Chapter 16
NOELLE
“Be honest with me, Noelle! How is the defunct place, truly?”
Marsha’s voice came through my cell phone as clear as a bell.
No more wavering connection or distant shouting.
Only the occasional rumble of a crashing ocean in the background.
I looked out over the snow-swept landscape, the brilliant blue sky, and frigid air so cold it felt like stepping into a freezer, and didn’t even feel jealous of her.
Marsha soaked up the distant Caribbean.
I tripped over icicles and saw dust.
My life was definitely the better one.
I stood in the living room, peering out the main window with one arm folded across my chest. The break from working in the bathroom was welcome.
I’d been kneeling on the floor, peeling up old linoleum stained by who-knew-what.
Sometimes it peeled as easily as an orange, and other times I had to chip it away with a hammer and pry bar.
The tink tink tink of the tools still rang in my ears.
“The last time we were there,” Marsha continued, not giving me a chance to formulate a response, “was several years ago, and it was in rough shape. You’ve been there for a few weeks, right? What do you think?”
My reply hesitated. Marsha, the old gossip, always sought the next nugget of information to spread. The idea of Grandpa’s house and Cade’s work on it being tittered about amongst her wealthy friends made my stomach turn over.
How could Marsha ever understand?
She couldn’t.
So, I’d do what I did best at my job whenever the auditors showed up and we had something to prove: give the details that mattered, and divert the ones that didn’t.
“Ah . . . it’s definitely old.” I kicked a piece of fluff on the carpet with my stockinged foot. “Grandpa left loads of stuff behind. You wouldn’t believe what he kept.”
“Oh, I would! Is the place functional?”
“Definitely.”
“The last time we set foot in there, I worried the roof would fall through.”
I cast my gaze higher, already knowing what I’d see. While feeding Lily, I had plenty of time to study the complicated design that pooling water left behind. The textured popcorn ceiling was truly horrendous.
“The ceiling is fine, and I think it’s structurally sound. It’s pretty cold out, though. Spring will be a true test of the roof, once snow and ice starts to melt.”
“True.”
“It will require updating,” I added, to keep us on the same track but not grant too much ammunition.
With most auditors, it worked. When I left enough space for them to ask questions, they felt free and open.
Dad was always pushing new trials, new horizons.
While I would never engage in work that might harm people—and he knew that—I was also the best coordinator he had because I enjoyed my work.
With any luck, Marsha would feel like the conversation was productive, even if I didn’t say much.
“And Cade?” she inquired, slurping at something. Probably alcoholic. She sounded buzzy. “How does he feel?”
“Motivated.”
“He’s always been a hard worker.”
“That he is.”
“Easy on the eyes, too.”
I laughed. “Also true.”
Yes, Cade was quite motivated to bring the house up to speed.
He’d left an hour ago to help the boys in the barn, and we expected his gigantic order to arrive via a delivery truck any minute.
Each day that passed settled my frightened nerves a little more.
No word from Lily’s paternal grandparents about Lily’s guardianship.
No text from Lily’s father.
The closer this house moved into something functional, the more stable my chances at a solid future with Lily became.
To my greater shock, Cade still hadn’t asked for Lily’s story yet.
Hadn’t probed into why we showed up and stayed, nor asked what happened to Naomi.
For the most part, he took our situation in his careful, easygoing cowboy stride.
His calm exterior only occasionally reflected whatever thoughts lay within.
Every now and then, I thought I saw a flicker of panic.
“Well, I’m happy to hear it’s functional and livable and moving forward,” Marsha said in a reasoning tone punctuated with tiny hiccups. “I always liked Cade. A voice of reason amongst the dramatic men in this family, particularly when your grandpa slid farther into dementia, or whatever.”
Grandpa didn’t have dementia, just normal old age, but I didn’t make the correction.
Dad may have outlawed me from visiting him and threatened to end my career if I involved myself in his family, but that didn’t mean I’d given up on Grandpa entirely.
He sent me text messages all the time before his steady physical decline.
Half of them didn’t make sense because he didn’t use voice-to-text well, but I appreciated the thought.
