The Noel Stranger

by Richard Paul Evans

  “So that blonde on the boat didn’t interest you at all,” I teased.

  He grinned. “I’m not a eunuch,” he said. “There was a time when I would have eaten up her attention. But my marriage changed that. What I mostly saw was how she disrespected the man she was with. I suppose they were disrespecting each other. But I just don’t have any interest in that game anymore.” He looked into my eyes. “The first time I met you, I saw this beautiful, strong woman with vulnerability in her eyes. Someone who was doing her best to muddle through the storm. I was attracted to that.”

  “You saw all that the first time you met me?”

  He nodded. “A soldier friend of mine who had seen heavy combat told me that he could spot another combat veteran a mile away. He said that once you’ve been in battle, you’re different. I suppose it’s like that in love as well.”

  “You’ve been in battle?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I was too. But I’m not now. It’s what it took to bring me to this place.”

  “And where is that?”

  “With you.”

  It was nearly midnight when we returned to the condo. Andrew walked me to my room, then turned to go. “Don’t leave,” I said.

  He looked at me. “You know . . .”

  “You don’t need to say it,” I said. “Just lie with me until I fall asleep. I don’t want you to leave me.”

  He thought for a moment. “Okay.”

  “Just give me a minute.” I went into my bathroom, changed into a T-shirt and pajama shorts, then pulled down the covers and climbed onto the bed. Andrew took off his shirt and shoes, then lay down next to me. “Will you hold me?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  He lay back and I cuddled into him, my head against his bare chest, his strong arms wrapped around me. I felt so safe and happy and loved. “Never leave me,” I said softly.

  “Never,” he said back.

  The night faded into perfect fiction.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-Nine

  Love is just smoke and mirrors.

  —Maggie Walther’s Diary

  I woke the next morning next to him. He was still asleep, his warm breath washing over me. I lay there, feeling him.

  Before coming to Mexico I had wondered what awful thing I might discover about Andrew on this trip—which was more revealing of me than of him. What I’d discovered was that he was who he was. I still knew little of his past, but I knew his present. He was kind and vulnerable, honest and loving, not just to me but to others. No wonder the Mexican people loved him. No wonder I loved him.

  I kissed his neck and he stirred a little. I looked up into his face and kissed him on the chin, then nestled back into him. I never wanted to leave this place—physically or emotionally.

  “What time is it?” he asked softly.

  “It’s almost eight. What time do we have to leave?”

  “Ten.”

  “I wish we didn’t have to go.”

  “I think that every time I’m here,” he said softly. “Not so much this time.”

  “How come?”

  “This time, the best part is coming back with me.”

  I pressed my lips against his. Then I put my head on his chest and he pulled me in tight. “We have an hour,” he said.

  “An hour,” I echoed.

  I didn’t fall back asleep. I didn’t want to miss any of the moment. As I lay there I began thinking of the past year and this sudden juncture. Where would we go from here? I knew where I wanted to go. I wanted to join my life with his and fight life’s battles together. That’s what he said he was looking for. Is that really what he wanted?

  I silenced my mind. There would be time to think about that later, and the clock was moving too fast as it was. It seemed like only minutes before he stirred, looking over at the clock next to the bed.

  “Is it time?” I asked.

  He kissed my forehead. “Yes.”

  I sighed heavily. “All good things must come to an end.”

  He rubbed his hand along my cheek. “Not all things.” He kissed me and slowly sat up. “I’m going to shower.” He got up, picked up his shirt and shoes, and walked out of my room.

  I showered as well, then packed my things. I pulled my coat from the closet, a symbol of what I’d left behind and what I was returning to. Yet it didn’t seem so awful now. There was suddenly a warmth and strength inside me that felt greater than anything winter could throw at me.

  My alarm clock said five minutes to ten. Time to go. I walked out into the living room. “I’m ready,” I said.

  Andrew was waiting for me on the sofa. “You’re sure you didn’t forget anything?”

  “Pretty sure,” I said. “If I did we’ll just have to come back.”

  He smiled. Suddenly his expression changed. “I almost forgot our passports,” he said, shaking his head. “That would have been bad. And I forgot to leave Jazmín a tip. Our passports are in that top drawer on the far right there,” he said, pointing. “Next to the pantry. I put them under the papers so no one would find them. Would you grab them?”

  “No problem,” I said.

  “I always leave Jazmín’s tip in my top drawer, just to be safe.” As he left the room, I went to the counter and opened the drawer. There was pile of official-looking papers inside. I rooted through them until I found our passports. As I brought them out, I noticed the top paper in the drawer. It had a graphic of an electric bolt and a green bar running across the top that read AVISO RECEIBO.

  CFE Comisión Federal de Electricidad

  Sr. Andrew Hill

  The electric bill. I thought nothing of it as I shut the drawer. Then it struck me. It was addressed to Andrew Hill. Why was the electric bill in Andrew’s name? And if it was Andrew’s condo, why would he lie about it?

  An anxious chill ran up my spine. Was I being lied to again? I pushed the thought aside. There’s an explanation, I told myself. Maybe he was just being modest.

