Noel Street

by Richard Paul Evans

  I woke a little before seven, the brazen winter sun shining through the blinds, illuminating the room in golden stripes. I didn’t know where I was at first, just that my back ached from sleeping on the hard floor. I sat up and yawned. William was still sleeping, lightly snoring.

  I leaned over him just to make sure he was asleep, then I put my hand on his forehead. He was still feverish but not as hot as the night before. I pulled the covers up over him and was about to go when he slowly rolled over. His eyes were open. For a moment we just looked at each other.

  “You’re still here,” he said in a raspy voice.

  “I said I would be. I need to get my son off to school, then I’ll come back.” He just stared at me. I leaned over him and touched his forehead and said, “I’ll be back.”

  CHAPTER ten

  Guilt and expediency should not be allowed to coexist in the same mind.

  —Elle Sheen’s Diary

  The night’s storm had blanketed my car in nearly a half foot of snow. I got a snow brush from my back seat and scraped off the windows, then drove home.

  Fran was wearing one of my sweatshirts. She was in the kitchen making oatmeal.

  “Morning, Florence Nightingale,” she said.

  “Good morning. Is he still asleep?”

  “He’s taking a shower.”

  “How’d he sleep?”

  “He doesn’t even know you were gone. How are you?”

  “Exhausted. I slept on the floor.”

  “That sounds painful.” She brought me over a cup of coffee. I took a sip. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. So who’s your sick friend?”

  “His name is William. Actually, he’s not really a friend. I don’t know him very well.”

  “But you spent the night…”

  “It’s not what you think,” I said, drinking my coffee. “I went over to thank him for fixing my car and he was so sick that he passed out. He was all alone. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Is he cute?”

  “That’s not the issue.”

  “That’s always an issue,” she said. “So he’s not.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Just then Dylan walked into the kitchen. He looked at me curiously—probably because I looked like I had slept in my clothes and my hair was a tangled mane. “Morning, honey.”

  He didn’t say anything about Fran being there. “Hi.”

  “I’ve got some oatmeal for you, little man,” Fran said.

  Dylan walked to the refrigerator and took out a jar of strawberry jam and carried it over to the table.

  “Thanks for staying,” I said.

  “You’re welcome. If you’re okay, I’ll head on home.”

  “We’re okay,” I said. “Is it all right if I pay you next Wednesday?”

  “You know I’m good,” she said. “I left the book on the nightstand if you want to read it.”

  “You’re not going to tell me who dun it?”

  She smiled. “Not this time.” She walked over and kissed Dylan on the forehead. “Have a good day, handsome little man. I’ll see you after school.” She looked at me. “Would you like me to pick him up?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “No problem,” she said. “Think you’ll be late again?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll bring my makeup just in case.” She blew me a kiss, then walked out.

  I got myself a bowl of oatmeal, put in a spoonful of brown sugar and raisins, then sat down across from Dylan. “How did you sleep?”

  Dylan looked up from his bowl. “Good.”

  “What did you do last night?”

  “We did Spirograph. Then we read a book.”

  “What book?”

  “Andy Buckram’s Tin Men. It’s about robots.”

  “Classic.”

  His brow fell. “Do you have to work tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  He frowned. “You always have to work.”

  “Someone has to buy the oatmeal,” I said. “I don’t always work.”

  “It seems like it sometimes.”

  “I know. It does to me too. But I don’t work this Saturday, and on Sunday I don’t work until three, so we can go somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe tubing? If it’s not snowing.”

  “Yeah!” Dylan pumped his fist. “And hot chocolate?”

  “It’s not really tubing if you don’t have hot chocolate after, right?”

  He nodded. “Right.”

  “Now go brush your teeth and pack up your school bag. We need to get going.”

  Dylan ran off to the bathroom while I put our bowls in the sink to soak. He was right. It felt like I was always working, which wasn’t my choice. So why did I have to feel guilty about it too?

  CHAPTER eleven

  I saw him again today. Twice. Then I ruined everything by opening my mouth. Or maybe it was my heart.

  —Elle Sheen’s Diary

  I dropped Dylan off at school, then ran by the diner and grabbed some orange juice and a couple of oatmeal muffins.

  “You’re here early,” Loretta said as I walked in.

  “I’m just picking up some things for William. I’ll put it on my tab.”

  “William?”

  “The soldier.”

  “Ah. How did that go last night?”

  “I ended up spending the night at his place.”

  Loretta clapped her hands. “There is hope yet!”

  “It’s not that,” I said. “He was so sick that he passed out. I ended up taking care of him all night.”

  “Well, that’s not bad either.”

  “I’m taking him something for breakfast. I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time, darlin’. You can’t rush love.”

  “I’m not. I’m rushing breakfast.”

