Chapter 22 #3
“Anyway,” he continued, “he needed care, and we couldn’t afford professional help. I couldn’t leave my mom to do it all by herself, to make enough money to survive and take care of him. So I ended up staying . . . and then, before I knew it, ten years had passed.”
His last sentence hung in the air, the acknowledgment that a decade had so effortlessly and stealthily slipped away. Until one day, time wasn’t where he thought he’d left it.
He continued, “Throw in a global pandemic, and a couple of those years really disappeared. Even faster than the other ones.”
Regret settled in the pit of my stomach. I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn’t have pushed him.
“Noah, I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
He shrugged. “It’s okay. It is what it is.
” He was evidently used to putting on a brave face, skilled at speaking about a tragedy as if it were nothing more unfortunate than accidentally cracking a phone screen.
“He’s okay. I mean, as okay as he can be.
I thank God for that. But my dad still needs a lot of help. ”
A part of me wanted to ask how he could be thanking God rather than be angry at him. But I stopped myself. “I . . . I had no idea.” I shook my head, at a loss.
Suddenly, my problems seemed smaller. My parents seemed easier. My disappointments felt shallower. Noah had been dealt an unfair deck of cards, a painful reality to bear every day. How he had coped all these years, I wasn’t sure.
“So, moving away . . . it just never happened,” he said, shaking his head.
He’d been making the best of a life that hadn’t gone according to plan for years now.
And while his sadness was tangible, he seemed steadier still than I would’ve been, had I been presented with the same trial. Another question lingered in my mind.
“Do you ever wonder what would have happened? If you’d gone?” Surely he’d played out the scenarios over the years.
“Oh, yeah,” he said without hesitation. “I thought there might come an age when the dreams would just subside. But they haven’t.
To be honest, I still feel like an eighteen-year-old kid, ready to take on the world.
Ready to do something big. You know?” Noah’s gaze met mine, as if looking for an answer to his question.
“I do.”
The dreams had never stopped for me either. If anything, my desire to write my own books had only burned more fervently the older I got, the more I was confronted with the fact that I wouldn’t live forever. That my time to do something significant was finite.
“But, well, I guess that’s unrealistic.”
“I don’t think it is,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“I think you still can do something with your music.”
Noah thought on this, exhaling deeply and looking out the window for a few beats. “I don’t know. Maybe,” he finally said. His tone wasn’t defeated but uncertain, cautious, rational.
“I’m assuming you’re good, of course,” I teased. He brightened.
“You’ll have to hear me play sometime. Hey, why don’t you come to Saint David’s on Sunday?”
“Maybe . . .” I trailed off. He tilted his head, waiting for a definitive answer. “It’s been a while. Since I’ve been to church.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
It had only been a matter of time. I shifted in my seat, considering how best to present my position, how to tell the worship leader that while I didn’t not believe in God, I wasn’t convinced that it mattered at all to believe in him.
“I guess I don’t have a good reason. It’s not like I’ve had anything happen like . . .” I gestured to him. “I just haven’t seen it matter, to have faith. Does that make sense?”
“What do you mean, you haven’t seen it matter?” Noah leaned forward, his eyebrows furrowing in what looked like genuine curiosity. I braced myself.
“I grew up going to church every Sunday. Being taught that God cared about me, that what I wanted and what I prayed for mattered to him. And it’s not that I don’t believe God exists, but I kind of doubt that he really cares.
I’ve said the prayers, been a faithful churchgoer .
. . I just never saw any of that make a difference in my life.
And the people who I’ve seen believe in him, they aren’t better off either.
They suffer, lose people, never have their prayers answered. ”
I tore my eyes from the crumb I’d spotted on the table, meeting Noah’s. His angular face was soft, kind, thoughtful. A weight lifted off my chest. Surprisingly, I felt better having finally said it out loud.
“You know,” he uttered, “I know exactly what you mean.”
“What?” This was the last response I expected.
“You’re right. People do suffer.” He nodded, the words weighty and loaded. “But that’s actually what helped me start to believe in God.”
