32. Noel
32
Noel
I ’m leaving town for a bit, he tapped into his phone. Not sure when I’ll be back.
Noel stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the send button. It sounded cold, even cruel, but he didn’t know what else to say.
She claimed not to have known that he was the boy in that picture, not to have known that she’d photographed the horror of his life and then had it published in National Geographic magazine for the whole world to see.
A mockery. A lie. A fairytale of a story that painted the villain as the hero and the brutalized victim as the adoring subject.
Addison—his gentle, sweet, tender-hearted Addison—had wielded her camera like weapon that night and had cut his legs right out from under him. Not just once, but every time he saw that picture. Every time someone pointed it out to him.
And again, last night, when Vivian Wedgewood tapped the corner of the image and said, “I knew it was you.”
Then again, Noel hadn’t recognized Addison, either. Sure, now that he knew the identity of that stick-thin girl with her long black shroud of hair, he could see it, plain and clear. The way she still dipped her head and let her hair fall forward, the tilt of her head as she listened to him ramble, even the way she often hugged whatever she was holding to her chest, like she was trying to protect her heart. He could still picture her holding her camera just like that, right after she’d taken his picture. She could no longer be called waifish, that was for sure, and her hair was now a warm, dark mahogany and too short to hide behind. But her eyes were the same, wide with curiosity, warm with compassion… and then stark with pity.
She must have been going through that awkward stage between child and teenager, he decided. “Not much to look at back then,” he said under his breath, then scrunched his eyes closed in shame at the unkind words, recognizing just how much he sounded like his father.
Disgusted with the whole situation, he sent the text and shoved his phone into his back pocket, then finished stuffing the last of his clothes from the closet into his suitcase. He wasn’t planning on coming back to the resort, no matter how things played out. If he did somehow keep his job—if he even wanted the job anymore—he’d find a rental in one of the nearby cities, maybe even Evansville. Somewhere that wasn’t Autumn Lake. There’d be no avoiding running into Addison if he stayed living in the small lake town. A twenty-five-minute commute was no problem, especially since he had such a great car to make it in.
He'd already called in to work that morning, explaining to human resources that he had a family emergency he needed to attend to and would either need to work remotely for the next few weeks, or he’d have to take a family leave of absence. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but with his case still up in the air, he really couldn’t afford to take time off without a good reason. Besides, he did plan to see his father while he was back in Bald Knob, whether Bruno wanted to see him or not.
“This time,” he grumbled. “I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m not leaving the hollow until I get face time with you, Bruno Stewart.” There were things he intended to say to the bitter old man, and nothing was going to stand in his way. Not even Aunt Gigi, although he wasn’t a hundred percent sure she’d take issue with him confronting his father. The woman had been pushing for some kind of resolution, if not restoration, between them for years now, and she probably had an inkling that any hope of restoration would come with some kind of confrontation first.
“Confrontation, here we come,” he said, snapping shut the clasp on his briefcase with a little more fervor than was necessary.
He let his attorney in on his plans, too, of course, and Joyce was less than happy about him leaving town. “You need to remain accessible to me at all times,” she insisted. “I have a feeling this thing is picking up speed, and I need you to be prepared to get back here on a moment’s notice. How’s the reception out in Bald Knob?” She said it as though the words left a nasty taste in her mouth.
“Reception is fine,” he assured her. “I’m taking my car, which will make a turnaround a lot easier. Flights on short notice can be tricky.” Unless he planned things just right, usually flying took even longer than driving, but at least in the air, he could get work done.
His phone pinged in his pocket, but he ignored it as he did one last check of the apartment, making sure he’d left nothing of his behind. He’d emptied his fridge of the few perishable items in it, throwing away most of it, but opting to take the apples and the chunk of his favorite Jarlsberg cheese with him. Aunt Gigi would tease him about his fancy pants cheese, but he knew she loved the stuff as much as he did.
