She’d trusted what he said to be truth. She didn’t know about his secrets.
Could she trust Noah? He had secrets, too.
And then she thought about Noah’s strange reaction about Loretta.
Lizzie pulled into the drive below and Megan stood. She gazed at the helpless expression on Noah’s face.
She didn’t expect a response from Noah when she said, “I don’t know what to believe about Michael and Loretta.”
He stood. “Would you like to know about me...?”
She’d just told herself she did not want to relate to Noah on a personal level, so she picked up her tote and walked over to the steps. She should just keep walking.
Hearing the car door slam, she glanced down. Lizzie stood with her face tilted up toward the deck, her red hair like a signal she was ready and able to come to Megan’s defense if needed.
Unfortunately, Megan didn’t know what she needed. But when Noah added the words, “...and Loretta?” to his question, her red patent-leather shoe stopped before it stepped down and she looked over her shoulder at Noah.
“Now?” he added.
She stared at the steps she should descend and never see again. She needed to forget all about Michael and Noah and the past. But then, she needed to learn from it, too. And there was so much she didn’t know. Feeling the tears again she put her hand on the railing but nodded, not even sure he saw.
She walked down the blurry steps, stood beside the car and talked to Lizzie in a low tone. She tried to explain to Lizzie what had happened. When she reached the Loretta part, Lizzie gasped, as surprised as Megan had been.
“Died?”
“That’s what Noah said. And he asked if I wanted to know about her.”
“Do you?”
Megan took a shoulder-lifting breath then exhaled heavily. “No,” she said, then changed her answer. “Yes.” She grimaced. “I had just decided that Michael left me and returned to Loretta. Now this.” She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know if he and Loretta divorced and then she died, or if Michael lied. It gets weirder by the moment.”
“But Noah seems genuine, don’t you think?”
Megan nodded. “Didn’t Michael?”
“I didn’t get the chance to really know him. I liked him, but then he didn’t relate much at all after he had the flu.”
“Now I think it was more than flu. Maybe it was cold feet.” Megan looked up and saw Noah on the deck at the table with his head bent and she figured he was praying. “If I walk away now, I’ll never come here again.”
Lizzie smiled weakly. “Your choice, hon.”
The easier thing would be to run away. Like Michael had? She relented. “I’ll listen to what he has to say.”
“Want me to stay? Up there, or in the car?”
“Thanks, but I need to face this.” And if she knew more about Loretta, she might have some idea what it was she needed to face. Maybe Michael had loved Loretta so much he couldn’t face the fact that she had died.
“Okay,” Lizzie said. “But I’m as near as the phone. And just a few blocks away.” She perked up. “Or I can stay here, walk around and smell the flowers.”
Megan swiped at her cheeks, knowing the tears threatened now because her precious friend cared so much. “Thanks. I’ll be okay.”
Lizzie took the makeup kit from her purse and handed it to Megan. She caught hold of her arm. “You take care now.”
“I’ll call when we finish here.”
Lizzie didn’t budge. She looked up at the deck. “Hi, Noah,” she called. “Take good care of my friend.”
Noah stood with his hands holding on to the banister. His voice sounded as serious as Lizzie’s when he said, “I promise.”
Chapter 12
A moment ago Noah had watched Megan descend the steps. When he asked if she wanted to know more about Loretta and him, she hadn’t said anything, but unless he was mistaken, she’d nodded.
Something unexpected leapt inside him. She wanted to know more about him? Just as quickly, he shook aside that errant thought. She’d want to know more about Loretta so she could understand Michael.
He’d dropped to a chair and said a prayer that their relationship would not end like this. Then he’d stepped to the banister and watched her and Lizzie talk. When Lizzie had said, Take good care of my friend, he knew she implied, or else.
He’d said, I promise.
But how? Megan wasn’t open to that. Lizzie’s car disappeared around the house and Megan headed for the steps.
What happened to his good judgment? Could a woman’s tears cause him to speak so impulsively and ask if she wanted to know more about him?
If he’d minded his own business, he’d simply have gotten on with his life. With work and dating. He should have let Michael and Megan work out their own problems.
But is that what a decent person does when someone, particularly a family member, a cousin who hasn’t come to terms with his past, asks him to intervene?
To be honest, Noah had thought Megan a wonderful woman before he met her. Michael’s describing her and showing him her picture convinced him that if anyone could bring Michael into a life of faith and love it would be Megan.
But Michael had run away.
And yes, Noah had an obligation here. He did get involved. He was becoming friends with Megan’s friends. But dread swept through him at the thought of what he had to do. It might increase Megan’s heartache. His own, for that matter.
Stepping onto the deck she lifted her tote and frowned. “I need to fix my face.”
He opened the screen. “You know where the bathrooms are?”
She nodded. “I’ll use the one next to the kitchen.”
“Fine,” he said. “I need to find something in a box in the basement. You might finish before I do.”