“And how’s Lily?”
“Good.”
“Does she like the place?”
Marsha laughed at her own joke, and I managed a pathetic chuckle in response.
“I’m glad you’re somewhere safe,” Marsha continued, and she sounded out of breath. “Goodness knows when we’ll be back. Your uncle is thinking of buying a yacht . . . with weather like this . . .”
“Marsha, a quick question?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Do you remember where Grandma stored any photo albums at the ranch?” I slipped into the kitchen and peeked under the slow cooker lid. Pot roast, plump potatoes, and gleaming carrots simmered, filling the house with a delicious tang.
“Photo albums . . . why yes. Downstairs, under the staircase. She used to keep them there, I believe.”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“Thanks.”
“You searching for something specific?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Like the old recipes and cookbooks, I had a feeling that I could find a deeper connection to Grandma, but I didn’t know what.
There was an intangible presence in the house, and I sought anything that might strengthen it.
Somehow, if I could just find Grandma, she might tell me how to let go of my old life. How to be a parent.
Did mothering instincts come with pregnancy? Or childbirth? I hadn’t carried Noelle in my body for nine months. Had I missed some mystical bestowal of knowing that came with that bodily sacrifice?
I doubted it.
But I also never thought I’d be here, either, so life constantly took me by surprise.
“Well, you’ll find a lot in that basement.” Marsha chortled again, stopping only to take another slurp. “By the way, have you heard from . . . those . . . people?”
Marsha’s tone alone constricted my chest. Although Marsha hadn’t said their names—probably didn’t remember them—their mention invoked the same amount of fear all the same. I cleared my throat.
“Ah, no. No word from Lily’s other grandparents yet. I don’t think they know that I left Chicago. Maybe they do . . .”
“No news is good news!” Marsha called a bright hello to someone and then hastily said, “By the way, honey, I sent you a few things. They should be coming soon. Love you both, ta!”
The call ended before I knew it was on the way out. Bemused, I shoved the phone into my back pocket, considered returning to the linoleum, and closed that thought off when a lusty cry issued from the other room.
I hadn’t accomplished what I wanted to, but at least I knew where to find the pictures. Once I fed Lily and changed her, we’d venture into the basement together, because the piles of junk were one beast that needed conquering almost as quickly as the bathroom.
Images surrounded me an hour later.
Lily lay in her bouncer while I knelt on the basement floor. She cooed and punched the air, her feet and hands kicking frantically. I laughed at her gurgling sounds, enjoying the way her lips curved along the edges.
Familiar faces peered out from history when I plucked a picture of Naomi off the carpet and held it next to Lily’s face to compare the similarities.
Startled by the unexpected touch on her cheek, Lily paused.
Her mama stared out from the past, grinning wide, several teeth missing.
She had been only several months older in this photo than Lily was now, and there was a definite resemblance.
Lily had her eyes, her sloping nose. The tiny ears, pasted back, the lobes attached. Tears threatened again. It was hard to remember that Naomi had only been gone for a few weeks.
I gained Lily.
Lost Naomi.
And my chest still felt the raw excoriation.
I missed my old life. Things that made sense. Time. I missed sleeping through the night, and tracking patient names instead of diapers and wet wipes. I missed the Naomi I knew years ago.
Lily cooed, so I put the photo down and pulled her out of the bouncer, into my arms. I pulled my legs up, knees bent, and leaned her against my thighs, holding her hands, making faces, laughing when she returned the monkey-like lips.
Her inquisitive stare locked onto me.
I smiled at her.
She smiled back, however slight.
Molten heat pooled in my chest, and she cooed again, eyes drifting to the side.
So happy, so calm. Joyful tears surfaced.
These emotions were poignant. Deep. Lily stirred them from a place I didn’t know existed inside of me.
There were so many feelings to experience, I didn’t know how to rotate through.
Was it possible for a human to feel this extent of love, and terror, at the same time? I’d fight anything and anyone for Lily, even in hopeless moments when I dissolved into tears because I couldn’t get the wipes package to open.