Housekeeping would empty his trash and clean the rooms, and they might even ask questions about the empty state of the place. Would it be Hannah, he wondered, or Sonya? If it was Sonya, she might not even notice, but Hannah would be concerned enough to say something, he was fairly certain. He thought about leaving a note, but then decided against it. He’d already told Fred St. Claire down at the Front Desk that he would be out of town for at least a week, maybe longer. That would have to suffice for now.
By the time he pulled into Aunt Gigi’s driveway almost eight hours later, his backside was numb, his bladder was full, and he was ravenous. He'd stopped only for necessities; he’d been holding out for his aunt’s Brunswick stew and skillet cornbread, a comfort food like no other in his book.
As he unfolded himself from his front seat, Aunt Gigi stepped out onto her front porch and hollered, “You made it!”
“I did, indeed,” Noel said, mounting the steps with his things. He set down his suitcase to give her a quick hug. “Thanks for having me on such short notice.”
She eyed his luggage and frowned. “You planning on staying awhile? Not that I mind, of course,” she added. “You can move back to the holler for good and I’d die a happy woman.”
“You’re never going to die, Aunt Gigi,” he teased, avoiding the question altogether. “Now let me in. I smell my favorite meal and I’m about to fall over from hunger.” He also smelled the telltale garlicky, peppery aroma of ramps, the legendary wild leek that was a springtime staple on Appalachian tables. Noel silently prayed that she hadn’t added any to the stew. Although he’d grown up with ramps as a big part of his diet, he had never acquired a taste for them. The flavor lingered in the mouth long after eating them, and the odor could cling to a person sometimes for days. It didn’t help that everyone around him smelled the same. In his opinion, it only made it that much more unpalatable.
Bruno had never missed a chance to mock him for his aversion to them. “Ramps are part of your birthright, boy. Somethin’ wrong with you? Think you’re too good for the rest of us?”
Thankfully, Aunt Gigi hadn’t forgotten, and over their bowls of ramp-free stew with cornbread crumbled into it, his aunt filled him in on all the local gossip. Apparently, Emma’s family had raised enough money for her nose reconstruction surgery and she was scheduled to go under the knife this coming Thursday. Gigi was still taking meals to the Coopers, even though they didn’t really need them. Shorty had finally managed to get his asthma under control with a new medication, and he’d started back to work at the gas station. “It’s my excuse to go visit with CeeCee and their daughter, Rachel. Do you remember Rachel? She’s several years younger than you, so I don’t suppose you would. Anyway, she can’t be left alone for more than a minute or two, poor thing, so it’s hard for CeeCee to get out of the house much.”
“You’re a good woman, Aunt Gigi,” he told her, and he meant it. He didn’t know anyone else who was so ready and willing to look out for others the way his aunt did. “I hope the folks in this town appreciate you. Bald Knob wouldn’t survive without you.”
“Oh, pshaw. Knock it off. You’ll make an old woman blush, and I can assure you, that’s not a pleasant sight to see. Like one of those backwoods shriveled up dried apple dolls.” She cackled at the thought.
While they did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, she told him that she’d been by the nursing home to visit Bruno that afternoon. “He’s got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, and they always wipe him out. But he wants to see you, he assured me, and he promised me that he’ll try his best to see you on Wednesday.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said. “I brought work with me, and I’ve got plenty to keep me busy.” The resort had been quite amenable to him working remotely. Apparently, John Sheridan was continuing to cause a stir over Noel being allowed to return to the office at all.
Noel was glad to hear that his father had at least been warned of his impending visit. But some of his fervor to see the old man had ebbed over the long road trip, and now, with fatigue setting in and his mood mellowed by good food and the promise of a comfortable bed, he simply didn’t want to think about it. He’d left Autumn Lake with a long list of things he’d been determined to say to the old man, things he’d wanted to get off his chest for years, especially now that Bruno couldn’t fight back. Now, after hours of playing out scenario after scenario in his mind, he wasn’t so sure confronting Bruno was such a good idea after all.
Aung Gigi, however, was clearly over the moon that he had made the trip to try again to see his father, and Noel didn’t have the heart to tell her he was having second thoughts. In the morning, after a good night’s rest and a strong cup of her coffee, surely, he’d have a better perspective on things.
