Finding Noel

“Where’s Jo?”

  “She went to change.”

  “I’m right here,” Joette said, walking into the room.

  “I’m sorry I’m so late. They were really short-handed this year. It took us that long to serve everybody.”

  “We’re okay,” Joette said. “So how was it?”

  “It was good. It’s always good,” Macy said. “So what’s left to do?”

  “Just set the table.”

  “We’ve got it,” Macy said. “C’mon, Mark.”

  The table was small and a leaf in the middle changed it from a circle to an oval. Setting the table only took a few minutes. We carried in everything but the pies and then sat down to eat.

  “I’ll pray,” Joette said.

  We bowed our heads. Macy reached over and took Joette’s hand, then mine. Joette reached over and took my other hand, completing the circle.

  “Dear Lord. We are grateful for the many blessings we have. For our home and food and clothing.” She paused and her voice faltered with emotion. “Especially for the time we have together. Let us be thankful not just today, but always. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  I reached for a roll.

  “Wait,” Macy said.

  I stopped, my fingers an inch from the breadbasket. I looked at her.

  “Before we eat everyone has to say something they’re thankful for. Mark, you’re the guest. You go first.”

  Both women looked at me expectantly.

  “Okay,” I said, retracting my hand. “Well, for one, I’m grateful that you invited me to share today with you. And I’m very grateful that Macy came into my life when she did.”

  Macy smiled broadly. “Thank you. And you’re welcome.” She turned to Joette. “Now it’s your turn.”

  “I’m grateful for many, many things. I’m grateful that Mark is here with us. And most of all, I’m grateful for that Thanksgiving Day five years ago when Macy came for dinner and never left.” She reached over and squeezed Macy’s hand, then Macy leaned back in her chair.

  “Okay. I’m thankful that I’ve had both of you help me through the last three weeks. It’s been a pretty emotional ride. And even though things didn’t turn out the way I hoped they would, I learned something very important.” She paused, suddenly overcome by emotion. “That all I was really looking for was home. And I have a home, thanks to Jo. And I have a new friend. And I have a roof over my head—that’s always a good thing. I really have a lot to be thankful for.”

  “Amen,” Joette said.

  “Amen,” I repeated.

  Macy turned to Joette. “Remember last week when you asked me what I wanted for Christmas?”

  Joette nodded. “You came up with something?”

  “I’ve finally decided.”

  “This sounds serious. Should I get a notepad?”

  Macy laughed. “No. I just want one thing.” She looked at her and was suddenly nervous. “I can’t believe I’m afraid to ask now.”

  “Don’t worry,” Joette said, “I’m not afraid to say ‘no.’”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Macy took a breath then blurted out, “I want you to legally adopt me. I want to be your daughter.”

  For a moment Joette said nothing. Then she began to cry. She stood up from her chair, and Macy stood and they wrapped their arms around each other. It was a few minutes before Joette could speak. “It would be the greatest honor of my life.”

  “Thank you,” Macy said. “Thank you, thank you.”

  After a few more minutes of their laughing and crying, I said, “Can I eat?”

  They both turned to me and laughed. “Men,” Macy said. “Always putting their stomachs before their hearts.”

  The meal was every bit as wonderful as it looked and smelled. It may not have been southern, but it was pretty darn good. When we finished dessert, Macy brought us steaming cups of mint truffle hot chocolate. Joette was the first up from the table. She carried a small stack of dishes to the sink. When she turned on the water, Macy jumped up from her seat. “We’ll do the dishes, Jo. You’ve slaved enough for one day. Go rest.”

  Joette looked grateful for the offer. “Are you sure?”

  “We got it,” I said, also rising.

  “Okay.” Joette disappeared down the hallway.

  When her door shut, I said, “She looked tired.”

  “I know. She hasn’t been feeling well lately. I keep telling her to see a doctor, but she keeps insisting that there’s nothing wrong.”

  Macy and I did the dishes, then, at her suggestion, we put on our coats and went out for a walk. The snow had not stopped falling and the street was white and silent. There’s something magically calming about the peace of new snow. I took Macy’s hand as we walked and she held mine tightly. I wanted to talk to her about us, about our future, but I suddenly felt fearful. Instead, I said, “I’m so full I can hardly walk. Everything was great.”

  “It turned out well. It’s been a nice day, hasn’t it?”

  “All of it. Especially when you asked Joette to adopt you. You made her so happy.”

