Chapter 35 #2
“Sarah and I were childhood best friends. I was the maid of honor in their wedding.”
I smile.
“I got married about a year after they did. My husband died unexpectedly when we’d only been married for six years.
” Her fingers rub the sides of the ceramic cup.
“Pulmonary embolism. Art and Sarah were life savers. I had a young child; I hadn’t been working.
They helped me get on my feet. When Sarah died, it was a dozen years later, but stepping in and helping was natural.
” Her chest sinks on her exhale. “When I thought I’d lost him too… ”
Her voice fractures, and instinct overrides everything else. I reach across the table, covering her hand with mine. A small gesture, but she clings to it as if it anchors her. “But you didn’t. He’s going to be okay.”
She swallows and nods, finally lifting her gaze. “It’s good that Noah has you.”
The certainty in her voice startles me. I’m not sure what I expected—skepticism, maybe. Distance. But her acceptance slips under my defenses like light.
I blow on my tea and sip. She most certainly doesn’t know anything about the current murder charges.
“You know, that kid, he’s his father’s pride.
He’s such a good person. Fair. Driven.” There’s a soft smile.
The way she’s talking so softly almost to herself makes me think exhaustion is winning and she’s weaving through her thoughts.
“Could have played college ball. But he chose the Army. Art wanted him to go to college, to take over his business. You know, Art started as a mechanic. Bought the shop from his boss and grew it. Wanted his son to grow it into a franchise.”
“That wasn’t what Noah wanted?”
She shakes her head with an undeniable note of sadness.
“He still got his college degree you know, while on active duty. When he became an Army Ranger—Art was proud. I wish Sarah could have seen it. I think Art started to get behind the idea of his son excelling in the military, but when he didn’t reenlist, Art struggled with it.
” She exhales. “I know Art can come across like he’s being harsh.
It’s just he’s worked so hard and he wants his son to do the same. ”
“Noah loves his father.”
She smiles in acknowledgement. “Arturo is proud of his son. Noah may not realize it, but he is. He brags whenever he gets the chance. He’s a Bronze star recipient. Did you know that?” Pride softens her features.
I shake my head. Noah hadn’t mentioned it.
It hits me then—how little he shares about himself. How much he carries alone. How much I want him to trust me with everything he hides.
“Noah was a leader over there—squad leader, I think? Art would know the exact title. He had men under him. Multiple deployments. Still figuring out what he wants to do next. He’s going to do well. He’s already doing well. Art just needs to say it out loud more often.”
I nod, because he is doing well and he’s got plenty of time to figure out his next steps.
“He was considered to be exceptionally advanced in the army…or that’s what I’m told. He’s a good person.”
When I lift my gaze from my tea, I find her studying me.
“He says you have a daughter.”
“I do. She’s twelve.” I pull out my phone and show her a photo.
“She’s beautiful,” she says. “Just like her momma.” She hands me back my phone. “I bet Noah’s good with her.”
“He is,” I say, thinking of them playing basketball. “She’s a fan.”
“That’s good,” she says. “It helps when the kids are supportive.”
The way she says that makes me wonder how supportive Noah was when his father told him he was dating his mother’s best friend.
“You know, Art knew he was serious about you after his first conversation with him.”
That comment takes me aback.
“I could see it when I first saw you two together. Isn’t it funny like that? How two people find each other—and others just know?”
“He’s been good for me,” I admit. Saying it aloud feels like stepping over a threshold. A truth I can no longer retreat from—not that I have any desire to retreat.
“Thanksgiving is around the corner,” she says. “Do you know what your plans are?”
“Um,” I blink, processing the change in conversation. “Other than ordering a turkey, I haven’t thought about it.”
I’ve spent Thanksgiving with Richard’s family for years, but last year was the last time that will happen. He brought Jessica—and I’ve never felt more out of place. According to the custody agreement, I get Stella this Thanksgiving—we’ll alternate from here on out.
“We’d love to have you,” she says. “If you’ve got family, we could even have a Friday or Saturday meal.”
“Oh,” I blink, processing. Will Noah and I share the holidays together? I mean, I suppose we will.
“What are your family traditions?”
Her questions draw me back to the conversation and I brace myself for her reaction—but there’s no way around it. “My parents passed away. It’s just me and Stella.” That’s not entirely true—I have distant relatives, but distant is the operative word.
“Well you let me know what works for you.”
“You’re very kind,” I say, meaning every word. “And, I want to be clear, I do care for Noah. Greatly. But I’m aware of the age difference. I don’t want you to be concerned. I’m not looking to—”
“Age difference? Goodness gracious. Who cares about that?”
“I’m ten years older,” I say slowly—although it’s possible she doesn’t realize.
She waves a hand dismissively. “Age is in the head. As are differences.” She breaks a piece off her muffin. “People can miss out on so much if they get too in their head.”
Her words resonate. I’ve spent so long calculating consequences that I’ve forgotten how to simply choose what feels right—or what I want.
“Look at Art and me. We almost didn’t get together because we thought everyone would judge us.
That Noah and Maya wouldn’t accept us. And you know, we built this mountain up in our heads and at the end of the day, no one batted an eye.
We almost missed out on so much happiness…
and for what?” She looks at her wrist. “I think they’ve had enough time.
You want to head up now? We’ll relieve Noah and you two can head back to the house and get some rest.”
11:11 glows on my screen—clean, precise, a quiet omen I can’t ignore.
An omen of new beginnings.
And for the first time in forever, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—that’s exactly what this is.