“I’m beat,” he said, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed. Aunt Gigi was sitting at the table sipping coffee that Noel was sure had been brewed that morning. “Are you okay if I shower now and call it a night?”
“You go right ahead,” she told him, getting to her feet. “You know I watch Doc Martin on Monday nights so we can talk about it at Bunko on Tuesdays. That’s why I’m chugging this caffeine so late. I have to be on my toes to understand what they’re saying.” She held up her mug and grinned, the missing tooth on one side of her mouth making him bite back a smile of his own the way it always did. She’d lost it a couple of years ago, and when she found out how much it would cost to get it replaced, she’d flat out refused to have the work done. “I’m old, I’m happy, and I certainly don’t need all my teeth anymore,” she’d told him, as if that made any sense at all. Noel was pretty sure she just didn’t want him spending his money on her, but he’d learned over the years to pick his battles with her.
Not quite an hour later, he lay sprawled on the twin bed that had been designated as his since he was old enough to no longer need a crib. He’d replaced the mattress a few times since then, and it always surprised him at how comfortable it was, in spite of it being so narrow compared to what he was accustomed to. He’d spent the last fifteen minutes unpacking his things and setting up a work station on the small desk he’d spent hours at doing his homework as a boy. He’d have to give his aunt a few more details on the state of things at Carpe Diem, but that could wait a day or two, he decided.
His phone hadn’t rung all day, but he’d gotten a few texts during the trip. One was from Paula, surprisingly enough, asking him if he could send her a copy of a file that he’d emailed to John last week. He wasn’t sure why she couldn’t just get it from John, but of course, he didn’t ask. He let her know he’d get it to her first thing in the morning.
There was a check-in text from Joyce that he responded to, one from HR at the resort that he ignored—they were supposed to direct all communication to Joyce, after all—and one from a spammer claiming that the IRS needed him to contact them regarding his back taxes or they’d start garnishing his wages. He blocked the number, then plugged in his phone and set it on the nightstand beside his bed.
Nothing from Addison.
But then, after his icy text to her that morning, he hadn’t really expected to hear anything from her. He’d hoped, yes… but he hadn’t put much stock in that hope.
A few moments later, he picked up the phone and opened his voicemail. He stared at the few saved messages, most of which were from Addison, his body warming even at the sight of her name in his phone. Why are you doing this to yourself? his inner critic berated.
He hit play on the last message and pressed the phone to his ear, listening to Addison’s shattered voice as she apologized repeatedly and begged him to call her. “I do love you, Noel. So much.”
I do love you, Noel. I do love you, Noel. I do love you, Noel. So much. The words ricocheted around his heart like a pack of howling wolves, circling, closing in, tighter and tighter, making his chest ache.
It’s not possible , he thought to himself. “It’s not possible,” he repeated out loud. He’d heard his father tell him over and over how worthless he was, how useless. “You’re a waste of space,” was one of Bruno’s favorite taunts. Now that Addison knew who he really was, knew what he came from, he couldn’t imagine she really meant what she’d said. “How can you possibly love someone like me?”
He put the phone down, turned off the lamp, and closed his eyes as darkness settled in around him. He listened to the various Cornish accents of Aunt Gigi’s TV show from the living room at the front of the house. She kept the volume at ear-splitting, but it was something he adjusted to quickly when he visited. He’d left the curtains at his window open to let the ambient light of the starry sky in, but he turned his back to it, the vast velvet expanse making him feel hollow inside.
Noel lay awake long after Aunt Gigi turned off the television and went to bed, his mind circling again and again back to Sunday night with the Wedgewoods. Was it just last night?
How had he not made the connection before last night? It still rankled him that he’d been so blinded by his attraction to Addison that he’d missed it. She’d told him about her childhood, traipsing around after her photojournalist parents. Not a whole lot of details, but she’d explained that away when she’d said she didn’t want people thinking she was a braggart. Besides, he—obviously—hadn’t shared many details about his childhood, either, had he?
“What a mess,” he groaned into his pillow, desperate for the sleep that wouldn’t come.
