44. Noelle
Chapter forty-four
Noelle
“So, you and that Satterfield boy?” Dad’s eyebrows twitched with mischief as he finished mashing a pot of potatoes. “Although he’s hardly a boy anymore.”
I groaned from my perch on the corner counter. “Dad, it’s not like that. Well, it is, but we’re going slow.” I did not confess I’d fallen asleep smiling last night, replaying our kiss. There were some things my dad didn’t need to know. “Ruby started it with her photo shoot.”
“That girl and her schemes.” He chuckled fondly, adding a giant pat of butter to the pot. The more the better. I’d tried to help, but he’d pointed at the counter and told me to relax. Easier said than done. “It’s a season of new beginnings, Elle.”
“I know.” I shifted, picking at the pilling on my sweatpants. Nothing regal about my appearance today. “We’ve forgiven each other, but I just . . .”
“Have a hard time giving yourself the grace to acknowledge you’re human and make mistakes?”
Ouch. But he wasn’t wrong. “Yeah, something like that.”
He hummed. “Walk in that forgiveness then, Elle. Holding onto the past never served the present. Grace isn’t earned, it’s freely given.” He shot me a knowing look, then added another scoop of butter.
Smart man.
A knock on the door interrupted us. Perfect timing.
“Can you get that?” Dad asked, moving to stir his gravy pot.
While I was grateful to get off the train of Noelle’s Love Life, doors and I were coming to a serious disadvantage. I’d opened enough of them lately to decide I really hated being surprised.
“Sure thing.” Who else had Dad invited for dinner? Ruby was already here, upstairs putting the finishing touches on her portfolio for Stephanie, which was due by Thanksgiving.
I limped down the hall to the entryway and swung the door open. “Can I help—?” The words died in a gurgle, and I gripped the doorway for support. “Quinn?”
My second-youngest sister stared at me in horror before her face smoothed over in an impassive glare. And I thought I had a good poker face. At twenty-three, she took after Ruby and me in resembling Mom, with blonde curls and dark chocolate eyes.
“It’s good to see you,” I said quietly. “Do you want to come in?”
“I prefer to say what I need to say out here.” Quinn’s eyes were as flinty as her tone.
The nippy autumn air cut through Cal’s hoodie as I stepped outside, closing the door behind me.
“So you’re really back. For good?”
I tugged on the hem of the hoodie, unsure of what to do with my hands. “Yeah.”
“Where’d you run to?”
“New York.”
Quinn huffed. “Big city, huh? Finally got the dream. What’d you do?”
“I’m a nurse.” Technically was, but I still had my license. “I worked in the emergency department for almost ten years.”
“Always taking care of people. Did you run away from them too?”
I swallowed hard. “Quinn—”
“No.” She held up a hand. “It’s my turn to talk. You owe me that much.”
Sunlight glinted off the azurite ring on her finger. My ring. The one I’d left her. She kept it? “Okay.”
She paced for a moment, giving me a chance to study her. My little sister had grown up into a beautiful woman. “You left us.”
“I know.”
Finally, she pivoted to face me, eyes blazing. “You left, Noelle! You abandoned us! You were gone!” Her voice cracked. An angry flush stained her neck and cheeks. “And all I wanted was for you to take me with you!”
My heart broke. Oh, Quinnie. She’d always been the quiet one, easily forgotten.
“At first I was mad at you for leaving. But then I noticed the dishes weren’t done.
I couldn’t get the stain out of my favourite shirt, and Mom forgot to pick me up from school, and”—she covered her face with her hands, shoulders hunched—“I realized I’d taken you for granted.
We all had. But you shouldn’t have had to leave for us to see it.
” She choked on a sob. “I just wanted my big sister.”
I reached for her, but she stepped away.
“I don’t know why you came back now. Honestly, I’m not sure I care.” Quinn sniffed hard, scrubbing at the tears on her cheeks. “But you can’t waltz back in here like nothing happened.”
“I’m not, Quinn,” I said softly. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
“It’s a little late for that.” She spun on her heel and marched down the stairs. “Tell Dad not to meddle anymore. If I’d known you were here, I wouldn’t have come.”
