any importance—other than a nuisance that slowed her business to a tremendous degree, since she refused to take on Christmas-themed designs. But if she wanted to get this job done, and done well, she’d have to think like someone who loved the holiday season.
So she immersed herself in Christmas cheer. She drew pine trees in various species and in a range of decorating themes. She sketched nativity sets, ornaments, silver bells, boxes wrapped in festive paper and bright ribbon.
She absorbed Christmas.
By evening, she barely possessed strength enough to walk downstairs and join her parents for the mid-evening “fireside chat” that had been a Joy-family constant for far longer than Noelle could remember. Despite her exhaustion, exhilaration tingled at her soul. A touch of joy lifted her lips in a smile. Her instinctive love for interior design and décor fired her imagination and threw her headfirst into the job.
Now she could get something done.
****
Michael paced the floor as he’d done every waking moment since Noelle’s hasty departure two days ago.
Where was she? Had she left Hope Springs, terrified by the emotions he’d unintentionally evoked?
He shouldn’t have allowed himself to be alone with her. Not yet. Not until he was used to her nearness and had schooled himself to keep an emotional distance.
“Mister Michael?”
He spun to stare wide-eyed at Josie, who had come within two feet of him without his being aware of her presence. That wasn’t good. He had to stay alert and on guard at all times. Granted, Josie hadn’t made a sound—not so much as the swish of her skirt as she approached. Still, before Noelle’s return to Ho
pe Springs, he would’ve known she was coming before she ever reached the arched entrance.
“Good morning, Josie. I didn’t hear you.”
She grinned. “Miss Joy’s got’cher senses a wee bit off o’ yer balance beam, dinnae ye know? Ye’ve been puttin’ a grrreat, deep groove in this marble floor, worryin’ aboot the wee lassie.” She tsked and tutted and shook her head, but a twinkle lit her kind blue eyes. “Well, ye can stop now, me boy. Yer young lady come through the gate a moment ago…or maybe a few. ‘Tis quite a jaunt from the kitchen, lad. Wynn should be parkin’ her car by now, and I’d wager she’ll be swingin’ that big, ugly knocker aboot—”
She broke off, grinning, when a loud boom made them both jump.
He rolled his eyes.
Josie emitted a low, self-satisfied cackle and left the room.
Michael swung the door open. “Noelle, I’m so glad—” His throat closed around the words. The woman on his porch was Noelle Joy…but not the Ice Princess. Nor was she a walking billboard for Joy Designs.
She was the other Noelle. His Noelle.
Raven-black hair gleamed in the sunlight. She wore it shorter than she used to, but in a feminine style that framed her face and made her look a bit pixie-ish—especially when a wide, open smile lit her entire visage and sparkled her eyes, like right now.
If she wore makeup, she’d applied it with a light hand. Michael loved the fresh-faced, bright eyed look, but it took his breath away, leaving him speechless and weak in the knees.
She laughed, and Michael glanced around, looking for Christmas bells. How could he have forgotten the pure, heartwarming joy of Noelle’s laughter?
She touched his chin, sending a blaze of fire through his veins, and gave it a gentle, upward nudge. “You’re gaping a bit there, boss. May I come in? I have a bunch of drawings to show you. If you like them, I’ll order supplies and bring in my team to make the magic happen.”
He took a step back and waved her inside, unable to force his gaze away from her face. What popped out of his mouth was the last thing he’d meant to say. “Where were you?”
She shot him an amused, but slightly narrow-eyed glance. “Not here.”
That he well knew. He raised both eyebrows. Would that cryptic, two-word reply be all she offered?
Noelle chuckled. “If you must know, I was conducting a massive planning session from the dark recesses of my childhood bedroom.” She swept a playful glance over his frozen face. “Did you miss me?”
He nodded and finally managed to draw a breath. “I did. I thought I’d done something wrong and I might never see you again.”
“Nope. Not a chance. I’ve never reneged on a contract, Michael, and don’t plan to start now. So…” She huffed out a breath and clapped her hands together in a chop-chop motion, and then picked up a portfolio case she’d set just inside the front doors. “Do you have time to join me for a moment? Maybe at the—” She broke off, and a shadow crossed her face. “The dining table, I suppose.”
He knew without asking what had momentarily stolen her sunshine. “Of course. After you…” He waved her ahead of him and then walked beside her as they crossed the great room and entered a curved hallway leading into the heart of the house. “I don’t think Josie would mind if we took over her kitchen table. It’s a little smaller, which means less room to spread out your sketches, but I think you’ll find it more to your liking.”
She grinned like a kid in a house made of candy. “I know I will.”
Josie stood at the kitchen counter, peeling potatoes into a bag. Michael had never understood why she did that. Without turning around, she called across the room. “The table is all cleared off for ye. Ye’ll not be botherin’ me e’en a wee bit.”
“Thank you.” Noelle turned a smile on the older woman, even though Josie faced away from them. “I’m sorry for barging in without asking first.”
Josie turned and shook a finger in their direction. “Ye don’t need my permission to sit at the table, lass. It belongs to Mr. Michael, after all. Besides”—she swung back to her potatoes, but kept talking—“a kitchen is no’ rrreally a kitchen without folks gathered ‘rrround the table, don’tcha know?”
