The Noel Stranger

by Richard Paul Evans

  I turned to Andrew. “I’m sorry. Come in.”

  Andrew stepped inside. “Clive?”

  “In the flesh.”

  Andrew shut the door behind himself. “Are you okay?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer. It had been such a shock seeing him. “I’m fine.”

  He just looked at me. “Are you sure?”

  I began to tear up. I quickly brushed a tear from my cheek. “I don’t know if I’m okay.” The tears began to fall.

  Andrew took my hand. “Come here.” He led me over to the couch. We sat down next to each other, our knees touching. He looked into my face. “What did he want?”

  “He . . .” I couldn’t speak. I just started crying harder. Andrew put his arm around me and pulled me into him. I laid my face on his shoulder and sobbed. For nearly five minutes he just held me, gently running his hand over my back, saying softly, “You’re going to be okay.”

  When I had gained some composure, I looked up into his face. “He wants me to be with him at his trial.”

  “Why would he ask that?”

  “He thinks it will help with the jury.”

  “I’m sure it will. But why would he think he could ask that of you?”

  “Because he knows I will. I always give in to him.”

  “You don’t need to.” He looked into my face. “Do you still love him?”

  I swallowed. “I don’t know. We were married nine years. Is it wrong if part of me still does?”

  Andrew slowly shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re loyal, even if he wasn’t. Just don’t let him use that against you.”

  Why is he so kind to me? “Thank you.”

  He said tenderly, “I worry about you.”

  “I’m glad you worry about me.”

  He touched my face softly, stroking my cheek with the back of his hand. “You’ll get through this. I promise. I’ll help you.”

  I looked deeply into his eyes. “Will you?”

  He nodded. “Yes.” His face moved closer to mine, his eyes both wild and soft. I moved forward to meet him, our lips pressing together.

  It was bliss, his soft lips and hard, whiskered face against my face. His love felt so sweet. I just wanted to bury all my pain in him. I wanted to escape in him. For the next several hours, I did just that. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I’d fallen in love.

  CHAPTER

  Seventeen

  Andrew invited me on a trip to Mexico. It’s just a trip. Right? It’s just a trip. Right.

  —Maggie Walther’s Diary

  I slept in the next morning. I woke hungry for a change. Andrew and I had never gone out to dinner. Instead we had talked until early in the morning. Actually, we had talked and kissed.

  My phone vibrated with a text. I rolled over and grabbed it, hoping it was from him. It was. I had also missed a phone call from Carina twenty minutes earlier.

  ANDREW

  Good morning, beautiful.

  I texted back.

  MAGGIE

  Good morning, handsome. Just woke.

  Someone kept me up late.

  ANDREW

  Who kept you up? Lol.

  I thought you might sleep in. I have coffee/muffin for you. Should I bring them?

  MAGGIE

  Bring you, please.

  ANDREW

  On my way.

  I lay back in bed. My heart was so full of joy. How long had it been since I’d felt such elation? Ten minutes later my phone vibrated.

  ANDREW

  I’m at the door.

  I pulled on a robe, walked out to the foyer, and opened the door. Andrew was holding a cardboard coffee carrier and a white bakery sack.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” he said. “May I come in?”

  “Anytime,” I said.

  He stamped off his feet and stepped inside. We kissed, then he said, “Kitchen?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I followed him. He set my coffee on the table along with the paper sack. “I brought muffins. I hope you like muffins.”

  “How did you know I was hungry?”

  “We never went out to eat last night. I kind of felt bad about that.”

  “Did you hear me complaining?”

  He smiled. “Honestly, I didn’t feel too bad.” He grabbed the sack. “I wasn’t sure what kind of muffins you like, so I got almost every kind they had. Banana nut, oatmeal walnut, blueberry, and cinnamon apple. You don’t have to eat them all.”

  “I’ll restrain myself. I’ll have the apple.”

  “It’s yours,” he said, handing me a muffin. “I’ll have the blueberry.”

  We both sat down at the table. “What a nice surprise,” I said. “It’s almost breakfast in bed.”

  “That could be arranged,” he said.

  “So I was thinking, I could make dinner for us tonight. There’s this Japanese roast chicken recipe I found. Does that sound good?”

  His expression fell. “I can’t tonight. I have to leave town.”

  My heart fell. “Oh. For long?”

  “No, just the weekend. I’ve got to drive to Denver.”

  “Would you like some company? I don’t have any plans.”

  “Not this time,” he said. He must have read the disappointment on my face, because he added, “Maybe next time.”

  My offer had clearly surprised him. “Is there a next time?”

  “I go every week. I have family there that I’m taking care of.” He hesitated. “I’m really sorry. It’s been this way since I came to Utah. It should only be a few more weeks.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “It’s not about owing. I want to be with you.” He just sat there looking at me. Reading me. “You still look upset.”

  “I’m sorry. I was just really looking forward to being with you. Last night was so . . .” I didn’t finish.

  “Amazing,” he said. “I’m so sorry. But it’s just a day. I’ll be back by Saturday night. Then I’ll be around for the week.”