N oel awoke before his alarm clock feeling lethargic and unrested. He headed to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee, but even after his first cup, he couldn’t seem to clear the cobwebs. Since his aunt wasn’t awake yet, he turned off the pot so the coffee wouldn’t scorch, then headed back to his room to get some work done.
Elbow deep into a data collection spreadsheet that he was pushing himself to get filled in before noon, he declined breakfast when Aunt Gigi knocked on his door. At lunch, she offered him a sandwich, but he still wasn’t where he wanted to be before he quit for the morning, so he insisted he’d fend for himself in another hour or so. When he finally left his room, the house was quiet, his aunt either napping or off visiting one of her friends or taking someone something they desperately needed.
He remembered, with secret relief, that she had her Bunko group that night, so he’d be on his own for supper, too. Maybe he’d head down to the Piggly Wiggly and pick up some groceries for the week while his aunt wouldn’t be around to refuse them. There wouldn’t be anything she could do about it if she came home and stuff was already in her fridge and pantry. He’d grab something from the deli for his supper while he was there.
Noel knew that Aunt Gigi knew that something was amiss. Every time she looked at him, he saw the glint of concern in her eyes. He knew he’d have to fess up sooner than later; it wasn’t in her nature to let things go unaddressed. “Not in my house,” she liked to say.
Sure enough, ‘sooner’ came the next morning, while he was checking his emails over coffee.
“So.” Aunt Gigi shuffled into the kitchen in her zip-up house coat and flappy slippers, poured herself a cup of the dark brew, and topped his cup off, too. Then she dropped into the chair across the table from him. “I’d like to know what’s going on with you before we head on over to see Bruno this afternoon. I’m old, Noel. I’m not good with surprises, and I need extra time to process bad news. Whatever it is you’ve got your long johns in a knot about, you’d better spit it out. Especially since your fancy suitcase tells me you’re planning on staying for more than a minute.”
Noel pressed his lips together, but not because he wasn’t going to tell her anything. What good would there be in that? But where to start; that was the question. Finally, he set his phone face down on the table and said, “I found a job I really like, and now they’re trying to get rid of me, and I found a woman I like even better, and now I’m trying to get rid of her.”
Aunt Gigi studied him, her elbows on the table, her mug cradled between her hands. After an uncomfortable silence during which he refused to add anything else, she said, “I’m waiting to hear the part where you’re going to fight for both.”
“Ah, but see, that part doesn’t exist.” He shook his head ruefully. “Because I’m not sure the job is worth fighting for, and I know for a fact that the woman is too good for me, and therefore, not worth fighting for. Me, I mean. I’m not worth fighting for. Not her. She… she deserves far more than I could ever be.”
His aunt snorted. “Well, that sounds like a load of hooey. On both counts. You went after this job last year like it was the holy grail. Is it really the job that’s the problem? Or you? Or someone else?”
Noel started to respond, but she held up a hand to stop him.
“And whoever this woman is, if she’s got even a peanut of a brain—and she’d have to have at least that in order for you to fall for her—then she already knows that you’re worth more than all the stars in the sky, and out here, kiddo, that’s a whole lotta stars. Have you even lifted your head from that dang phone long enough to look at the sky the last two nights?”
Noel closed his eyes. He wasn’t going to argue with her. Partly because she was right, at least about the job, but also because there was just too much going on in his head to make sense of it to himself, no less to put it into words that someone else might be able to understand.
“Why are you here, Noel?” she asked after a moment.
Noel opened his eyes and gave her a tired look. “I’m here to see Bruno. He wants to see me, right? Or so you keep telling me. So here I am.”
Aunt Gigi grunted something into her mug as she took a sip of her coffee. It sounded suspiciously like a word that told him explicitly that she was calling his bluff.
Noel raised one eyebrow sardonically. “Very mature.”
His aunt set her mug down a little harder than necessary and leaned forward over the table. She narrowed her eyes and pointed a knobby finger at him “Look who’s calling the kettle black,” she said. “You want to know why I think you’re here?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.” Noel was beginning to wish he’d stayed holed up in his suite at Carpe Diem. He hadn’t expected to be challenged by her. Aunt Gigi was supposed to take him in with open arms and tell him how amazing he was. Just like always. He never fully believed her, sure, but she was his biggest fan, and sometimes a guy needed a cheerleader. Like now, when the rest of the world seemed set against him.
