Chapter Two
I toe off my shoes and remove my socks to cross the stream. Several achingly cold, wet steps later I arrive on the only dry spot of the overhang.
“Smart.” Noah nods at my shoes. “I got my boots all wet.” He offers his hand. “Hi. I’m Noah. But I guess you already knew that.”
He wants to shake hands? Odd, but . . . okay. It’s kind of charming.
I tuck my shoes under my arm and meet his hand with my own. “Nice to meet you. I’m Faith. And this is Janey.”
Noah offers an open palm to my dog and is rewarded with a deep-throated growl.
“Be nice, Janey.” I stroke a hand over her head but speak to Noah. “Don’t worry. She’ll warm up to you.”
Janey growls again.
I laugh. “Or not.”
“Protective, is she?”
“That’s the Akita in her. She’s a good dog.” I sit down to put on my socks and shoes. “We’re not used to running into anyone up here. Not a lot of people come to the preserve this time of year, you know? Especially after dark. You’ve messed with her routine.”
“So it would seem.” Noah sits as well. “But like I said, it wasn’t dark yet when I hiked in. I guess I lost track of time and then I . . . well, I got lost.” He shakes his head. “It’s kind of silly, actually. I was nearly ready to write this waterfall off as an urban myth—”
“Or a rural myth, as the case may be.”
“Right.” He laughs. “Anyway, I finally stumbled—and that’s a literal statement,” he says with a slight groan in his voice, “upon the creek. I decided to follow it. I figured I’d discover either a trail out or the elusive waterfall I’ve heard so much about.”
“You’re not injured or anything, are you?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. Well, unless you count my pride. I’ve been sitting here for the past hour wondering if I’ll be able to find my way out . . . or if I need to channel my inner survivalist and construct some sort of short-term shelter.”
“Your rescue service has arrived.” I give an abbreviated bow, tilting my head. “I know the way to the entrance. Just say the word when you’re ready to go.”
“Really? Thanks. I feel like an idiot for getting lost, but I’m not stupid enough to turn down an offer of help. And even though it was something of an accident, I did find the waterfall I guess, so . . .” He shrugs, smiling. “Mission accomplished?”
“I don’t think very many people know it’s here. The county’s website has a map that lists it, but since there’s not an official trail that leads to the waterfall, it’s not easy to find unless you’ve been here before.”
“A map. Now that would have been handy. I wish the guy who told me about this place would have mentioned there was a map.”
“I’d guess he doesn’t know about it. Most people probably don’t even realize the county has a website.”
“True. And nature tromping isn’t really Mr. Barron’s style. Do you know him? The KHS choir director?”
“Sure.”
“I guess one of his vocal students comes out here a lot to practice, and she said the acoustics were really good.”
Uh, yeah. That would be me.
“I have to say, she’s on to something. It’s like God’s own amphitheatre out here. If I’d known about this place sooner, I would’ve been out here all the time. I’m glad you mentioned the map, though. I doubt I’d be brave enough to try to find it again without one.”
A ping of possessiveness slides through my brain, tensing my muscles. This is not my waterfall, but I’ve thought of it as mine for as long as I can remember.
When Noah sighs, however, an odd weariness seeps through the sound, and compassion replaces my selfish emotion. I’m just about to ask if he’s all right when he breaks the silence with a question of his own.
“What brought you to the waterfall tonight?”
“Me? Oh, too many people in my house. I thought I’d use the stage—er, the waterfall, that is—to practice.”
Noah tilts his head.
“That vocal student Mr. B told you about?” I tap my gloved hand against my heart. “Yours truly.”
“Ah. Of course! And you’re practicing for . . .”
“I’m in Annie. The performance is next weekend.”
“You go to KHS?”
I nod.
“Huh. What part do you play?”
“I’m the dumb hotel.”
“The dumb . . . ?” He barks out a laugh. “Lily St. Regis.”
“Yep.”
A grin stretches my cheeks. When I used that line on my parents, Mom consoled me, believing I had been cast as a building. A building! I tell Noah the story.
His laugh is softer this time, a sound of genuine amusement. “Your parents aren’t big fans of the theatre, I take it?”
“No. They’re all about sports, as are my older siblings. I’m something of an anomaly. The artsy one. The family oddball.”
“Lily St. Regis must be a pretty fun part to play.”
“It is.”
“Have you seen the version with Kristin Chenoweth?”
“I own the movie. I’ve watched it so many times, it might be permanently burned into our TV screen.”
He chuckles. “Annie isn’t my favorite musical, but it’s a good one. And Chenoweth is fantastic in that role.”
