Noel Street

by Richard Paul Evans

  “What did you think this was?”

  “Clearly not what you did,” I said.

  “Did I ever tell you that I was looking for a relationship?”

  “Not in words.”

  “I didn’t come to this place to fall in love.”

  I looked at him for a moment, then said, “But you did, didn’t you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “That’s what it is, isn’t it?” When he didn’t answer I said, “You came here for whatever reason and fell in love and you got scared.”

  “What do you know about being scared?” he said.

  I caught my breath. My head was spinning. “Maybe nothing compared to you. But what I know is that you went through a hell that few people could understand and you had every reason to die yet you fought to live. And now that you’re back, you’re afraid of living.”

  “What do I have to live for?”

  The question stung. “I thought I was something to live for. I thought Dylan was something to live for.”

  He didn’t speak. The rejection that burned in me turned to anger. “You’re a coward. You’re not afraid of death, you’re afraid that life might be worth living. You’re afraid you might have to forgive yourself.”

  “There is no such thing as forgiveness.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Really? Have you forgiven your father?”

  Again, his words stung. I couldn’t answer.

  “Have you forgiven yourself for sending Isaac to fight in a war he didn’t believe in and never came back from? Have you forgiven yourself for sending him to his death?”

  His words sent a shock through me. My knees weakened. I began to tremble. “I didn’t send him to his death.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The words were like a spear through my heart. At first I couldn’t breathe. William stood there helplessly. Suddenly Fran walked out of the school. She looked at me, breathless and heaving in pain, and walked over. “Oh, honey. What happened?” She spun toward William. “What did you do to her?”

  William just stood there.

  “What did you do to her?!” she screamed.

  He just stood there awkwardly and speechless. When I caught my breath, I looked up at him and said softly, “If I tell you you’re right, will you leave me?”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  I couldn’t stop shaking. “Please.”

  “You need to leave,” Fran said. “You need to leave now.”

  He just looked at me, his eyes welling. “I’m really sorry.” He turned and walked away.

  After several minutes Fran said, “It’s cold, Elle. Let’s get you inside.”

  “I don’t want to go inside. I don’t want Dylan to see me like this.”

  Fran took my hand. “I understand. Let me walk you to the car, then I’ll get Dylan. I’ll take him to my place.”

  “All right,” I said softly.

  We walked together across the wet pavement to my car. Fran opened my door, hugged me, and then helped me in.

  “Are you sure you can drive?”

  I nodded.

  “Okay. Just call when you want me to bring him back. He can spend the night if you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  She stood there looking at me with sympathetic eyes. Then she said, “What do you want me to tell Dylan if he asks about William?”

  “Tell him he’s gone.”

  CHAPTER twenty-eight

  How is it that we don’t see the train until we’re beneath it?

  —Elle Sheen’s Diary

  Dylan slept that night at Fran’s. I couldn’t sleep. I tried. I even took sleeping pills, anything to escape the pain, but nothing helped.

  As I tossed in bed, somewhere in the middle of the night, something hit me. Something William had said at the school that stole any hope I had of sleep. Did he really say what I thought he said?

  I waited until the sun came up, then, in just my sweats and a T-shirt, I put on my coat and drove to Renato’s.

  William’s truck wasn’t in the parking lot. I stormed into the repair shop’s lobby. Renato was there talking to some man. They both turned and looked at me. Without speaking, I opened the door to the garage. No one was there.

  I turned back to Renato. “Where is he?” I asked. “Where’s William?”

  Renato looked at me sadly. “William quit. He said he had to move on.”

  The words felt like a brick on my chest. “When?”

  “He came by my house last night.”

  “Did he already leave?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “He was very upset.”

  I ran back out to my car. I had to see him. I had to know the truth. I drove to the Harrison with tears running down my cheeks. To my relief, William’s truck was still there.

  I ran upstairs and pounded on his door. It was nearly a full minute before William opened it. He said nothing, his gaze locked on mine.

  “I never told you my husband’s name,” I said. “I never told you his name was Isaac. You knew him, didn’t you? You knew my husband.”

  William just looked at me.

  “Tell me!” I shouted. “You knew my husband!”

  William’s face showed neither anger nor indifference. After a moment he said, “Come in.”

  His apartment looked even barer than before, if that was possible. There were two large green canvas duffel bags on the floor next to the couch. There was a gun on top of one of the bags.

  William sat at one end of the couch. “Have a seat,” he said softly.

  I sat at the other end of the couch. I just sat there, trembling.

  William rubbed his chin and said, “I knew Isaac. He was my best friend. I was with him when he died.”

  My eyes welled up.

  “It was that New Year’s Eve I told you about, right after the attack on Quang Tri. Our platoon walked into an ambush. Isaac got hit right off. I carried him to some rocks next to a waterfall, but he was bleeding badly. I needed to get him out of there, but we were pinned down. We were outnumbered. The bullets were thicker than mosquitoes.” The pain and fear in his eyes was fresh, as if he were reliving the moment.