“I’m not following.” I cracked a confused smile.
“I read once that pain is God’s megaphone.
That it’s a way for him to ‘rouse a deaf world.’ Or so said C.
S. Lewis. There’s no way I would have survived after my dad’s accident if it hadn’t been for God.
” Noah shook his head and shifted his body forward.
“I know, I know, that sounds so . . . empty. Cliché. I get it. But the only thing that’s kept me alive is believing that despite everything that’s gone wrong, there’s a God who cared enough to create music and my parents and these mountains that we live in.
How could I not see these as answers to prayer?
As blessings? As evidence of a God who loves us?
” He leaned back, thinking, before continuing, “So, yeah, I haven’t been spared.
I’ve suffered. I’ve even had prayers that weren’t answered how I wanted them to be.
But I realized that I wasn’t alone in it.
That God was walking through the pain with me.
And that he was answering me in his way.
Somehow, not having everything go according to plan made it so that I could appreciate the things I’d been taking for granted.
Sure, I’d still love to sign with an indie label one day, but whether or not I do has no bearing on whether I’m living a life that means something. ”
Noah had been given unjust circumstances to live with, and that had given him faith? My thoughts turned to Edith, who, despite losing her husband and never having the children she’d prayed so fervently for, loved God with her whole heart and mind, never questioning God’s care for her.
“I guess I never thought about it that way,” I whispered.
Noah nodded slowly. “Not to mention, I think I heard somewhere that when Jesus was here on earth with us, he had his fair share of difficult moments too.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled.
A few beats passed as we each reflected, the candle that sat between us hovering dangerously low. Had we really been here that long?
“Hey, guys.” Stephanie appeared by the table. “Can I interest you in some dessert? We’ve got a crumble-top apple pie with raw vanilla bean–infused crème fra?che.”
“That sounds great to me,” Noah replied.
“Same here.” I smiled at Stephanie.
She soon returned with a generous helping, gooey and warm and sweet.
We found our way back into the rhythm of effortless conversation about our favorite movies and what we were looking forward to in the new year that loomed just ahead.
I giggled more than I probably should have at Noah’s corny jokes about the town’s various residents and characters, but his satisfied smile whenever I did only served as an encouragement.
Eventually, the candle at our table took its last breath. Stephanie walked up.
“Hey, I hate to interrupt, but we’re closing soon,” she said with an apologetic smile. I looked around, realizing we were the only people left. When had the Breckenridge hipsters headed out?
“We’ll get out of your hair,” Noah said. Stephanie ambled off, wiping down tables and blowing out candles. He pulled out his card and put it on the table. I reached into my coat pocket to fish out my credit card when he stopped me.
“No, no. I’ll get this.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. I couldn’t recall the last time a guy hadn’t taken me up on my offer to go halfsies.
“Positive.” He smiled.
We cleared out of the Bistro and ducked into the car. Noah began the five-minute drive up the mountain to my parents’ house, but rather than turning left where he should have, he turned right onto the road that would take us back into the center of town.
“I know you’re the other way,” he said. “But what with you having been gone so long, I thought it might be fun to give you a little refresher tour of Avila Falls. Is that okay?”
“Of course,” I replied. More time in this car with Noah?
I couldn’t complain. Especially since pessimistic thoughts had begun to invade the bliss I’d been feeling just an hour earlier.
Every minute of this night had been perfect, but in just a few days, it would be nothing more than a memory.
I’d go back to New York, have Agnes and Mara set me up on another date, be disappointed, and walk home alone, wondering if Noah was thinking about me too.
Snap out of it, Jane. Just let yourself enjoy this moment. Fleeting as it is.
“On your left, you’ll see the Avila Falls Police Station. Despite being equipped with three prison cells, rumor has it not a single one has ever been used,” Noah quipped. I chuckled at his tour guide voice.
A playlist of sad boy music lilted softly over the stereo as we drove by the police station, a darling little building that couldn’t be further from the intimidating NYPD stations sprinkled throughout the city.
“Word is Officer Perkins will be retiring soon,” Noah reported.