Chapter Five Noel
Chapter Five
Noel
I left my jacket.
I realize it the second I step out of Rossi Café.
“ Because I was your best friend once, Peter. And I assure you, the feelings I have for you are not even in the same realm as sibling-like. ”
What the fuck was I thinking, saying that? Where did it even come from? Why did I use the present tense?
And why do I want to march back in there and fight with her some more, even after all that?
We’ve always bickered, even when we were younger. She’s stubborn when she wants to be and always has something to say. As much as those things have always exasperated me to no end, I might have missed them the most.
Hell, I think I might have missed her more than I’ve let myself believe.
I can’t believe she’s in business with Axel Cooke.
He was my friend first. We did everything together until we were eight. Then one day, Parker came to town, and the next, Axel and I were nothing. He turned into a bully, slinging insults almost constantly. I could handle his snide remarks about how I was a nerd for liking theater or how I’d rather spend my time watching movies than playing football. It was when he turned his ire toward Parker that I started to hate him.
So why, out of all the people, would she partner with him? And after all the shit he put her through? All the times he picked on her? Did that much really change in the last ten years?
I walk down Borgen Avenue, keeping my head low to avoid unwanted conversations, which means all conversations. I’ve never walked through a minefield before, but I imagine it’s similar to navigating the main strip of Emerald Grove with everyone wanting to stop and chat or take selfies. And trust me, they’ll talk about anything. I don’t know the number of times I’ve been stopped so someone can ask after my gran, then suddenly the conversation takes a left turn and I’m being educated on the importance of ensuring my bowel movements are frequent but not too frequent and to add fiber to my diet to stay regular.
It’s more than twice, which is two times far too many.
If they aren’t stopping me for life advice or pictures and autographs, they’re stopping to ask why I’ve been gone for so long, which is a whole other conversation I don’t want to have. It’s awkward, and people who were once friendly toward me are now cold and distant.
“Noel!”
I lift my head, unsurprised to find Leonard Figgins waving his arm eagerly as he darts across the street, struggling to juggle whatever’s in his hands and that same messenger bag he used to carry around in high school smacking against his legs.
“Noel!” he calls again like he’s worried I’m going to run away, though I don’t know why. I’ve come to a complete stop and am staring right at him.
He screeches to a halt in front of me, running his hands over his hair and then shoving his glasses—also the same style he’s been wearing since we were kids—up his nose.
“Noel!” he repeats, and I’m beginning to wonder if he thinks I don’t know my name or something. “It’s so great to see you. How’s Gran doing?”
I’m unsure why he’s asking me how my grandmother is doing. He lives here and sees her more than I do.
“Hey, Figs,” I say, using the nickname he’s had since he was seven.
His lips pinch together with displeasure. “Leonard, please.”
“Right. Sorry. How are you, Leonard?”
“Oh, you know. I’m doing well. I’m the lead reporter at the Gazette now.” He grins proudly. “It’s so great to have you back in town. You’re here for the Noel Carter Theater ceremony, right?”
I barely repress my groan at the mention of why I returned. Why does this damn theater have to be named after me? I want to find whoever this anonymous donor is and give them a piece of my mind.
“Yes, I’m just in town through the weekend.”
“Only the weekend? Hmm. That’s too bad. Doesn’t feel the same around here without you.”
Oh, I highly doubt Leonard here feels that way at all. He’s hated me since ninth grade, when I beat him out for the lead in The Importance of Being Earnest at the Goodman Theater. Everyone in town knew acting was his passion—well, anything that gave him the spotlight was, really—so when he didn’t get cast as the lead, he was livid and had his father, a prominent figure in this town who has his hand in multiple businesses, write the board to get him a spot on the school newspaper. He then went on to trash my performance and the play entirely. And the following year when I beat him again. He didn’t even try out the third year—he just stuck to dissing me in his review, which is something he’s kept up over the years. Gran’s ranted several times about the articles he’s done on my movies since I left.
It’s safe to say the guy really has it in for me, so I’m surprised he’s here talking to me, acting as if we’re old buds.