“Which musical is your favorite? No. Let me guess.” I put my hand on his arm and then pull it back. “In the Heights. Wait.” If that were his favorite, wouldn’t he sing the correct lyrics? “Or . . . is it?”
“I like it okay, but I wouldn’t say it’s my—Oh.” His head drops, and his shoulders jump. “You heard me singing ‘Inútil.’”
“I heard you singing something that sounded like the melody of ‘Inútil,’ but the lyrics? Not so much. Er, sorry. That sounded rude.”
“Not at all. You are . . . one hundred percent correct. I—” He breaks off. Clears his throat. “I do know the correct words. Sometimes I . . . Well, I adjust lyrics to fit the mood of the moment.”
Okay . . . I guess I interrupted a pretty dark, mournful moment, then. Wow. Awkward much, Faith?
His knees are raised, his feet crossed at the ankles, and his gaze is glued to the rock. Surely he’s not insecure. Is he? With that voice?
Hmm. Maybe I’m not the only one feeling like the poster child for “awkward” right now.
“You sounded great,” I offer. “Your vocal was spot-on.”
“Thanks.”
“So . . .” I’ve embarrassed him. I should change the subject. What were we talking about? Oh! Right. “We’ve established that you like In the Heights, but you haven’t told me your favorite.”
“There are so many elements that make up a good musical.” Noah absently rests his hand on Janey’s back. She pants happily. It sure hasn’t taken her long to warm up to him. “Wicked is funny. And it has some really poignant moments, too. A good message. The special effects are cool.”
“Not to mention the music. That last bit of ‘Defying Gravity’? Iconic.”
“Yeah,” Noah agrees. “I love that show. And Hamilton. I mean . . . wow. Everything about it is just so revo—”
It takes me a second, but . . .
“Oh, no.” I laugh. “You were not going to call it ‘revolutionary,’ were you?”
“Guilty.” He ducks his head. “But it wasn’t on purpose. I wasn’t trying to resurrect an old pun. It’s just . . . well, it’s true.”
“Yeah,” I concur. “It is. Have you seen it? Live?”
“Ha! I wish.”
Longing escapes on my breath. “Same.”
“It’s definitely a bucket list item. But since I haven’t seen the live production, it wouldn’t be fair to try and rank it yet.”
“True. I love the story and music from The Pirate Queen, but I’ve never seen it. And hardly anyone’s ever heard of it. At least around here.”
“I know that one!” He’s nodding. “Short run. Lots of criticism. Some of it valid, I suppose. To be honest, though, I might not have made the connections, the comparisons to the composers’ other works, if they hadn’t been pointed out by critics in reviews.
But what a great story, right? And I love how the musical style shifts between Irish and English. Very cool use of the harpsichord.”
“Right?” Finally! I’m actually speaking to someone who gets it.
He’s nodding, not in a head-bobbing way but like he’s considering the show, thoughtfully. “I wish I could’ve seen that one, as more than just random clips online.” Noah reaches into his coat pocket and then offers something to me. “Gum?”
“Sure.” I unwrap the stick and inhale the scent of cinnamon. “Big Red?”
“Yep.” In the moonlight, Noah’s bright smile looks ready for a toothpaste commercial. “The only gum worth chewing.”
He continues, “I like all kinds of theatre. Plays, one man—or woman—shows, experimental theatre, all of it. But musicals? That’s where my heart lives.
I was raised on them. My mom’s a fan of classics like Fiddler on the Roof and My Fair Lady.
My dad, on the other hand, loves the nostalgia stuff like Rock of Ages and Hairspray.
But my favorite?” Gloved hands against his knees, he executes a muted drumroll.
“Les Mis. Hands down. It has everything.”
I nod. It’s one of my favorites. “It’s a beautiful story. I have that DVD, too.”
“The movie is okay,” he agrees. “But there’s something about the energy and emotion of a live stage production that can’t be duplicated.”
“I haven’t seen it live, but I know what you mean. I have the original London cast recording, and even that is, I don’t know . . . bigger, somehow, than it felt in the movie theatre.”
“The touring company is coming to Des Moines in a few months,” he offers. “You should go. You’d love it.”
I’ve already asked—no, begged—Mom to take me, to no avail. Big surprise. “Are you going?”
“Not this time. Les Mis tickets—not to mention the gas money to get there—don’t fit into my budget right now. I’m trying to save enough money to move to London.”
“London? As in England?”
“The very same.” Noah’s next sigh is heavier. “I guess I should say that I’m hoping to move to London.”
“What’s in London?”
“The London Academy of Musical Theatre. I had an audition in Chicago a couple months ago, but I’m still waiting to hear if I got in.”
“Really? The London Academy?”
“You’ve heard of it?”