  “I kept telling him to hang in there, that we were going to make it. But we both knew otherwise.” William swallowed. “His last thoughts were of you. He was afraid you would blame yourself for his death. He was afraid of his son growing up without a father. He asked me to find you and tell you that he loved you.”

  William’s eyes welled up. “I was carrying him when I was captured.” He looked into my eyes. “You wanted to know what kept me alive through that hell? It was that promise.” He closed his eyes tight, forcing a tear down his cheek. “Actually there were two promises. He made me promise to give you something.” He breathed out slowly. “I was going to mail it to you after I left.”

  He reached into one of the duffel bags and brought out a black velvet pouch. “You have no idea what it took to get this to you.” He handed it to me.

  I opened the pouch and poured its contents into my palm. It was Isaac’s wedding band. I looked up at William.

  “I swallowed it at least a hundred times to keep them from finding it. If they had seen me swallow it, they would have cut me open.”

  I looked at the ring, caressing it between my fingers. It was just a simple gold band, all we could afford at the time. I remembered slipping it on Isaac’s finger. William had risked his life to bring it to me.

  “When I came back to America, I realized that the promise I made to Isaac was the only thing that kept me alive.”

  “Then he gave you a gift,” I said.

  He shook his head. “It was a curse.” He looked at me. “You asked me why I came to Mistletoe. I came to fulfill a promise to my friend and then do what I should have done back in Vietnam.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Die.”

  The word echoed in my heart. “That place you took me,” I said. “The falls…”


  “That was where I was going to take my life.”

  “That’s why you were crying?”

  “I was crying because I was carrying Isaac like that when he died.”

  I let the words sink in. “Why did it take you so long to find me?”

  “I was a mess. I was trying to make something stick. I couldn’t.”

  “Maybe it was the wrong thing you were trying to make stick. Maybe God had something better for you.”

  “There is no God.”

  “Then why are you so angry at Him?”

  He didn’t answer. For a long time there was only silence.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but I understand now,” I said. “You were afraid because you finally found a family. You found what was taken from you all those years ago.”

  He put his head down. I moved closer to him. I reached out and touched his cheek. He raised his head to look at me.

  “Can’t you see it? This is too big a coincidence. Have you considered that maybe Isaac didn’t ask you to make that promise for him? That promise was for you. It kept you alive through that hell. It brought you to us. He gave you a gift. He gave you back a family. He gave you us.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “It’s not what you’re afraid of,” I said. “It’s what you’re afraid of losing. Why else would you have come here and taken an apartment and a job. You could have just found me at the diner and left the same day.

  “William, God is giving you this. He’s giving you a second chance. But you have to have the courage to take it. It’s your choice now. You can have what you’ve always wanted. I know you’re afraid of losing us. After all you’ve been through, who wouldn’t be? But this time, this moment, is up to you but if you don’t take the chance, you’ve already lost us.”

  William was quiet for the longest time, thinking, searching. The whole time I silently prayed, hoping he would have faith just one more time—hoping that he would believe. Then he looked up at me. I knew his answer before he spoke. All he said was “I’m sorry.”

  His words ended the conversation. My heart knew it was over. We were over. “Me too,” I said. After a minute I took a deep breath. I felt nothing but darkness. “Are you going to take your life?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Please don’t. Not that what I think matters.” I looked him in the eyes. “I love you, William. More than I could ever say.” I swallowed. “And I know you love me.”

  He looked at me for a moment, then said, “More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything.” Then he said something I’ll never forget. “It’s the only thing more terrifying than death.”

  “That’s the price of love,” I said. “The risk of losing it. But it’s worth the risk.”

  “Is it?”

  I took another deep breath. “I guess that’s for you to decide.”

  I just sat there for a moment. Then I wiped my eyes and lifted the golden ring. “Thank you for this.” I stood. “I guess I better let you get on with your life.”

  As he stood, I walked over and put my arms around him, my head against his chest. With his arms around me, he pulled me in close. For just a moment I pretended that this was something else, but my heart wouldn’t allow it. I stepped back, kissed him, then turned and walked out of his life.

  CHAPTER twenty-nine

  Broken hearts tend to take the rest of the body with them.

  —Elle Sheen’s Diary

  It was only a week until Christmas. I was alone. Dylan had been with Fran for two days.

  I couldn’t stand the sound of my thoughts, so I turned on the radio to one of those all-Christmas-all-the-time stations. “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” by Harry Belafonte played.

  There is no peace on earth, I said to myself. Never has been. Never will be. The phrase from the song clung to my heart like a burr.

  My heart was broken.

  Most of all I was tired. Tired of loneliness and responsibility. And, in spite of my exhaustion, I could see no respite, no reprieve, no way out, and Christmas was looming ahead of me like an iceberg in the path of a titanic meltdown.