She groaned. “With the damage I’ve done here?” Her fingers touched her face. “I doubt it.”
He smiled lamely, thinking her face depicted a woman carrying a lot of emotion inside her. Being brave. She hadn’t spoken of Michael even once in anger. She was hurt. He wished he could do something to take care of her. Instead, what he was about to do might not help, only wound her further.
She walked toward the bathroom and he went to the basement.
It would be in one of the boxes marked COLLEGE BOOKS.
The ones he’d packed while fighting his emotional battles. Instead of fighting Michael, he’d enlisted and fought in Iraq.
The chaplain had made the difference. But long before that, from the time he was born, he supposed, his parents had made the difference. He’d always known about faith. But he’d taken it for granted until he’d faced what was called the enemy.
He’d erased the pictures from his computer. He’d erased them from his phone. He’d tried to erase them from his memory, but that had been impossible and that’s why he understood Michael.
Michael’s memories were multiplied tenfold. No, a hundredfold.
Noah hadn’t gone to the funeral. He’d stood far away from the burial site, watching Michael and Loretta’s parents being consoled. He’d left in anguish and anger. After the first tour in Iraq, he’d returned, gone alone to the gravesite and later talked with Michael. He’d forgiven his cousin because he knew God had forgiven him, who was also guilty. He’d excused his times of failing as his being young and foolish. Some of that was true. Some was refusing to think about what he knew was right or making excuses or justifying what he wanted.
He stared into the dark basement. The odor of dust clung to the damp air, reminding him of known sin that clings to one’s conscience. He switched on the light and his eyes searched out the boxes. He opened one, and there it was.
The obituary.
He did not unfold it but took it with him and wait
ed for Megan on the deck. He turned and smiled when she walked out, aware of her lovely face, soft and smooth. The only evidence of distress was the puffiness beneath her eyes.
She ducked her head and peered at him. “I feel a little better, anyway.”
He wished he did. But his apprehension rose by the moment. “It may not last considering where we’re going. Maybe I should get more napkins.”
She forced a laugh. They both were trying to relate...without relating.
She lifted her purse. “I have tissues now.”
“Shall we?” He spread his hand toward the steps and followed her down.
After he opened the passenger side of his car and she slid in, he went around and settled in the driver’s seat. As he turned the key in the engine she said, “Nice car.”
“Thank you.” He backed up and turned to drive around the house. “A present from my earnings while serving in Iraq.”
“I’m sure you deserve it.” He heard sincerity in her voice.
He stopped at the street to look for traffic. “Yes and no,” he said. “A person needs to get paid for his work. But being willing to fight for one’s country is something beyond a paycheck.”
He saw a glimmer of warmth in her dark brown eyes when she glanced at him.
“Besides.” He patted the dashboard. “I need to make an impression of success when I take potential clients to lunch or meet them at a house. A nice car says that better than a van with a logo.”
He felt a moment of discomfort, wondering if that sounded egocentric. But she laughed. After a moment she said, “This morning I thought I’d make a good impression by looking somewhat professional.” She shook her head. “I didn’t count on the tears. Maybe I should have worn sunglasses.”
He hoped a joke might maintain the light mood. “Or a face mask?”
“Ach.” Her head snapped toward him. “I did look pretty yucky.”
“Half of that at least.”
“Yes. Yucky.”
He’d thought pretty, in spite of the face-washing tears. He’d wanted to reach out, touch her, make it right, take care.
But he had to be careful of every word and move. He’d thought about dressing down that morning, in jeans and a T-shirt, to prove he wasn’t trying to impress her. Finally, he’d decided to wear casual slacks, a dress shirt with sleeves rolled up and no tie.
“Oh,” Megan said as he turned and drove through the wrought iron arch with the name of the cemetery overhead. “Grandmother is buried here.”
He asked if she wanted to go to the gravesite and she said yes. He parked on the side road. She took a packet of tissues from her tote, and after he punched the remote to lock the car, they walked down along the older section of the well-kept grounds. She stopped at a huge stone marking a gravesite not yet as level as most.
Megan’s lips trembled. She held her hands in front of her skirt, tilted her head and looked lovingly, but sadly, at the stone. Noah read the name of Margaret Anne Conley. She had died recently.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She nodded. “Wish I had flowers.”
Beneath the name and date was John 14:2, the scripture the military chaplain had used many times. “The verse says it all.”
She gave him an appreciative glance. “Yes. She’s in the place Jesus prepared for her.”
Noah looked out at the tombstones. Some large granite sepulchers, some a block of cement set into the ground; others had angels on them, some crosses, some very plain, others elaborate. Some indicated that people came often and placed flowers on the graves. Others had a few weeds sprouting up.
And yet, beneath the ground, they were all the same. Gone. Perhaps some graves seemed forgotten because those remaining believed the departed one was in heaven and they didn’t need to visit an empty grave.