“Anyway, how are you feeling about the new theater?” he asks, shoving his glasses up once more. “Excited? Eager? Maybe wanting something else to go in that beautiful and expansive space? Maybe something a little more economically positive for the community?”
He’s smiling up at me, but there’s a motive behind it, and I’d bet the Rolex on my wrist that he’s searching for information, trying to get the latest headline out of me.
I should have known. The Emerald Grove Gazette has been a thorn in this town’s side for as long as I can remember, always cooking up gossip, twisting whatever the townspeople say to stir up drama. It’s fitting for him he’d end up working there. And if his thinly veiled questions are any indication, I’m sure an “accidental” meeting between us is nothing more than him following me around to get me to confess to hating the theater so he can derail the ceremony. It would make the most sense.
The only thing worse than a small town is a bored small town, and Emerald Grove is undoubtedly almost always bored.
But Leonard isn’t about to get an attention-grabbing headline from me. As much as I hate this building being named after me, I fully support whoever wants to resurrect the old theater. I have far too many memories tied up in that place to see it go to waste. Besides, that stage is where I got my start. I wouldn’t have my career if it weren’t for it.
“ Excited and eager are understatements,” I tell him. “I’m positively thrilled for this town to have a new theater. We’ve been without one for far too long.”
“But you’ve not been back to town since ... How long has it been now? Nine, ten years? I think we’ve gotten by just fine without one, don’t you?”
I muster up all my acting training so as not to react to his jab about my extended absence. “I might be the wrong person to ask about this, Leonard. I’m an actor, remember? I’ll always advocate for the arts.”
He’s still holding his smile, but it’s losing its warmth by the second. “Right. Sure. But we can all agree that bringing more revenue into this town would be a good thing, right? Like maybe a McDonald’s or a gas station? A new grocery store? Or a strip mall, for example? We’ve got to get more options here. Put our money and resources toward something more immediately lucrative. Maybe someplace to compete with Jill’s? Encourage Peggy to spruce the place up some?”
I might not live here anymore, but I know one thing—this town doesn’t need sprucing up. Sure, it has its quirks, but that’s what makes it such a unique stop for so many tourists. They don’t want strip malls, fancy gas stations, or fast-food joints. They want the small-town cozy feel they’re already getting. It doesn’t need to be “fixed.”
I guess I’m not surprised by his desire to bring in more commercial ventures to the town. I’m sure adding more businesses would cook up more drama, which would mean more buzz for Emerald Grove, and that’s what he and the Gazette live for—the attention.
“I’m firmly pro theater.”
His smile vanishes in a flash, and he turns his nose up at me. “I figured you’d feel that way, given who is involved in the rebuild and everything.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, and I already hate myself for wanting to give in and ask him what he means, but I can’t help it. I guess a little Emerald Grove gossip lover is living inside all of us.
“Given who is involved? What do you mean?”
“Oh, you didn’t know?” he asks with faux innocence. “Why, the town’s restoration committee is headed by our very own Parker Pruitt.”
No. I would have known. Someone would have mentioned it to me at some point. When the mayor called me about the ceremony, he didn’t say a word about Parker being part of this project. Granted, he didn’t mention much other than telling me six times that he got my number from Gran and that he wasn’t a stalker. He was strictly business, telling me where to be and when. That was it.
After seeing what she’s done to Rossi Café, I should have known Parker was behind the restoration. She loved that theater as much as I did when we were younger, maybe even more. It was as much her escape from the real world as it was mine. We spent many hours working there before and after school and in the summers. It makes sense she’d want to restore it.
“Right. No, I knew that,” I lie, praying he can’t tell. “It’s just early. I haven’t had my coffee yet. I was going to stop at the café, but—”
“It’s closed for renovations. Parker’s heading that, too, you know. She’s got her hands all over everything in town. If it’s been recently remodeled, Parker probably did it. Axel, too, of course. Those two can’t seem to go anywhere without the other.” His eyes narrow.
There’s definitely a story there, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to ask him about it, but I don’t have the energy to get into it now. I barely slept last night as it is, and I really could use a coffee.
“Well, I won’t keep you, Noel. I’m sure you’ve got lots to do to prep for the ceremony.”
