Chapter 23 Noelle
Noelle
CHRISTMAS DAY
“Icould do the airplane noises if you want,” Griffin offers as I insert another spoonful of soup into Leif’s mouth. “He always loved that when he was little.”
I have to look away to keep from laughing.
“Yuk it up,” Leif says. “But I’m the one getting spoon-fed by a beautiful woman for Christmas.”
Griffin eyes his wife, waggling his brows.
“Don’t even think about it,” Sasha says to her husband, eyes narrowed, making all of us laugh.
God, it feels good to laugh again.
I give Leif another spoonful. “You know the physical therapist isn’t going to let me do this after tomorrow,” I say.
“Exactly—I need to savor it while it lasts.” He winks at me, which I think is a feat given how hard everything is for him.
“This is so good,” Sasha says to Mom, taking a sip of her own soup.
Mom smiles, pulling on her coat. “It’s an old family recipe. Grandma Betty’s actually.”
She smiles, saying she’ll send Dan back tonight with Christmas dinner. “He and Monique are overseeing the turkey right now, and I confess I’m a bit worried. She’s brilliant and earnest with her attempts at cooking, but she’s a self-confessed disaster in the kitchen.”
Was it torturous for Mom to have us apart this year, on her favorite holiday?
As if reading my mind, Mom smiles softly. “I can’t wait for next Christmas. I hope all of you will come by?”
Griffin and Sasha are pulling on their coats too. “Absolutely,” Sasha says. They inform us they’re going for their annual holiday walk outside in the snow. I don’t know if that’s actually a thing, but I can tell they want to give me and Leif some time alone, so I don’t argue when they all leave.
When I turn back to Leif, I sigh with relief. But I can tell he’s exhausted, ready to sleep.
But when I tell him that, he shakes his head. “Can you read it again?” he asks.
I pick up My Journey to You.
But Leif shakes his head. “No. The letter.”
“Leif.” My cheeks redden. It’s embarrassing. He had me read it this morning when we were alone too. Then we cried together.
“Okay then,” he says. “Then just tell me the best parts.”
I lean in, brushing the hair from his forehead. “You want me to tell you you’re my Christmas wish? Or that I love you?”
“Either will do.”
I laugh softly. “I love you, Leif. And for Christmas, I want you to wish for me.”
With an unexpected strength I can see strains him, he lifts his unbroken arm, and cups my cheek.
“I wish for you.”
I lean forward and kiss him softly on the lips. A brush of a touch and a promise of a lifetime more. “I’m already yours.”
We sit together for a while, talking about everything and nothing, while Leif drifts in and out of sleep. I can tell he needs to rest more fully though, so I pack up the books and cards scattered on his bed.
“Three things,” he says.
“Three?”
“First, can you kiss me?”
I smile, indulging him—and me.
He smiles when I pull away, his eyes closed. “I’m tempted to make two another kiss.”
I smile, but fold my arms, waiting.
“Okay. Second—I want you to wear the necklace.”
My stomach flips. I stare at the gold disappearing into Leif’s hospital gown. “You need it still. You have a long way to go.”
“I don’t need luck when I’m with you.”
I bite my lip, then reach up and unclasp the clover necklace from around his neck. Part of me wants to throw it away—the moment he gave it back to me, he nearly died. But Leif’s looking at me expectantly, so I put it on, adjusting it at my throat.
Leif smiles. “The first time you wore that—do you remember? I think that’s the night I knew I was in love with you.”
I remember. We were at the Rolling Hills resort. Leif and I stood on the roof, staring at the night sky, while I pretended I could live without loving him.
I touch the clover. I guess it brought me luck too.
Then I take Leif’s hand. “What’s the third thing?”
“I want to see the photo.”
“I told you I’d tell you about it later!”
He blinks. I know it’s his version of shaking his head. “I’m ready now.”
I hesitate. Then I sigh and pull out the photo of the best friends. Betty, maker of turkey soup and rescuer of war victims, and her best friend Carolyn, the answer to years of questions.
Betty’s a woman I never knew, but after grilling Mom via email and text over the past several days—the only distraction that could hold my attention while we waited for Leif to live—I feel like I do know her.
And I feel like I know Carolyn, too, after reading the diaries Leif’s aunt Nora and Uncle Jude dropped off two days ago.
Carolyn is Clea, we were all convinced, and that was before I showed them the photo.
James’ diaries are purposefully cryptic, but the subtle mentions throughout the pages line up with the historical record like two sides of a puzzle finally snapping into place.
From mentions of C founding ‘the league’, which Nora always thought was a baseball reference, to his offering the league ‘a few pennies’—he was clearly the anonymous donor who got them off the ground.
The diaries talk about ‘C’ answering the call, then there’s a gap of over a year where he didn’t keep any diary at all—or perhaps, in his grief at losing his daughter, he shared too much and destroyed what he wrote.
There’s more, so much more. But the biggest thing—the last piece of the puzzle connecting it all—is what’s in this photo.
I hold up the photo, and turn it around to face him.
I wait, holding my breath.
He doesn’t see it at first. He only smiles, seeing the two best friends.
But then his brows furrow, and the excitement fills me to nearly bursting.
“Hey,” he says, squinting. “Isn’t that—”
I hand him the photo. In this one, the two women are embracing, their cheeks pressed together. Carolyn’s hand is gripping Betty’s—her left hand, with a wedding ring visible.
He looks me in the eye, his expression stunned. “Why is she wearing my mom’s wedding ring?”
I smile, waiting for him to put it together. He’s a smart guy. The smartest guy I know. It doesn’t take him long.
Leif laughs then—fully laughs—for the first time since he woke up. The sound is like a wish come true.