“You’re darn tootin’ I’m going to tell you. I think you’re here because you’re running scared. Scared of life. Scared of love. Scared of committing to something bigger than yourself.”
“Hardly,” Noel shot back defensively. “What do you call my commitment to you and Bruno? I take care of my own. I make promises, and I keep them. It’s what family does; isn’t that what you always tell me?” He tried to keep the misery out of his voice, but he could feel his throat tightening up as he talked. “And what about this career that allows me to take care of you? I dragged myself, clawing and scratching, out of this cesspit of a town and made something of myself so that I could take care of my commitments. Yes, you helped, and I’ll be eternally grateful for that leg up. It motivates me to keep moving onward and upward, to make your sacrifice worth it, because I know it truly was a sacrifice for you. If that’s not commitment, Aunt Gigi, then I don’t know what is.”
She made an ugly scoffing noise. “That ain’t commitment, honey. That’s obligation. A commitment is a choice you make to engage with someone or something else for their betterment. An obligation is something you believe you have to do out of a sense of duty or pride, primarily because it makes you feel better. Now I’m not saying obligations are bad. When you make a commitment, obligations follow. That’s the way it works. But don’t you dare mix up the two, especially when you're telling stories to me.”
Noel sat back in his chair. He’d never considered the difference before. But he wasn’t done arguing. That wounded kid that still lived inside of him wanted to lash out, fight back, and his scrawny little fists were raised and ready. “I take care of Bruno so that you don’t have to, Aunt Gigi. That’s my commitment to you, and yes, it’s something I choose to do. That hateful, vicious old man, though? Fine. You’re right. He is an obligation to me, an obligation that is a byproduct of my commitment to you. I get nothing— nothing— out of paying his bills except the knowledge that you don’t have to.”
She kept quiet and just continued eyeing him over her cup.
He poked himself in the chest. “I am not afraid of commitment.” Geez, he sounded like a stubborn kid.
“Which is why you’d rather be here visiting with that old hateful man you somehow can’t bring yourself to give up on, rather than back in Autumn Lake fighting for a job you like and a woman you love.”
“I don’t—I’m not—“ The denial died in his throat and Noel clamped his jaws closed, grinding his teeth together. He pushed to his feet and crossed to the sink where he dumped out the rest of his coffee. He was already on edge enough without the aide of more caffeine. He turned to face his aunt, propping his backside against the counter, and crossed his arms. Digging his fingers hard into his biceps, he opened his mouth to tell her that she didn’t know what she was talking about, but all that came out was a sullen, “You just don’t get it, do you?”
She sighed, her shoulders slumping, and her steely gaze softened. “Oh, kiddo. I do get it. I really do.” She looked at him for several long moments, then in as gentle a voice as he’d heard her use in a very long time, asked, “When are you gonna stop running, child? Don’t you ever want to come in for a landing?” Her mixed metaphors almost made him smile, but her words hit too close to home.
He'd been running, all right. As fast and as far away from all that pain as he could possibly get, only to find himself right back in the middle of it again and again and again.
Noel could feel her compassion wash over him in waves, and he held on to his anger as hard as he could. He wanted to open his mouth and roar, to shake his fists at God, to rail against the injustice of being despised by the one man in the world who should have wanted him, protected him, loved him above all others.
“Enough,” he ground out, responding to his own wretched thoughts rather than to his aunt’s questions. “Enough,” he said again, this time louder, trying to wrap his head around what that meant to him.
“Enough running?” Aunt Gigi gently prodded, love and empathy and hope pouring out of her as she watched him wage his internal battle.
Try as he might, he couldn’t look into her eyes and stay angry at her. Nor could he deny that everything she’d said just now was true. He took a deep breath, uncrossed his arms, and let the words spill out of him in a long exhale. “Enough running.”