Considering I’m just there for the celebrity element and to say thank you, no, not really, but if it gets me away from Leonard and his questions ...
“Yes, I still have so much to prepare, so I’d better get going. Great to see you again, Fi— Sorry. Leonard. Maybe we’ll catch up again before I leave.”
“Yes, yes. That’s wonderful.” Though his voice indicates he’d rather stick a fork in his eye than hang out with me.
I sidestep him, hustling down the sidewalk and far, far away from Leonard Figgins and his hatred for me.
By now, every shop on the main strip is open for business. I can feel every stare as I walk by Fran’s pie shop, their curious eyes burning into my head. I think about stopping in because she’s got the third-best cup of joe around, but it’s too busy, and I don’t feel like answering a million questions about being back.
My eyes catch the Gazette as I walk past the newsstand, and I groan at the headline on the front page.
Actor Noel Carter Returns to His Roots—Will the Hollywood Heartthrob Stay This Time?
I’m not sure how they managed to write a ten-paragraph article about my coming back. Even Gran was surprised they got an article out so fast since she never told anyone I was coming in early.
Looking back, there is a slight chance I’m the one to blame for the article about my early arrival getting published so fast. Maybe I should have opted for something a little more low key than the Porsche 911 that Vince picked out for me, but man, was it fun on those curves on my three-hour trek here.
I keep walking, passing by Jill’s Bait & Tackle and the bookstore, avoiding the few people who try to stop me. I cut down between Ruff ‘n’ Tough Dog Groomers and the local bar, Bigfoot’s Hideaway, and pop out the other side in front of the one place I never could seem to stay away from—the theater.
I look out at the abandoned space, surprised at how tight my throat gets seeing it in this state, and I can almost understand why Leonard thinks it’s best to tear it down and start fresh.
By the time I left, the doors were shuttered and Do Not Enter signs hung. The place was in rough shape due to the tree that fell through it, but nothing near what it is like now. Time has not been kind to it. The windows have been knocked out, the roof is caved in on one side, and there’s obvious deterioration everywhere you look. It was already old when I was a kid, but now it seems ancient.
The only sign of life the building shows is the sparkling new sign that reads Future Home of the Noel Carter Theater .
Obviously, I knew it was being named that, but seeing it in person? It’s a whole different level of mortification.
Really, a whole theater named after me? Sure, I found success outside of this town, but I’m still me. I’m still that same kid who used to run these streets until the porch lights came on, who used to hang toilet paper on the fountain just to have the chance to laugh as I watched someone try to fish it out, who used to help place the wreaths on light poles every November.
Having a building named after me feels ridiculous when I’m just me and these people have known me since I was born.
But if it means this town’s arts community will be revived, I’ll do it, even if Parker didn’t tell me she was heading the committee.
Why didn’t she say something? She had the chance earlier when we were working side by side in the café, which looks incredible now. Or why didn’t she mention it last night? Or anytime over the last ten years? Hell, why didn’t Gran ever bring it up? I know this project has to be years in the making, and yet I haven’t heard a peep about it. I’ll have to ask her about it later, but maybe after I’ve had my daily dose of caffeine.
Tucking my hands into my pockets, I head toward the south end of the strip, sticking to the residential side of things rather than the business side. Maybe that’ll keep people out of my hair.
I pass a few houses with square signs stuck near their mailboxes. They have bold letters printed on them that read Say no to the Theater Restoration—sell the land!
Huh. I guess Leonard isn’t the only one who doesn’t want to see the theater happen. I’m not surprised. It wasn’t that big of a hit when I was younger, but I have no doubt that with Parker behind it, she has a plan to turn it into something everyone will soon love.
Goose bumps break out over my arms, thinking about her. Or maybe it’s just because I left my damn jacket behind and the morning chill of the Pacific Northwest isn’t something I’m used to anymore.
“I’ll be darned,” a smooth voice calls as I speed-walk past the signs.
It’s familiar. It’s warm. And it’s a voice I haven’t heard in far too long.