The gravel crunched as her wheels spun. I watched her peel out of the driveway, tears burning my eyes. If I’d known you were here, I wouldn’t have come.
Dad cleared his throat. How long had he been there? “Pot roast is getting cold.” He frowned. “Where’s Quinnie?”
“She left,” I whispered, stuffing my feelings down so deep the Mariana Trench had nothing on me.
“Give her time.” Dad’s eyes flashed sympathetically as he patted my shoulder. “You both said your piece.”
Trying to keep up pretenses, I followed him inside. Ruby, wearing an apron and slicing a loaf of bread I’d brought, was soon chatting up a storm.
I tacked on a smile, but Quinn’s words looped on repeat in my brain.
Some things aren’t forgivable.
And I wasn’t even sure how to fix that.
Dinner was excellent—Dad really nailed the pot roast—but indigestion churned in my stomach. After forcing down just enough to keep either of them from commenting on it, I helped Ruby wash up while Dad dished out apple crisp and vanilla ice cream for dessert.
Needing a minute to compose myself, I slipped away to the bathroom. The sink no longer dripped, and the chipped, trifold mirror had been replaced with a modern, beveled-edge one. I inhaled deeply, gripping the counter until my knuckles turned white.
Quinn’s words hit hard. Mostly because they sounded a lot like my own doubts. But the accusations hurt, too. I hadn’t tried to move on like nothing happened. I’d tried to make amends. Tried—
You’re trying to do My job.
The still voice in my spirit caught me off guard. What?
My child, I forgive you. That’s what matters. Healing hearts and softening them is My business. I called you home to make amends, and My grace is sufficient for that task. But leave the timing to Me. Trust that I’m working for your good.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as hot tears pooled in my eyes. Trust His timing. His plans for my good. Wasn’t that what Marcel said? Right the wrong but live going forward. The bartender should really charge for his therapy sessions.
I’m sorry, Lord.
Squaring my shoulders, I pointed at myself in the mirror. “Noelle Shepherd. Let. It. Go.”
Quinn’s response wasn’t my burden to bear. I couldn’t make her react a certain way—that was between her and the Lord. But I could move forward with the right attitude. You’re forgiven. It’s time you live like it.
Starting with not hanging on so tightly to what I couldn’t control. I cringed just thinking about it. Lack of control scared me. But maybe doing what scared me was exactly what I needed.
Impromptu mirror pep talks and prayer sessions did wonders. Highly recommend.
On my way back to the kitchen, the den caught my eye.
“Dad, is that a murder board?” I called through the open door as I ran a finger over the glossy 8x10s and red string tying suspects and newspaper clipping together.
He appeared in the doorway, grinning sheepishly. “Yeah, well, we get a murder mystery subscription each month.”
“We?”
“Ian, John, Myles—”
“Pops and Pastor John are in on this?” I could picture Myles as part of the group, given that his mom had been a cozy mystery author.
“Sure.” Dad rattled off a few other names.
I stared, dumbfounded. “I’m sure Dallas loves you guys.”
Dad chuckled. “He pretends not to know about it as long as we let him do his job.”
Middle-aged small-town dads were the new murder-board extraordinaires. Who’d have thought?
“Can I take a picture? Macy would love this.”
“Sure, sure.” He waved me off.
I texted her the picture but didn’t expect a reply since she was on a date. Better check on her location. Yup. Pho for You, her favourite Vietnamese restaurant. Exactly where she was supposed to be.
Except she did reply immediately.
MACY:
OH MY GOSH!!!!! A murder board!
Your dad is the cutest. It’s official. I’m coming out.
To see you of course. And that board.
Can I invite myself for Thanksgiving?
ME:
Mi casa es su casa. Date not going well?
MACY:
Nope. Will debrief later. I can’t hide in the bathroom forever.
And I need your expertise on how to get fermented fish sauce out of silk.
ME:
You got it.
Look out Serenity Springs, Macy Davenport was coming to town.
The thought should excite me—and it did—but a different longing spread through my chest. Peeking out the window, I noticed Cal’s truck in Mama D and Pops’s driveway next door. Warmth flooded me. There was only one person I wanted to see right now.
And I desperately needed one of his hugs.