Finding Noel (27 page)

I didn't get home until past two and woke to my radio-alarm clock less than four and a half hours later. I pulled on Levi's jeans and my crimson University of Utah sweatshirt and stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen. I took two waffles from the freezer and dropped them into the toaster as my dad watched in amusement, coffee in hand. “You was out late last night,” he said.

“I was with Tennys.”

He shook his head. “That girl is some kind of pretty. I thought she was getting herself hitched.”

“She was. The guy called it off.”

My father didn't say anything. He went to the refrigerator and brought out a package of salami, a head of lettuce and a jar of mayonnaise. “Salami sandwich okay?”

“Sure,” I said, “But I can make it.”

“I'm halfway there.”

I slumped down at the table and closed my eyes. “Where's your Christmas tree?”

“With mother gone I just wasn't in the mood.”

“It's not the same,” I said.

“No,” he said, “it ain't.” My waffles popped up from the
toaster and I got back up. I took the waffles and buttered them, then carried them back to the table.

“May I ask you something?”

He looked over at me, sensing the gravity of my question. “Maybe.”

“Was Mom worth it?”

He didn't speak for a moment. “What do you mean?”

I carefully chose my words. “Now that I know the truth about everything… this marriage was really hard for you.” I took a deep breath. “You're a good-looking guy, I'm sure there were other women…”

“There were a few.”

“So what's so wrong with taking the easy road? Taking the sure thing.”

He looked at me knowingly. “Tennys wants to marry you?”

I laughed. My father was smarter than I gave him credit for. “Yeah.”

“Son, in matters of the heart there's no such thing as a sure thing.” His brow furrowed. “I don't know that I've ever valued anything that came easy. Sometimes it's the fight that makes a thing worth having.”

“And Mom was worth the fight?”

He looked at me seriously. “Every minute of it.”

I let his words sink in. “The thing is, I don't know if she wants me. What if I go back just to get rejected again?”

My father looked at me thoughtfully. “Could happen. But you know what would be worse?”

“What?”

“If she was waiting for you, but you never went back because you was afraid.”

I just stared at him. Then a smile slowly spread across my face. He dropped the sandwiches in a paper sack along with a half bag of barbeque potato chips. “You coming?”

“I think I have a plane to catch.”

“Well, get on the phone with the airline. I can't be waiting for you all day.”

I called Tennys to tell her I was going back to Utah. Though I think she was disappointed, you wouldn't know it. I swear you could tell that woman that her hair was on fire and she'd ask if the flames matched her blouse.

MARK SMART'S DIARY

I left Huntsville three days before Christmas but didn't arrive in Salt Lake City until the day before Christmas Eve. In the mad rush of holiday travel, the airline had oversold the flight from Atlanta, and I was the only one willing to give up my seat for a free round-trip ticket, dinner and hotel stay. I called Victor from Alabama, and he agreed to pick me up from the airport and, somewhat begrudgingly, agreed to let me use the Malibu for the time I was in Utah.

The plane touched down in Salt Lake around seven at night. I found Victor reading a science fiction novel in the baggage claim area. I drove him home, then went straight to Macy's.

The duplex was dark, and three newspapers lay on the ground next to the front porch. Joette's car was still in the driveway, its windshield covered with an inch of snow, crusted hard with a layer of ice. Macy's car was gone. I rang the doorbell at least three times, but no one answered. Then I walked around the house and looked into the windows. There was no sign that anyone was there.

I puzzled over where to go next and decided on the Hut. It was a quiet night at the café. Christmas music was playing
and there were a few couples sitting at tables, bags and boxes from last-minute shopping piled at their feet. I walked up to the front counter. The girl at the cash register recognized me.

“Hey, you're the guitar player.”

“Yeah. Have you seen Macy?”

“Mary?”

“Whatever.”

“Mary hasn't been on the schedule lately. I heard her mom's at the hospital. She was real sick.”

My chest constricted. “Do you know which hospital?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, I wouldn't know.”

“Who would?”

“I wouldn't know.”

“She must have told someone. Maybe she wrote it down.”

“Don't know if it'll do any good, but I'll look in the back.” She walked back to the office and returned a few minutes later. “I called Jeff. He said she's at Holy Cross Hospital.”

“Thanks.” I ran to the door.

“I hope you come back and play again,” she shouted after me. “You were awesome.”

I sped downtown to the hospital. I parked on the third level of the hospital's parking terrace and ran across the street. Christmas music played in the hospital's lobby. The volunteer at the reception desk wore a Santa hat and a jingle-bell
necklace. She told me Joette was on the sixth floor of the hospital's west wing, Room 616.

It was a quarter past midnight when I walked into the semiprivate room. The two beds were separated by a drape hung between them from a metal rail.

Joette was asleep in the bed farthest from the door. The head of the bed was slightly raised and a small reading lamp was on above her. Macy was asleep next to her, her head resting against Joette's side. Even in the dim light I could see how much Joette had physically declined in the few weeks I was gone. If I hadn't known this was her room, I probably wouldn't have recognized her.

I had only been standing there a few minutes when a nurse walked in. I startled her. She said in a voice slightly above a whisper, “It's past visiting hours. You'll have to leave.”

I gestured for the nurse to follow me, and we stepped out into the hallway. “I'm sorry. I just got in town. How is she?”

She frowned. “She's dying. Her liver is shutting down.”

“How long does she have?”

“I don't know. I've seen people in her condition last a few hours and I've seen them linger on for days. It's all in God's time. But I don't expect it will be too much longer.” She frowned. “I'm sorry, but unless you're immediate family, visiting hours were over at nine.”

“The thing is she asked me to look after her daughter. And if this is her last night, I should be here.”

The nurse looked at me for a moment, unsure of what to do.

“It's Christmas,” I said, playing the holiday trump card.

“Alright.”

“Thank you.”

The nurse returned to her rounds and I went back inside the room. There was a recliner next to Joette's bed and I sat back in it. I mostly watched Macy as she lay sleeping next to her mother. I wondered how long she'd gone without sleep. I wanted to hold her and comfort her just as she had me the night we first met. She moaned lightly in her sleep. I walked over to her side and put my arm around her. She shifted a little, said something I didn't understand, then raised her head and looked around, her eyes droopy, her hair matted to one side. She looked at me, blinked several times, then her eyes widened. She said in a whisper, “Mark?”

“Hi, Mace.”

She stared at me in disbelief. “You came back.”

“I did.”

“Joette…”

“I know,” I said. I pulled her into me and held her. Then I said, “Come here.”

I helped her up from the chair, then led her back to the recliner, sat down and pulled her onto my lap. She cuddled into me. Then she lifted her head. “What exactly are you doing here, Mr. Smart?”

“Just rest,” I said. “Get your sleep. I'll watch Joette.”

She laid her head back into my chest. “You came back,” she said sleepily.

I put my hand on the back of her head and gently stroked her hair. “Yeah,” I said, “I'm back.”

I have come to believe that there are moments too profound to be contained in time.

MARK SMART'S DIARY