  I think I probably still seemed upset, because he looked at me for a moment, then stood. “Come here.”

  “Where?”

  He put out his hand. “Back to the couch.”

  “You sound like a psychiatrist.”

  “Exactly.”

  I stood and took his hand and we walked back out to the living room. We sat down next to each other on the couch. I draped my arms around him and we kissed. After we parted he said, “Where were we?”

  “I was saying that I was looking forward to being with you. I couldn’t tell you the last time I was that happy.”

  “And now I’m depriving you of it.”

  “Basically,” I said, kissing him. We kissed for a couple of minutes, then I said, “You really want to go? And leave me?”

  “No, I don’t want to leave you. But I have to.” He looked into my eyes. “Don’t be blue.”

  “I’m always blue this time of the year. Why is that?” I said.

  “I have no idea.”

  “You’re not much of a psychiatrist.”

  “No. I’d be horrible at it. Why do you think you’re blue this time of year?”

  “I think I have that seasonal affect thing.”

  “SAD,” he said. “Seasonal affective disease.”

  I laughed. “It’s disorder, not disease.”

  “You’re the one who called it a ‘thing.’ ” He was quiet a moment, then said, “I have a solution, if you’re interested.”

  “You have a solution for my SAD?”

  “I do. It’s called Los Cabos.”

  “Cabos? As in Mexico?”

  He nodded. “A friend of mine has a condo there. There’s no shortage of sun. We should go.”

  I leaned back to look at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. Have you ever been to Cabo San Lucas?”

  “No. But I’ve seen pictures.”

  “This is the ideal time of the year to go. The weather is
perfect and the condo has a perfect view of the ocean.”

  “You really are serious.”

  “I am. Is there a problem with that?”

  “I barely know you.”

  “That’s true for both of us. Which is why we’ll have separate rooms.”

  “What about your Christmas tree lot?”

  “It’s November. Sheldon can run it.”

  “I thought his name was Shelby.”

  “Whatever,” he said.

  I laughed. “I can’t believe you’re serious.” My mind reeled at the proposition. “I don’t know.”

  “You said you could use some sun. And I’m betting you could use time out of Utah.”

  “Both true.”

  “So why not just say yes?”

  “It’s just so . . .”

  “Spontaneous?”

  “Yes. Pisces are not very spontaneous.”

  “But Pisces are fish and Cabo is on the sea, so it’s kind of a natural.”

  “When would we go?”

  “Let me check the flights.” He looked at his phone. After some scrolling he said, “There’s a direct flight from Salt Lake to Los Cabos Sunday morning.”

  “You mean Sunday, as in three days from now?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be back Saturday night. We could stay until Friday morning; that would give us six days.”

  I thought for a moment. “Wait—it’s Thanksgiving that week.”

  His brow furrowed. “You have plans?”

  “Just with Carina. And her parents.”

  He looked disappointed. “It was a nice thought.”

  “I could cancel,” I said.

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble with your friend.” He smiled. “Or, actually, I do.”

  “She’ll understand. I already felt like a charity case. What about you? Don’t you have plans?”

  “No, it’s just me. I usually spend Thanksgiving in Cabo. Spending Thanksgiving with you would be even better.”

  I wanted to go more than I could say. “It would be wonderful.”

  “So?”

  “Let’s do it,” I blurted out.

  He glanced down at his phone, then at me. “I’m going to book it. Are you sure?”

  I took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “And you have a passport?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled. “Good.” He typed into his smartphone and looked up at me. “Done. We’re going to Cabo.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this. What do I bring? Besides my passport?”

  “Just your clothes. Nothing you would wear in Utah right now. Swimsuit, nightwear, sunglasses. The condo has everything we need.”

  “And you’re sure the condo’s available?”

  He smiled. “Positive.”

  CHAPTER

  Eighteen

  Carina’s not happy about my impending trip. You would think that I had booked a seat on the Titanic.

  —Maggie Walther’s Diary

  “What are you doing, girl?” I said to myself as Andrew drove away. I pulled up the weather app on my phone and typed in Los Cabos. It was sunny with a high of ninety-six degrees. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m going to Cabo San Lucas with a complete stranger I’ve fallen in love with. A smile crossed my face. I was going to Cabo with a gorgeous stranger. It was the first time that I had something to look forward to in a long, long time.

  I couldn’t wait to tell someone, which, of course, meant Carina. I sat on the bed and called her. “Hi, doll.”

  She hesitated. “Maggie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Wow, I wasn’t sure it was you. I haven’t heard you this cheery since you found out that dark chocolate is good for you.”

  “Andrew just invited me to Cabo.”

  “The Christmas tree salesman?”

  “The Christmas tree salesman,” I said. “His friend has a condo on the beach and he said we can use it. I checked the weather. It’s like ninety-five degrees there today.”

  “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “I’ll wear sunscreen.”

  “I meant going to Cabo with a stranger.”

  “He’s not a stranger.”