“I agree. Still…thank you. We’ll try to stay out of your way.”
“Ye’ll not be in my way. Do what ye need to do, and consider this room yer office, if ye’d like. I’m a’rrright with havin’ ye here.”
Michael hurried ahead to pull out a chair for Noelle. She lifted the portfolio onto the table and looked around, taking in every detail. “Thank you for thinking of this. I work better in a room that feels cozy and comfortable. This is so much more welcoming than the dining room. Although…” Her gaze danced around, landing here and there, and flitting off to other areas, all in a quick flash. “It could use a little help with the décor.”
“OK, then.” Michael slid into the chair across from hers and returned her smile. He couldn’t stand around looking dazed and confused all day—never mind that he felt dazed and confused. What had happened to bring about Noelle’s change in demeanor? “Consider that a separate contract. We’ll get to that one later.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She snapped the case open and pulled out a stack of sketch paper. “Let’s start with these.”
Once she’d spread the drawings across the table, Noelle’s professionalism took over, and she became a little less bright-and-shiny…but still not cold and distant like when she first arrived.
Michael sat in silence while she presented the ideas she’d come up with during yesterday’s absence. They were phenomenal, but he’d known they would be good. He smiled and nodded and agreed with everything she said. If she loved the plan, it was already a success. Anything she wanted to do in his home was pre-approved. But he sure would like to know what brought about such a drastic change in the woman since he saw her last.
“You’re not listening!” Noelle’s tones dripped accusation, but she grinned and shook a playful finger in his face. “If you don’t listen up, I’ll stop running things by you. I’ll just make them happen, and you’ll be stuck with whatever you get.”
“OK.”
“I may just put a Halloween spin on your—“ Her dark eyebrows drew together. “Did you say OK?”
“Yeah. But I was probably kidding.”
“That’s dangerous, you know. What if I hung scarecrows on your walls and scattered pumpkins everywhere?” Now those eyebrows shot up under the wispy fringe of her bangs, and her expression became nothing short of diabolical. “Your pretty little glass church wouldn’t look so sweet with skeletons hanging off the end of every pew.”
He laughed. “You win. I’m all ears.”
“You’d better be.” She slid the sketch on top of her pile to the bottom and straightened the stack. “Where’d you go anyway?”
“Nowhere.”
“Michael. You didn’t hear a word I said.”
“Guilty. But I was right here.” Might as well go all the way out on a limb. “I was thinking that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Seriously.”
Her lips curved upward just the slightest bit, and she narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know whether to say thank you or just walk away and let you decorate your own museum.”
Michael’s jaw dropped. “What is it with everyone calling my house a museum? You’re the third person in as many days to use that exact term.”
A gurgle of laughter burst from between full lips that tended toward lopsided—an endearing, charming imperfection that Noelle had bemoaned all her life. Michael, on the other hand, thought every woman should have lips that went slightly askew when they smiled.
“Look around you.” She pushed the stack of papers away from the edge of the table and took a seat before fixing her golden gaze on his and coming mighty close to landing him on his backside at her feet. “I don’t like to be mean…and you probably don’t believe that for half a second, but it’s true.”
He did believe that. From the time the two of th
em conquered their first tricycles and learned every curve and corner in their neighborhood, Noelle had possessed a heart far too tender for her own good.
She hurried on, unaware of his insider information. “Still, this place isn’t exactly infused with welcome. Beautiful, yes. I suppose you’re the architect behind the stunning lines and fantastic floor plan?”
He nodded but said nothing. If he did, she might stop talking, and her voice was flowing over, around, and through all the dry spots in his soul.
“I thought so. Only Michael Holliday could create perfection like this.” She paused, gnawing at her bottom lip in a gesture so familiar he almost forgot to breathe. Why hadn’t Noelle’s new image dictated the abandonment of that less-than-refined trait? “Good lines don’t make a home, Michael. This place…it lacks something vital. There’s no—”
“Heart,” he whispered the last word with her. “You said that.”
“I did?”
“The other day, before you left.”
“Oh.” She grimaced. “Sorry. I was lost in—“
“Echoes.”
She froze, her eyes wide. “Wh—what did you say?”
“Echoes.” Thank God he had never been slow on the uptake. “You kind of hinted that my house was an empty shell. I figured you were listening to your thoughts echo around and bounce off the walls.”
“Oh.” In an obvious effort to overcome whatever jolt he’d administered, she released a slow breath. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I was doing, I guess.” The crooked smile returned, revealing the deep dimple in her left cheek that she’d always detested—even more than having to go inside before dark. “If you’d like, I can add a few touches to breathe a little warmth into your home while I’m making the place look like the North Pole on steroids.”
“I’d like that, Noelle. I’d, uh…” He cleared his throat and winked to downplay the emotion in his voice. “I’d like that a whole heckuva lot.”
7
Noelle returned the sketches to the portfolio, pleased with the day’s planning session. Whatever she suggested, Michael approved without so much as the twitch of an eyebrow, no matter how expensive or difficult to put into place.