My hand reached for my phone to snap a picture of her next smile, but she began to gnaw on a thumb that she trapped. I chuckled, snapped a few funny ones, and opened my text messages.
My thumb stalled.
Who to share it with?
My parents were still mourning Naomi and hadn’t decided whether they would have anything more to do with me or Lily.
Dad had a habit of slicing people out of his life when they didn’t do exactly what he desired, and I’d left my illustrious career to parent my niece.
He’d rather throw her into daycare and keep me working.
So I left.
He did not agree.
Which landed me here.
Social media was not something I had to worry about. Not only did I not care much for it, but the birth father and his overeager parents might see it, and it seemed better to fly low on the radar while the guardianship was processed and I hid in the mountains.
Last time I checked social media, Lily’s paternal grandmother had said, Please pray for us, we’re dealing with a wanna-be mama and a baby she isn’t equipped to care for and vaguely stating things like, We won’t give up until our little girl is in our arms!
None of that was true.
I hoped.
Seeing the reminders of their vindictiveness only made me sick, anyway.
To consider the way they treated me before undermined any emotional ground I had.
By escaping with Lily, I wasn’t stealing a child who wasn’t mine.
Naomi wanted me to have Lily, but of course, she died unexpectedly in childbirth and didn’t leave written instructions in a will.
Besides, their son was probably using drugs again. And I wouldn’t have Lily exposed to that.
After a moment of hesitation, I decided to send the photo to Cade.
Moments after it was delivered, I regretted it.
Would it seem too forward? Would he be annoyed?
If anything, it was too rash. He didn’t have a blood buy-in with Lily.
If I shared these moments with him, would it create an unintentional expectation?
I should write something to explain the picture. Maybe a request for more diapers? No, we had plenty. He just bought another box without me asking. He tracked the animals, the boys, the house, and the baby.
Daily, I couldn’t quite believe he was real.
“Stupid,” I whispered, tapping my fist against my head. After ripping out linoleum and not sleeping and talking to Marsha, my once-capable brain had emptied of almost all thought, and I couldn’t produce a reason for sending that picture to him outside of wanting to share Lily with someone.
It implied . . . friendship?
A connection?
Was that my right to imply? We were a bizarre set of roommates. Yet, he really did like Lily. He went out of his way to care for her when I was out with a fever. He held her whenever he could. He talked to her. Sometimes he seemed more at ease with her than I was with her.
Before I could judge my way into a hole, the three moving dots popped up to indicate his response. I sat there on the ground, listening to Lily coo, my body and thoughts frozen, until his reply popped up.
Cade: I will say it again, and many times more: that is the cutest baby I’ve ever seen. How was her nap?
Disbelief flooded me. He not only acknowledged her perfection, but asked about her.
Gah.
I was hopelessly falling for him. My life was a tornado-like spiral into a deepening obsession with him, his voice, his empathy, his care for Lily.
Quick-fire irritation with myself followed.
Why was I surprised? Cade, the most gentlemanly person I had ever known, would of course compliment the photo and ask the exact right question.
Because he knew she’d been struggling with naps.
He cared.
“I’m losing my mind, Illy,” I whispered, referring to her by my favorite nickname. “I’m. Losing. My. Ever. Loving. Mind.”
Noelle: She slept like a champ and woke up all smiles.
After a moment of thought, I added another line.
Noelle: Dinner will be ready in an hour. Pot roast with carrots and potatoes.
Cade: I cannot wait.
How cozy, our conversation. Almost like . . . no. I cut the thought off. Cade and I were not in a relationship. We were adults playing house. Acquaintances thrown into a mutually beneficial situation during a very weird and unstable time, when both of us could use help.
I gathered Lily, her bouncer, and several photos of my sister, taking them upstairs, where warmer air met us.
Soon, I’d need to tackle sorting through the basement. Ideally, we’d rent a dumpster and just haul stuff to thrift stores or the dump, but first, the bathroom.
Bathroom.
Geez.
I’d never get it done at this rate. Not with a baby on my hip.
The sound of scurrying men and whooping shouts came from outside. Cody and Wyatt made me smile.
How lovely to not be so quiet, nor so alone.