  I drove back down Noel Street to William’s apartment. I rapped twice on his door and then let myself in. The apartment was still dark and quiet. “I’m back,” I said, soft enough not to wake him if he was still sleeping but loud enough not to startle him if he wasn’t. Still carrying the juice and muffins, I walked to the door of his bedroom, lightly rapped on it, and then pushed it open. He was in bed but awake.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “You came back.”

  “I said I would.”

  “Were you here all night?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He looked at me with a curious expression. “Why did you stay?”

  “Because you needed me.”

  He smiled. It was only a slight smile, but it was the first smile I’d seen on him. It was like the sun rising after a cloudy day.

  “You have a nice smile,” I said.

  His smile grew a little more. “Thank you.”

  “Why did you fix my car?”

  “Because you needed me,” he said, using my words back at me.

  “You have no idea how much you helped.” Suddenly the emotion of it caught up with me and my eyes welled up.

  “I could say the same. You helped me when I was out in the street.”

  “All I did was bring you coffee.”

  “You brought me more than coffee.” He slowly shook his head. “You brought me back to reality.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. After a moment I said, “You must be hungry.” I lifted the bag. “I brought you some orange juice and a muffin from the diner.” I reached in and took out the muffin. “Here you go.”

  He peeled the paper off the muffin and hungrily devoured it.

  “Would you like the orange juice?”

  He nodded and I handed him the cup. He drank it down nearly as fast as he ate the muffin.

  “You look a lot better than you did last night,” I said.

  He set the empty cup down on the stand next to the bed. “What did I look like?”

  “Death.”

  “I felt like death.”

  “I brought an
other muffin.” I handed it to him.

  “Thank you.”

  He ate while I watched. After he finished the second muffin, he looked up at me. “You’re probably wondering why I climbed under the truck.”

  “I know why,” I said. “The police officers who helped you are regulars at the diner. They told me what happened.”

  “You must think I’m a complete nutcase.”

  “I think you’ve been through some very hard things.” Then I said softly, “When I was taking care of you, I saw the scars on your back.”

  I could see that mentioning this brought him pain. “They’re kind of hard to miss.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not the one who should be sorry.”

  I sighed lightly. “I need to go to work.” I stood. “I didn’t get a chance to get groceries, but I can take a break from work a little later.”

  “You don’t need to do that. You’ve done enough.”

  “It’s my pleasure. I brought you some soup and bread last night. It’s in the refrigerator. You can have that for lunch. Loretta sent you enough food to last a few meals.”

  “Loretta?”

  “She’s my boss. She owns the diner.”

  He nodded. “Please thank her for me.”

  “I will. There’s also pecan pie. I don’t know if you like that.”

  “I love pecan pie,” he said. “Back in Indiana I used to buy those little Bama pies, you know the ones?”

  “My husband used to like those,” I said, softer. “I also brought some chamomile tea. It will help you feel a little better.”

  “You’re making me feel better.” For a moment he just looked at me, then he said, “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why are you being so good to me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I could think of a hundred reasons,” he said.

  I smiled. “And I can’t think of one.”

  * * *

  Loretta was still in her office when I got back to the diner. “How’s your soldier?”

  “He’s doing a lot better. He asked me to thank you.”

  “If you see him again, tell him he’s welcome.”

  “I’ll be seeing him again.”

  “I was hoping as much.”

  That evening, I left work early again for William; this time so I could stop at the grocery store. I didn’t know what he ate, so I bought some basics: oatmeal, bread, butter, milk, eggs, cheese, sliced sandwich meat, and three cans of Campbell’s soup. The bill came to almost twenty dollars, but when I thought about the hundreds of dollars he’d saved me it seemed like a small price to pay.

  I drove back to his apartment, knocked on the door, and let myself inside, carrying a grocery sack under each arm. His bedroom door was shut. “It’s just me,” I said.

  As I set down the groceries I noticed a saucepan in the sink with residue from the soup I’d left for him. At least he’d been up and eaten something. I quietly opened his bedroom door and looked inside. He was sleeping, so I walked back to the kitchen and put everything away.

  “Elle.” His voice surprised me, not just because he was awake, but because he had spoken my name. I liked the way he said it.

  I walked back to his room and opened the door. “Hi.”

  “Hey,” he said, smiling.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired, mostly.”

  “I see you ate something.”

  “I had some of the soup you brought. It was good.”

  “Can I make you some chamomile tea?”

  He nodded. “I’d like that.”

  “Do you have a kettle?”

  “No. Just the pan I warmed the soup in.”

  “I can work with that.”

  William coughed. “I can help.”

  “No, you stay there. You need rest.”

  “As you wish,” he said.

  I smiled. “I wish.” I walked back out to the kitchen. I turned on the water in the sink and washed the pan, then filled it halfway with water.