Noticing that Megan took a tissue from the packet and wiped her eyes, he asked, “What was she like?”
“That would take such a long time to answer. But thanks for asking.” She exhaled a deep breath and her gaze met his as if to say this is not why he brought her here. He turned toward a newer section. “This way,” he said and she followed along beside him.
The closer they came, the more aware he was of the heady scent of flowers. He stopped on the path beside the stone on which was etched: LORETTA ROSE HAWTHORNE, Beloved Daughter.
Megan kept staring, as if she couldn’t take it in.
He knew the feeling.
“She was only twenty-one.”
Her whispered words were barely audible. Or maybe he was only hearing his thoughts. Megan’s questioning gaze shifted to him and back again. “She...kept her maiden name?”
Avoiding eye contact he stared at the tombstone. The folded newspaper clipping in his pocket seemed to burn a hole in his heart. He thought the past was settled, over with, history. But he felt it. A sweep of emotion he’d felt years ago.
He did not want to unfold the clipping.
Did not want to face it.
But he’d faced it already. Although something was over, the memory, the pain could return. But he didn’t have to let it linger.
“What happened?”
He handed her the article.
Flashing through his mind was the report of the automobile accident. She’d left a party. Had been drinking. Hit a tree. Broken neck. Died on impact.
Megan took a long time to read the obituary. Maybe she read it more than once. Slowly, she folded it and looked at him. “This doesn’t say she’s survived by a husband. By...Michael.”
“No,” he said, “it doesn’t.”
She swallowed hard, then cleared her throat. “Were they secretly married?”
“Not to my knowledge. But I was in Iraq when this happened. I found out later.”
A long moment passed before she asked, “What was she like?”
That was the question he’d asked about her grandmother and she’d avoided answering. He would like to do the same, but he’d brought her here to tell her about Loretta.
Noah thought of the clipping Megan held in her hand. A black and white picture of Loretta. But his mind saw her in living color. Like the one he’d tried to erase from his mind. He remembered her most often in her cheerleading outfit. That’s how he’d first seen her. But his was not a long story. Short, like her life.
He took the clipping Megan held out. “She was the head cheerleader for our team. Had short brown hair and dark flashing eyes. Always smiling, always talking. The first time we met, to me she smelled like shampoo and chewing gum.” He laughed. “I thought that strange, after all that jumping around and being at the top of a cheerleading pyramid.”
Megan smiled. “She sounds beautiful.”
“She was a—” words caught in his throat “—a fun-loving girl.” How much should he say? He drew in a deep breath. “Loretta was my girl before she turned to Michael.” He tried a laugh as if that were just a fact, but it was a poor attempt. “He and I used to compete. In everything.”
“Everything?”
Feeling uncomfortable he said, “You know, sports, even making the highest grades.”
“Girls?”
“That was in our young and foolish days. We were too young to be serious.”
He was finding it difficult to talk about this girl who had so much energy and potential. Now there was but a headstone with a name and a date. And no flowers.
He stepped away from the grave. Megan walked beside him as they reached the walking path that led back to the car. Maybe the breeze would dry the liquid emotion in his eyes.
“I was a senior. She and Michael were sophomores. I met her first and we hit it off right away. Then Michael made sure she noticed him. Next thing you know, the two of them were an item. It was a game we played. She chose him.”
�
��Were you heartbroken?”
Truth? “Yeah. I told Michael I was more serious about her than any girl I’d dated. He said all’s fair in love and war. After graduation I chose the war.”
After a long moment she said, “The date on the tombstone is about the time Michael said they divorced, and he was so heartbroken he left college and turned to all the wrong people and things. After a year he returned to college to make something of his life.” She smiled wanly. “I admired him for that.” Her words were filled with irony.
“Making something of one’s life can be difficult even with the Lord’s help. I’d say almost impossible without.”
She looked at him quickly. “But—?”
She said nothing more, but when they reached the car, she leaned back against it. He wondered what she was about to say. Maybe what Michael had told him. That he wanted to turn his life around. He’d been doing that. He’d earned his college degree. He worked with the tour company. He’d attended church with Megan.
But...where was he now?
Noah leaned against the car next to Megan. Looking at the markers of finality, he thought that was likely easier to accept than losing someone who was still out there somewhere.
Take care.
How could he ease her heartache? Maybe if he could help her understand Michael better. “I had advantages that Michael didn’t. My parents had a strong faith in God. It was tough on Michael when his parents split up. He was a teenager. That’s when he began to work with us during the summers and competition became commonplace. He’s younger, but he wanted to outwit me. He worked hard at it. That made us both excel more in whatever we did. It didn’t matter to me that we competed, until—”
“Loretta,” she finished for him.
A long silence. Then she spoke quietly. “So now you and Michael no longer compete.” She said it as a statement, but it felt like a question. That was puzzling. Slowly it dawned on him that she might think he was competing for her affection.
Lessons in Love Page 8