Aunt Gigi came over and wrapped her arms around him in a quick, fierce hug. “Good for you. Now, I’m going to make you a nice big breakfast, and we’re going to talk about the part where you plant your feet and stand up for what you want.” She reached up and grabbed his chin, giving his face a gentle shake. “Fight for what you deserve, Noel. Because you are worth fighting for. You are worth loving, and the people in your life are beyond lucky to have you.” She gave him a sharp, narrow-eyed look. “Don’t you ever let me hear you say otherwise again, got it?”
T he visit with Bruno that afternoon went nothing like Noel had expected, although he’d had very few preconceived notions of what would happen, once they got to his father’s room. For starters, according to the young aide who checked them in, Bruno was up in his chair and waiting to see them.
“Would you like to go alone, or should I come along for moral support?” his aunt asked. She was serious, Noel realized, and he considered both options, but only briefly.
“Please come. He might be more comfortable if you’re there.” Noel was fairly certain no one would be very comfortable during the impending encounter, but the Bruno he knew would already be on the defensive, and now that Noel’s head was in a better place after the morning spent in Aunt Gigi’s counsel, he wanted to avoid making a scene, if at all possible.
Nurse Debbie was on duty, he was relieved to discover, and she greeted him with a warm smile and a firm handshake. “It’s good to have you back, Noel. Your father has been asking about you. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”
Noel wasn’t so sure about that, but he didn’t try to set her straight. He just nodded, then they followed the nurse as she led them through the building.
Debbie knocked sharply on Bruno’s door and pushed into the room without waiting for an invitation. Aunt Gigi slipped in right behind her, but Noel hesitated, wondering if he should wait for the ladies to pave the way first. Then he thought better of it. Bruno already knew he was there, so holding back might only serve to make Noel seem afraid, and that was one thing he refused to be where his father was concerned.
Noel barely recognized the frail old man sitting in the recliner at the window that overlooked the back of the nursing home’s property. The drapes were open and the blinds up so they could see outside to the beautiful spring day.
“I’ll leave you three to it,” Debbie said with an encouraging nod. She pointed at the call button on the remote strapped to the arm of Bruno’s chair. “Just buzz if you need anything.” Then she ducked out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.
His father, partially backlit by the light streaming in the window behind him, was no longer the terrifying monster he’d once been. Shrunken, shoulders hunched forward over a chest that rose and fell laboriously, now little more than skin and bones, Bruno was nothing but an old man who’d given in to the ravages of both time and disease. Aunt Gigi had kept Noel informed of his father’s medical condition and treatments, but he saw now that there was much more that she hadn’t shared with him.
His father really was dying.
Bruno wore an oxygen canula in his nose, the tube connected to a large tank mounted on the wall near the head of his bed. He was clean-shaven and almost completely bald, making his sagging ears look enormous. His elbows were propped on the armrests of his chair, bony fingers loosely laced together over his abdomen. The backs of his hands were discolored and blotchy, crisscrossed with purple veins just beneath the skin.
“Hello, Bruno,” Noel said, hating the catch in his voice. It wasn’t nervousness that tightened around his throat, but a deep emotion he couldn’t quite name, one that caught him off guard.
“Noel.”
It was the first time he’d heard his name come out of his father’s mouth in years, and it had been even longer than that since it had been spoken without rancor. The lump in his throat made it difficult to swallow, and afraid his voice wouldn’t work, he said nothing.
“Been a long time,” Bruno said, slowly and with much effort. He didn’t unlace his fingers, and Noel wondered if holding his hands that way was to mask which one no longer worked. Bruno thrust his chin toward a couple of chairs nearby. “Sit.”
Aunt Gigi nudged Noel further into the room, then she moved to Bruno’s side and pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Hello, little brother,” she said, her tone motherly. “It’ll just be a short visit, I promise. But I’ve brought your boy, just like you asked.”
It turned out to be a shockingly short visit, indeed.
Aunt Gigi started the conversation with news of the goings-on at the mine. In spite of his father’s current circumstances, the mines and the men and women who worked them had always been the most important pieces of Bruno’s life.