  After all the lies and deceit I’d been through with Clive, was I a fool not to worry? Why would he lie to me? Anxiety flooded in like groundwater.

  Andrew walked back into the room, replacing his wallet to his back pocket. “Did you find them?”

  I shut the drawer, feeling guilty, as if I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t have been doing. I held the passports up. “Right here.”

  “Good.” He looked around, then breathed out. “Well, off we go. Back to the snow.”

  “I haven’t even checked the weather,” I said, trying to talk about something else besides what was on my mind.

  “I did,” he said. “It snowed twice while we were gone. At this rate, Salt Lake will be a glacier by the end of winter.”

  “We should stay here,” I said. I think I meant it more than either of us suspected. Something told me that when this weekend was gone, it was really gone.

  Andrew kissed me on the forehead. “We’ll come back soon.”

  I closed my eyes as he kissed me. I know it was stupid—most fear usually is—but I just couldn’t get the electric bill off my mind. Why would he lie?

  CHAPTER

  Thirty

  Before taking this trip, I was afraid that I would come home with a man I no longer cared about. Instead, I came home without a man whom I care too much about.

  —Maggie Walther’s Diary

  It was a longer ride to the airport than I remembered. Andrew and I hardly spoke, though he didn’t seem bothered by my silence. He probably just thought I was quiet because we were going back home. I wished that were the case. It was true, of course, but the greater reason for my silence was the fear that had commandeered my thoughts. Several times I glanced over at Andrew and he suddenly looked like a stranger to me. I loved him. Why wasn’t that enough? But I had loved Clive too. And trusted him. And where had that gotten me?

  The trip had raised more questions than it answered. Andrew wasn’t who I thought he was when we fi
rst met—a simple man in boots and worn Levis, working at a Christmas tree lot to keep the lights on. He had money, sophistication, intelligence, and a past whose surface I’d only begun to scratch. Who was he?

  What seemed innocent before now scared me. Clive was about Clive. Our marriage was The Clive Show, and he had the spotlight and star billing while the rest of us were relegated to supporting roles or the studio audience. Personality-wise, Andrew was the polar opposite of Clive. He genuinely seemed more interested in me than in himself. At first I found this endearing. Now I was afraid that he was hiding something.

  Or am I just being paranoid? If anyone had reason to be paranoid, it was me. I didn’t even trust myself anymore. My husband had been able to keep another wife and family from me for three years. Clearly I was far more gullible than I ever dared believe.

  My emotions blurred like the desert landscape around us, turning from fear to anger then to self-hate for undermining what seemed to be my greatest chance at happiness. This had been the perfect week. Andrew had been nothing but fun, generous, and loving. Why wasn’t that enough?

  We returned our car to the airport rental lot and took a shuttle to the terminal. The airport was insanely crowded with foreigners returning home from the holiday.

  When it was our turn to check in, I followed Andrew up to the ticket counter, where he handed the gate agent—a mustached, ruddy-faced Mexican man—both of our passports. The badge on the man’s chest read Javier de la Cruz.

  The man opened the first passport, then glanced up at me. “Mrs. Walther?” he said in clear English.

  I stepped forward. “I’m Mrs. Walther.”

  “Okay. Do you have luggage?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Please put it here,” he said, pointing to the opening next to his counter.

  Andrew lifted my bag onto the scale while the agent printed out my boarding pass. He put a label on my bag and set it on the conveyer belt behind him.

  Then Andrew set his own bag on the scale. “This is mine,” he said.

  The agent printed out another boarding pass, then slapped a label on Andrew’s bag and also set it on the belt behind him.

  “Here is your boarding pass, Señora,” he said to me, handing me my ticket with my passport. “You will be departing from gate twelve.” Then he turned to Andrew and did the same. “Here is your passport, Señor. You will be at gate seventeen.”

  I looked at Andrew. “Why are we at different gates?”

  Andrew turned to me. “I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you, I’m flying straight to Denver. It was the only way I could stay here this long. I need to be in Denver tomorrow morning.”

  “To visit family,” I said.

  He looked at me peculiarly. “I told you I go to Denver every Saturday.”

  I don’t know what it was, but this only added to my fear. My eyes began to well up. I turned and started walking toward security. Andrew came after me. “Maggie?” He grabbed my arm, then walked in front of me. “What’s wrong?”

  I looked at him, fighting to keep my composure. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m sorry. I just forgot. It was an honest mistake.” Honest. I suddenly hated that word. Andrew just looked at me with a concerned expression. “I don’t understand. Why are you so upset?”

  “I don’t do well with secrets,” I said.

  Andrew’s brow furrowed. “This wasn’t a secret, Maggie. I just forgot to tell you. Do you think I’m hiding something?”

  I took a deep breath, fighting back emotion. Then I looked at him. “I’m sorry. I’m just emotional. It’s hard going home.”

  “I understand,” he said. He took my hand. “We better get through security before we miss our flights.”

  We went through the security line, which even in priority took nearly thirty minutes. I tried to act calm, even though anxiety was building inside me like a pressure cooker. Why couldn’t I shut it off?