  Then I turned on the hot plate and set the pan on its glowing coils; the water hissed as the coils grew bright orange. Once the water was boiling, I opened the cupboard and grabbed one of the coffee cups. One said Winchell’s Donuts. The other was a glossy black mug with a white skull and the letters USMC. I chose the donut cup as it seemed more life-affirming and, considering his condition, he needed it. I filled it with hot water and put in one of the teabags.

  “Do you like your tea with honey or sugar?”

  “Sugar,” he said.

  I tore open a sugar packet and stirred it in. I let the tea steep for a minute, then took out the teabag and brought the cup to him.

  “There you go.”

  “Thank you.” He blew on the drink, then took a sip.

  When he set the cup down I reached over and put my hand on his forehead. “You’re not as hot as you were. You were a hundred and four last night.”

  “You took my temperature?”

  I nodded. “You don’t remember?”

  “No.” He looked at me for a moment, then said, “From my mouth…”

  I laughed. “Yes. From your mouth.”

  “That’s good to know. I was kind of vulnerable.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  We looked at each other, smiling; was it chemistry?

  “I can’t stay late tonight,” I said. “I’ve got to get back to my son. But I brought you some groceries.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Come on. Let me pay you.”

  “After what you did, it would be embarrassing for me to take your money.”

  “It would be embarrassing for me to take a handout from a single mother.”

  I nodded. “Then you’re going to have to be embarrassed.”

  He looked at me gratefully. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You don’t have to stay here. You’ve wasted enough time on me.”

  I looked at him for a moment then, to my own surprise, said, “I’ve enjoyed being with you.”

  “It’s mutual,” he said. He sipped his tea and then asked, “Do you know what day it is?”

  “It’s November eighteenth.”

  “What day of the week?”

  “Tuesday.”

  He looked confused. “I think I missed a few days.”

  “No doubt.” I smiled. “Well, I better go.” I started to leave, then stopped and turned back.

  “Last night you said something peculiar.”

  “Yes?”

  “You said, ‘I see why he loved you.’ ”

  He was quiet a moment, then shook his head. “I must have been delirious.”

  “You were very sick.” I breathed out. “Well, I better run.” I looked at him again and then said, “Would you like to do something sometime, maybe get something to eat?”

  “Thank you. That’s a really kind offer, but…” He looked me in the eyes. “Could I say no?”

  I flushed with embarrassment. “Of course. I didn’t mean anything, I just…” I wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence.

  “I really appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

  “It’s nothing compared to what you’ve done for me,” I returned. “Besides, I’m partially to blame for you being sick. If my car wasn’t broken down, you wouldn’t have been working all night in the cold. You could have died from exposure.” I forced a grin. “Like the guy they named this apartment building after.”

  “Harrison,” he said. “But I’m not dead yet.”

  The moment fell into awkward silence. Finally I said, “Well, I better go. If I can do anything for you…”

  “I hope I didn’t offend you.”

  “No,” I said. “You didn’t.” Then I added, “Maybe bruised my ego a little.”

  He grinned. “Then I’m sorry for the bruises.”

  �
�Forgiven,” I said. “I’ll see you around.” I walked out of his apartment. As I descended the stairs, my eyes welled up in embarrassment. It seemed that I was undesirable to everyone but old men and lonely truck drivers. My heart ached as I drove home to take care of my son.

  CHAPTER twelve

  I guess he changed his mind about me. I wonder what happened.

  —Elle Sheen’s Diary

  The next morning at work Jamie asked, “How’s your patient?”

  “He’s fine,” I said.

  “That wasn’t very convincing.”

  “He’s not my patient anymore. He’s better.”

  “But you’ll still be seeing him?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I asked him if he’d like to go out sometime. He turned me down.”

  “Loser,” she said, shaking her head.

  “He’s not a loser,” I said.

  She looked at me with surprise. “Oh my. You’re defending him. Feelings, perhaps?”

  “No,” I said. “There are no feelings.”

  “Really?” she said. “So he’s just another fish in the sea?”

  “I don’t have a sea,” I said. “I don’t have any bait and I’m too tired to fish. I just want to get back to work.”

  “Oh, you got bait, girl,” she said after me. “You just forgot how to use it.”

  It was a long day. I operated on little enough sleep as it was, but that late night caring for William had finally caught up to me. It was after the dinner rush when Jamie came to the breakroom to find me. “Elle, you’ve got to come out and see who just walked in.”

  “Who now?” I asked.

  I followed her out. She pointed toward the door. “That’s him, right?”

  William was standing inside the door next to the PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED sign. He still looked a little pale. I admit it was a little painful to see him. “Yes, that’s him.”

  “He’s gorgeous.”

  “Then you should ask him out,” I said. “Maybe he won’t turn you down.”

  “No, he’s yours,” Jamie said. “Go get him.”

  I took a deep breath, then walked over to him. He smiled when he saw me.

  “Dinner for one?” I asked, trying not to sound hurt or distant and probably failing at both.