  Dylan would be back soon. I wished I had someone to send him off with for a while. Fran would have kept him for as long as I needed, but she was leaving town for the holidays. I couldn’t hide my brokenness.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. It was Gretchen, my landlady. The sight of her just made my stomach hurt more. She stood on the porch holding a plate of cookies. She looked at me, clearly shocked by my appearance. My hair was a rat’s nest, and I had no makeup on. I hadn’t worn makeup for days.

  “Elle, are you… okay?”

  “I’ve been better,” I said. “Come in.”

  She stepped inside. “Are you sick?”

  “No.”

  “Is it the window?” she asked. “You know they caught that evil woman.”

  “This has just been a hard month. It’s been a hard year.”

  “I’m really sorry.” She forced a smile. “But cheer up. I brought you my famous pepperkaker cookies. The ones that sell like hotcakes at the festival. They’re always good for a smile.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I took the plate from her and set it down on the table. I turned back. “Look, I know I’m late on rent, but… is there any way we could split this month across the next three months.”

  Gretchen looked confused. “You want to split up your rent?”

  “Just for the next three months,” I said. “I think I can get back on track.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “My rent,” I said, angry that she was making my request more difficult than it already was. “You came here to collect the rent, right?”

  She looked even more confused. “No, I came to bring you cookies. Your rent’s paid.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Honey, there’s nothing to understand. Your rent is paid up to the end of next year, which I am very grateful for.”

  “You must be mistaken. I didn’t pay it.”

  “Not you, dear. It was the man you sent.”

  “What man?”

  “The one you sent with your rent. I’ve never met him before. He told me he was paying the bill for you. He paid in cash.”

  I let the news sink in. “Was his name William?”

  She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, he didn’t give me his name. He was a nice-looking gent, older, maybe in his late fifties.”

  “Fifties? Are you sure?”

  “Oh yes. He had fabulous gray hair.”

  I honestly had no idea who it could be.

  “I assumed you knew.” She smiled. “Maybe it was someone you met at the diner.” She raised her eyebrows. “Maybe you have a secret admirer.”

  “I don’t know anyone who could have done that.”

  She shrugged. “Well, someone paid it. Maybe it was an angel. Maybe it’s a Christmas miracle. I’m happy for you, Elle. You deserve a break. Maybe this news will brighten your day a little. Or a lot. Merry Christmas, my dear.”

  “Merry Christmas to you too,” I said.

  I shut the door after her. Who had paid my rent?

  CHAPTER thirty

  I had an unexpected visitor today.

  —Elle Sheen’s Diary

  Fran came by with Dylan a little after seven o’clock. She honked “shave and a haircut” as she pulled into my driveway—something Dylan always made her do. She was on her way to Texas to visit her family, and the back seat of her car was full of wrapped gifts and suitcases.

  The passenger-side door opened and Dylan practically sprang from it, running to me and shouting, “Mama! Mama! I missed you!” I hugged him tight and kissed the top of his head. “I missed you too, buddy.”

  He stood back. “Look!” He held out a wrapped box. “Fran gave me a present. But she says I can’t open it until Christmas.”

  “Go put it under the tree,” I said. “I’ll be right there.
”

  He ran into the house. Fran walked up to me, leaving her car idling.

  “He’s had a bath and I fed him dinner.” She looked at me. “Elle, I’m so sorry I can’t keep him longer. You know I would.”

  “You’ve done more than enough. I’m worried about you driving at night. Are you sure you won’t wait until morning?”

  “I’ll be okay. I’m just going to Green River tonight, maybe Laramie if the roads aren’t too bad. That’s not too far.”

  “I’m sorry I delayed your trip. But I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “I think that about you all the time,” she said. “And my buddy Dylan. You’re my family too. I’ll be back January third, okay? I’ll plan on getting right back into it.” She leaned forward and we hugged. “Merry Christmas, Elle. Nineteen seventy-six will be a better year. I promise. You know I’m right about these things. It’s the psychic in me.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that,” I said, forcing a smile for her. “Merry Christmas.”

  “I love you,” she said.

  “And I love you.”

  She walked back to her car. I shut the door behind her. I walked over to the tree. Dylan was sitting next to it. “How was your visit with Fran?” I asked.

  “I can’t wait to see what she got me. Is Mr. William coming for Christmas?”

  “No. Mr. William had to go away.”

  “For… ever?”

  “Yes.”

  Dylan looked sad. “But I like him.”

  A tear fell down my cheek. I made no attempt to hide it. “Me too, buddy. Me too.”

  * * *

  An hour later there was a knock at my door. I had already sent Dylan to bed, and I guessed it might be Fran coming back. Maybe she had decided to wait to leave until tomorrow after all. I opened the door, ready to give her a big hug.

  My father stood in the doorway.

  CHAPTER thirty-one

  One cannot understand the power of grace until one has needed it. Or given it.

  —Elle Sheen’s Diary