  When we got to my gate, Andrew said, “It looks like they’ve already started boarding.” He breathed out slowly. “Look, I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you, Maggie. I should have been more thoughtful.” He took out his wallet. “You’re going to need a ride home from the airport.” He offered me a hundred-dollar bill. “That’s for an Uber.”

  “I don’t need money,” I said. “I’ll get a ride.”

  “Maggie, please.”

  I looked at him, unable to hold back the question that was haunting me. “Whose condo did we just stay in?”

  He looked at me blankly. “Why are you asking me that?”

  “The electric bill was in your name.”

  I could see that my question threw him. “Is that really why you’re upset?”

  “I don’t do secrets,” I said again.

  He looked at me for a moment, then said, “Neither do I.” He took a deep breath. “You better get on your flight.” Even though he was upset, he kissed me on the cheek. “Remember I love you.”

  “I know,” I said softly.

  “I hope you do.”

  I didn’t reply. He breathed out slowly. “Call me when you get home so I know you’re safe.” Then he turned and walked away. I watched him disappear into a river of humanity as a tear rolled down my cheek. He was the best thing that had happened to me in years. Maybe ever. And I had no idea who he really was.

  I was a mess on the flight home. I kept bursting into tears. After my second breakdown, the elderly Mexican man sitting next to me asked if I were okay. I told him I was, then started crying again. He got a box of Kleenex from the flight attendant for me.

  I thought of texting Carina for a ride home but I didn’t want to explain my emotional state. I wasn’t even sure that I could. After all he’d done, I felt so ungrateful. Still, as perfect as everything had been in Cabo, a part of me now wished that I hadn’t gone. I just wanted to retreat to my house, lock my doors, and hibernate for the rest of the winter.

  My Uber delivered me to my neighborhood around four in the afternoon. The city looked like Antarctica. We drove down a long white corridor, as the snowplows had left the road lined on both sides with snowdrifts nearly five feet high. Once inside, I left my bag in the kitchen and went straight to bed.

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-One

  Am I protecting or sabotaging myself? I honestly don’t know anymore. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore—especially how much more of this I can take.

  —Maggie Walther’s Diary

  I slept for a couple of hours, then woke and tossed and turned until around midnight, when I finally got up and took two Ambien with a glass of wine. I didn’t wake until noon the next day.

  I woke with a pounding headache. I looked at my clock, then got out of bed. I walked over to the window and opened the blinds. It was gray outside, the sun burning pale orange behind a thick curtain of clouds.

  I felt like I was suffering from an emotional hangover. In the light of a new day I felt like a crazy woman—like the Clive-induced PTSD of the last year had left small land mines on my heart just waiting for someone to trigger them. Unfortunately, that someone had been Andrew. Why had I gotten so angry that he had to fly to Denver? Why would I accuse him of hiding something, when he had already told me that he went to Denver every week? And why was something as simple as an electric bill freaking me out? There could be a dozen plausible explanations. At least. Why couldn’t I have just given him a little grace?

  In the previous day’s emotional state, I had forgotten to call Andrew to tell him I’d arrived home. My phone had been off since our flight to Cabo. I turned it back on, hoping that there was a message from Andrew. After all my drama, I doubted there would be, but I hoped.

  Just seconds after turning my phone back on, it began beeping with voicemails and text messages. Carina alone had left three of the former and six of the latter. There were two voicemail messages from Clive as well. Then I saw the text message Andrew had sent late last night. I went directly to it.

  ANDREW

&nb
sp; I hope you got home safe.

  Thank you again for such a beautiful time.

  I hope you will forgive me for not telling you about my Denver flight. I’m back around six.

  Would you like to get together?

  I breathed out in relief. Then I typed back.

  MAGGIE

  I’m sorry I was so upset. Yes, I can’t wait to see you. I hope YOU will forgive me. Love, me

  I felt both relief and shame. Relief that he hadn’t given up on me and shame that I had given him reason to. I scrolled back on my phone to read my other texts. They had started coming on Thursday.

  CARINA

  Happy Thanksgiving, doll. Hope you’re having a good time down south. P.S. I had to buy a dozen new tablecloths. I’ll explain later.

  CARINA

  Hi there. Call me when you can.

  CLIVE

  You there? I left you a voicemail.

  CLIVE

  Mag?

  CARINA

  Hey, doll. Are you back?

  CARINA

  Worried, please call.

  CARINA

  I thought you were coming back today. Please call. We need to talk. Important.

  CARINA

  Should I file a missing persons report?

  I ignored Clive’s pleas but listened to the last of Carina’s voicemails. She sounded upset. “Honey, please call me as soon as you can. I have something important to tell you.”

  I immediately dialed her number. Carina answered on the first ring. “Finally,” she said, making no attempt to conceal her exasperation. “Where in the world are you?”

  “I’m home. I got back yesterday.”

  “Why didn’t you call me? I’ve been worried out of my head. I probably left you a dozen messages.”

  “Nine,” I said. “Sorry. I forgot that I turned my phone off. What’s going on?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Yes?”

  “In person. We need to talk in person.”

  “Why? Is it bad?”

  She didn’t answer, which I guess was an answer.

  “So it’s serious,” I said.

  “I think so.”