I skid to a halt, turning my face up to the house I’ve stopped in front of. My smile is automatic as I get a glimpse of the gal sitting on the front porch wearing jeans, a floor-length cardigan over a tank top, about twelve rings on ten fingers, and no shoes, as usual.
“Astrid.”
“How are you, son?”
Son.
Never Noel , never Kid , never Little Shit Who Kept My Daughter Out Past Curfew . Always son .
“Doing all right. You?”
“I’d be a heck of a lot better if you stop lingering at the end of my driveway and come give me a hug.”
I practically run up the short drive, taking the porch steps two at a time, and wrap the woman who was like a mother to me in my arms.
She smells like she always has—incense, coffee, and home.
That’s what this place was to me. For the first six months Parker lived here, I never came over. Then one day, she told me her dad had taken off, and she wouldn’t stop crying at school, so I walked her home to make sure she was okay. Astrid was sitting on the porch cradling a cup of coffee like she is right now and invited me inside, and just like that, this place became my second home.
“Come on, now. Let me get a good look at you,” she says as she pulls away. She grabs my face between her hands, squeezing my cheeks as she looks me over. “Uh-huh. I see. You look good. Healthy. Your feet are clearly still working, your hands seem fine, and it sounds like your voice box is in working order. Right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then how come you ain’t bothered to call or come by in a decade?”
Of all the people disappointed in me for staying away for so long, Astrid being upset by it hurts the worst.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “It’s been ... well, it’s been an eventful ten years.”
“I’d say,” she says with a pointedly raised brow. She gives my cheeks another light squeeze before releasing me. “Have a seat. I’ll grab you some coffee, and you can tell me everything I don’t read about in the magazines.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She disappears into the house I know like the back of my hand, and I settle into one of the mismatched chairs.
The smell of incense wafts out the door, and it takes me back to a time when things were a lot less complicated than they are now. A time when I used to slip off into imaginary worlds, play video games or charades, or sit at a dinner table full of laughter and love.
A time I miss more than I’d like to admit.
The screen door squeaks open, and Astrid comes out with two cups of fresh coffee.
I don’t miss that she hands me the same mug I always used to call dibs on—the one shaped like a duck she found at a garage sale.
I accept it, taking a sip and not caring that it’s hot as hell. It’s worth the burn.
I sigh contentedly. “Damn. That’s some great coffee.”
“Best in town,” Astrid agrees, taking a sip from her own piping-hot cup.
We sit quietly for several moments, just enjoying our caffeine jolt and taking in the morning. Even though so much time has passed, it’s not awkward or uncomfortable. In fact, it almost feels like this is right where I’ve always been meant to be.
“So,” she begins, “tell me how life is in Hollywood. Is it all it’s cracked up to be?”
“It’s great. I love it.”
“Did you ever go to that club I told you kids about?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“It’s a gay club now.”
“It was a gay club then too.”
I chuckle. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Didn’t think you needed one.” She shrugs, taking another drink. “So how are you really doing, son?”
There it is—her superpower.
I don’t think Astrid Pruitt has ever been able to look at someone and not know when they’re bullshitting her. She did it all the time when Parker and I were kids, and we never hesitated to be anything but honest with her. She made it easy to talk to her about everything from school to serious things, like when Gran had her breast cancer scare.
Astrid’s always been there for me like I was part of her family, and I feel like a shitty human for not being there for her these last ten years.
I scratch at the scruff on my face that I’ve been letting grow over the last few days. “Honestly? Some days, I hate it. It’s loud, things move really quickly, and the people are awful, but then I remember I get to make movies for a living, and all those bad things fade away. So my answer is a little complicated.”
“Life’s complicated.”
I laugh. “That it is. How’s Emerald Grove treating you?”
“It’s been all right. Little quiet around here lately.”
I know Astrid well enough to know she means it’s been quiet here without me around, and I love her for it.
“Did you find everything you wanted, being away?” she asks.
When I devised my plan to leave Emerald Grove, Astrid was among the first people I told because I knew she would never ask me to stay. Much like she’s always encouraged Parker to find her place in this world, she encouraged me to do so too. So when I told her the reason I was going, she nodded and told me I was making the best decision I could at the time.