His father managed to ask a few questions about men whose names Noel didn’t recognize, before finally turning to look at Noel. He opened his mouth to say something but started coughing instead.
It was an awful, wet cough that wouldn’t let up, and when it became clear that he couldn’t catch his breath, Aunt Gigi pressed the nurse call button.
Noel stood and approached his father with great uncertainty. Should he do something? Pat him on the back? Go hunt Debbie down? Bruno was struggling to control the spasms of his body as the coughing continued. His eyes watered, his mouth opened and closed like he was trying to speak, and he dragged in harsh breaths of the life-preserving oxygen that hissed through the canula in his nose. At a loss for what else to do, Noel reached out and brushed his fingers over Bruno’s tightly clasped hands. "I'm here, Dad."
The moment Noel touched him, Bruno unlaced his fingers, his stroke-affected limb flopping lifelessly off the side of the armrest, his good hand grasping Noel’s. He squeezed Noel’s fingers hard and didn’t let go, locking gazes with him.
When Debbie bustled in, Bruno closed his eyes, released his grip on Noel’s hand, and turned his face away.
Noel stood there, his fingers opening and closing in a fist at his side, unsure of what to do next. Should he stay in the room while the nurse did whatever she could to help Bruno? Or should he step out? Aunt Gigi’s words from his last visit about the loss of one’s dignity in a place like this echoed loudly in his mind.
His aunt took the decision from him when she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and guided him out into the hallway. “There’s a family waiting room at the end of the hall,” she told him, leading the way. “Debbie will know where to find us.”
Half an hour later, Debbie informed them that Bruno was back in bed and was likely already asleep. “I think he’s probably done in for the day,” she said with a regretful expression. “I know you’ve come a long way to see him, Noel. I’m sorry.”
In the car on the ride back to his aunt’s house, Gigi explained, “He’s been fighting that awful cough for several months now. It started out as bronchitis, Debbie told me, but it’s turned into chronic pneumonia now. His heart is failing as a result of the stroke, and his poor old body just doesn’t seem to have what it needs to stave off the inevitable. They can’t get all that junk out of his lungs, poor thing, and once he starts coughing like that, it wears him out something awful.”
“Should we try going back tomorrow?” The moment his father had said his name, something in Noel that he’d long thought dead and gone had sparked to life. There was still an ember of resentment, yes. The man had created a legacy of suffering that Noel would carry for the rest of his life.
But something else had reared its head, too. Something Noel wasn’t sure he had the courage to acknowledge.
Hope.
Aunt Gigi shook her head slowly. “No,” she finally said. “Unless he asks to see you again, I think the good Lord might have given you both just what you needed today. Let’s leave things be for now.”
He wondered, for the first time in his life, if he would actually get to see his father again, but he didn’t say so out loud.
“Besides, you’ve got somewhere to be tomorrow, don’t you?” she asked, nudging him across the console with her elbow.
His pulse quickened tellingly, and he glanced over at her, anticipation threading through him. “I do,” he said.
An hour later, he was repacking his suitcase when his phone rang. He snatched it up off the desk, longing to see Addison’s name on the screen, but it was Joyce.
“This is Noel,” he said, doing his best to sound all business.
“How soon can you be back in town?” she asked without preamble. It was one of the things he liked about her, the way she got right to the point and didn’t waste time.
“Actually, I’m packing up as we speak. I’d planned to head out first thing in the morning, which would get me there around two or three in the afternoon. Flying wouldn’t get me there any earlier, in case you’re wondering.”
“Tomorrow afternoon is fine. We’ve got some negotiating to do, and I want you there in person, but this is good news, Noel. Great news.”
“Wow. Okay. Do you want to share any of it with me?” He sat down on the edge of his bed, his heart racing.
“If you want me to bill you twice for it,” she quipped. “I’ll be going over everything with you in detail tomorrow.”
Noel chuckled. “No, no. Tomorrow is fine.” Like most attorneys, the woman billed in six-minute increments, but her rate per six-minute unit was borderline ludicrous. “I’ll let you know when I get in.”
“You do that,” she said. “See you tomorrow.” Then she hung up without waiting for his response.