  “Uh, he is, Maggie. You’ve known him like, a week?”

  “Eight days,” I said. “I’d known you for less than twenty minutes when I hired you. I’m not worried.”

  “Which is why I am.”

  “He’s a gentleman, Carina. He assured me we’ll be staying in separate rooms.”

  “What do you expect him to say? How do you know he’s not dangerous? Mysterious past, just moved to town. A drifter working in a Christmas tree lot—”

  “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just say that. He’s not a drifter, Carina. He owns the Christmas tree lot. He’s contracted with the store.”

  “Yeah, well, for all you know, he could be a serial killer.”

  “Now you’re being crazy. Besides, he’s too sweet.”

  “Serial killers are always sweet. It’s how they lure their victims in.”

  “Now you’re scaring me. Why can’t you be happy for me? Last week you were complaining that I was isolating. Now I’ve found someone and you’re unhappy about that.”

  “That’s because it was just last week, Maggie. You don’t really know this guy. It’s too soon. I just don’t want to see your heart getting broken again. You’re so vulnerable right now. You’re just way too trusting.”

  “I’ve never been too trusting.”

  “Your husband had another family.”

  I didn’t answer. It stung.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just mean, why don’t you spend a little more time getting to know the guy before you run off to another country?”

  “Because I like him. Besides, we’ve already bought the plane tickets.”

  “Whoa,” she said. “You’re really doing this. When are you going?”

  “Sunday.”

  “Sunday? When are you coming back?”

  I felt a little embarrassed. “We’re coming back Friday.”

  “You’re blowing me off for Thanksgiving?”

  “I’m sorry. I felt like an imposition.”

  “Which you’re not.” She sighed. “All right. I guess I can forgive you. Just don’t let him hold your passport. And I want to know the address of this condo.”

  “I’m telling myself that your paranoia is misguided love.”

  “It is love. And I want info in case you don’t come back.”

  “If I don’t come back,” I said, “don’t come looking for me.”

  CHAPTER

  Nineteen

  Today the Stephenses returned from burying their son. How brightly some people shine in the darkness of adversity.

  —Maggie Walther’s Diary

  Saturday it was snowing again. Andrew called to make sure that I was okay, but, I think mostly to make sure that I hadn’t backed out of our trip.

  “Nope, you’re stuck with me,” I said. “Are you in Denver?”

  “Yes. Just clearing out of my hotel.”

  “You don’t stay with your family?”

  He hesitated. “No, that wouldn’t quite work.”

  “How long does it take to drive to Denver?”

  “Driving the legal limit or my limit?”

  “Your limit. If you have one.”

  “A little over seven hours.”

  “What time will you be home tonight?”

  “That depends on the roads. Apparently there’s a whiteout right now in Rock Springs. But the roads should be clear by the time I get there.”

  “It’s snowing here too,” I said. “You didn’t stay very long.”

  “No. I’ve only got a small window to visit.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “It’s complicated,” he said.

  It snowed all day Saturday, which made me even more excited to go to Cabo. It also made me worry about Andrew’s drive. I checked the weather in
Rock Springs. It looked bad. I was hoping he would make it home in time to come over, but now I was worried he might not make it back at all. At best, he would make it home at two or three in the morning.

  The day dragged on. One good thing: I went downstairs and ran on my treadmill. Outside of shoveling snow, I hadn’t exercised for weeks. It felt good, though I was amazed at how quickly I was tired.

  Around two, my neighbors, the Stephenses, came home. I saw them get out of their car and hold each other as they walked into their house. My heart hurt for them. I put down my book and went to the kitchen and baked them some more cookies. This time I made gingerbread cookies. They were still warm when I walked them over.

  Mrs. Stephens answered the door. She recognized me. “How are you, dear?” she asked.

  “I’m well,” I said. “Thank you. I brought you some cookies.”

  She glanced at the plate I held. “But you already brought us some. They were a welcome treat to come home to.”

  “I wanted you to have fresh ones,” I said. The truth was, I was afraid that her sister had already eaten them all. “Your sister told me about your son. I’m very sorry.”

  She looked at me with gray, mournful eyes. “Thank you. He was our only son. A parent shouldn’t have to outlive their child.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  “We’re grateful that we have the grandchildren. They’re going to be moving in with us.”

  “It’s good they have you,” I said.

  “It’s good we have them,” she replied. “Our son lives through them.” We were both quiet a moment, then she asked, “And how are you doing?”

  “I’m doing better. Your coming to help me made a big difference. I was having trouble getting out of the house.”

  “Well, with all this snow, it’s hard for everyone to get out. We’ve had a lot of snow this year,” she said. “I heard on the news it’s one of the snowiest winters of the decade.”

  “I didn’t mean the snow,” I said. “I just didn’t want to go out.”

  She looked at me thoughtfully, then said, “We were glad to help. If you ever need anything, just call.”

  “Thank you for being a good neighbor,” I said. “Even when I haven’t been one.”

  “You’ve been busy,” she said kindly. “You’re at a busy time of life.”