When I left, I held on to that with everything I had, even if it meant hurting people I loved.
While I love Emerald Grove and have so many good memories here, I also have a lot of bad ones, like losing my parents when I was only eight. They loved this town but always wanted to travel more. Leaving felt like a nod to their missed adventures, so after high school graduation rolled around, I did just that, wanting to fill the void that losing them left behind.
Even though, after all these years of being away and doing what my parents always wanted—exploring the world—I still feel like part of me is empty and something is missing. Yet I don’t regret leaving.
I sit forward, resting my elbows on my knees, blowing on my coffee. “Yes and no. I’m not sure I’ll ever find what I want. It feels so ... far away.”
“You’re too young to say that. I guarantee what you want isn’t as out of reach as you think.”
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug, settling back into the chair. “Or maybe I should just give up and be happy with what I have.”
She grins. “Or that too.” She sips at her coffee. “I saw your last movie, you know.”
I groan, squeezing my eyes shut. “Please tell me you fast-forwarded through—”
“You showing your naked behind to the whole world? Don’t worry, Parker made sure to skip those parts.”
Parker watches my movies?
“Come on. Don’t look so shocked that she supports you,” Astrid says, reading my mind. “Sure, things may be a little strained between you two now, but you’ll always have her support.”
“Strained?” I laugh. “That’s a mild way of putting it.”
She raises her brows in that disappointing way only a mom can. “The phone works both ways, you know.”
“And you told her that?”
“You know darn well I did, son. You two ...” She shakes her head. “You’ll be the death of me one day. I just know it.”
“Nah. You’re never dying, Astrid.”
“Do any of us ever really die? We just move on to another plane, but we’re still here, just waiting for you to hear us screaming from the void.”
I smile at her, not the least bit surprised by her feelings about the afterlife. I’ve sat at the Pruitt dinner table too often to be shocked by Astrid’s free-spirited beliefs anymore.
“Never change,” I beg her as she gets up for a coffee refill.
“It’s too late to anyway. I’m old and set in my ways.” She grins as she opens the door, her rings clinking against the handle.
After refilling our cups, she returns with the coffee carafe, sets it on the table between us, and settles back into her chair.
We sit there, letting the early-morning sounds fill the lull in conversation. I miss sitting on the porch like this, listening to the birds chirping and people greeting one another like old friends, which I guess they all are. Though I have a balcony at my penthouse in LA, I could never do this. The city is too full of shouting, horns blaring, and loud music rattling car speakers, not to mention the lack of privacy I’d experience there. The quiet is nice.
After a while, I tell her, “I guess I’d better get back to Gran’s.”
I try to hand her the mug back, but she waves it away.
“Keep it. It’s yours anyway. Here.” She tops off my drink with what’s left in the carafe. “For the road,” she says with a wink.
“Thanks, Astrid.”
“Anytime. You know that. Right, son?” Her eyes search mine, because what she’s really saying is, I’m here for you no matter what .
I swallow thickly, nodding once. “I know.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll see you later.”
“You’d better.” Her tone is far from lighthearted. She really means it, and so do I.
I’m halfway down the drive when she calls out to me, and I turn and look up at the porch.
“It’s Tuesday, you know,” Parker’s mom yells.
I grin, already knowing where this is going. “It is Tuesday.”
“Well?” she prompts, her stare piercing over the top of her raised coffee mug. “Don’t leave an old bird hanging.”
“Still the same?”
“Every Tuesday for as long as I can remember.”
For as long as I can remember too. Tuesdays used to be my favorite day because it meant dinner at the Pruitts’ for Tater Tot Tuesdays. We’d make the most ridiculous things, and I’d love every minute. Even Gran tagged along for a few dinners, always bringing dessert with her. Then we’d sit in the backyard, swap stories, and sip hot chocolate until we were sixteen, when Astrid started letting us have the occasional “adult beverage.”
Those summer nights were some of my favorites, one of the good memories about this place.
“Well?” she asks again. “Are you coming or what?”
I chuckle. “I’ll be here, Astrid.”
She shimmies in her chair. “Make sure you bring the wine coolers.”