  “I was really afraid to ask her. I didn’t know what she’d say.”

  I knew exactly how she felt. “It was perfect,” I said.

  She sighed pleasantly. “It was, wasn’t it? I’ve thought about this for a long time. I guess the clincher was when one of my coworkers told me that when his parents were killed in a plane crash his grandparents became his legal guardians. I realized that if I ever had children and something happened to me, Irene Hummel might be given custody. There’s no way I would let that happen.” She turned and looked at me. “You realize that means I’ll have had three last names.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m twenty-one years old and I’ve had three last names.”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about that very thing.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, I was wondering what you’d think of making it four.”

  She looked at me quizzically. “Making what four?”

  “Your last name.”

  She continued to look at me as if I were speaking Chinese. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean… getting married.”

  She laughed nervously. “Well, I’m sure when that day comes, I’ll be okay with it.”

  “I mean now.”

  She stopped walking and looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re asking me to marry you?”

  “Yes.”

  She just stared at me for a moment, then she turned and began walking back toward the house

  “Macy.”

  Her pace quickened. When I caught up to her, I saw that she was crying. I stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She had covered her eyes with one hand and wouldn’t look at me. Her hand was trembling.

  “I just asked you to marry me.”

  “I know.”

  I took her hand and gently pulled it away. She looked up at me, her face wet from tears. “Why are you doing this?”

  Her question baffled me as much as the rest of her reaction. “Because I love you.”

  “How can you say that? You don’t really know me.”

  “Of course I know you. We’ve been through so much together.”

  She just shook her head.

  “I know it’s only been three weeks, but I’m absolutely sure that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Sometimes you just know these things.”

  “There are things in my past. Dark things you don’t know about.”

  “I don’t care about your past. It’s your future, our future, that I’m thinking about.”

  “There’s no difference. The past is our future.”

  “That’s not true. We can transcend our past.”

  “Have you?”

  Her question stopped me.

  “Mark, what if you’re really just trying to fill the hole in your life that your mother left when she died?”

  “I’m not
,” I said.

  “Really? You don’t talk about her, or the rest of your family. You haven’t gone home. And your anger toward your father…” She looked at me and wiped her eyes. “I’m not running from my past, Mark, and I can’t share my future with someone who’s running from his.” She looked down and turned away from me. “I’ve got to go.”

  She ran back to the house. I just stood there dumbfounded and clueless as I watched her disappear with my heart.

  It’s time for me to face the truth. Time to start burning bridges.

  MARK SMART’S DIARY

  I felt like my heart had been run over by a cement truck. I went home and picked up my guitar, but not even playing brought me relief. I called Macy’s house four times that night. The first three times I called, no one answered. The fourth time Joette picked up. Her voice was solemn. “Hi, Mark, it’s Jo.”

  “Is Macy there?”

  “She’s already in bed.”

  “Is she asleep?”

  She hesitated. “I’m afraid that she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  I took a deep breath. “You mean like right now or for the rest of her life?”

  “I’m sorry about this, Mark. You might want to give her a day or two. She’s pretty upset.”

  I exhaled. “Was I completely stupid to think she might consider marrying me?”

  Her voice lightened. “I don’t think so. I don’t think she thinks so either.”

  “Fooled me,” I said. I sighed again. “Two days.”

  “Two days. She’ll probably be ready to talk by then.”

  As difficult as it was, I didn’t call the house for the next two days. On Sunday, I called three times, all without success. I tried again Monday morning, but still no one answered. With each call I grew more upset and my heartbreak began to be tempered by anger. Then my anger turned to doubt. How could she dispose of me so easily? Maybe she was right. Maybe I didn’t really know her.

  I called every day that week, but she never answered. Then I stopped calling, hoping that she might call me. I guess, like all faithless, I was looking for some kind of sign, but none was forthcoming. Nine days after Thanksgiving, I accepted that for reasons I didn’t understand, Macy was done with me. I also came to the conclusion that there was no reason for me to stay in Salt Lake City. At the rate I was saving money, it would take me years to get back in school. It was time to face reality. Coming to Utah was a mistake. It was time to go home.

  The first thing I did was quit my job. It wasn’t hard. I think my coworkers envied me, especially Victor, who asked if I’d sell him my Malibu. We agreed on a price and that he’d take possession the day I left. Next, I gave up my apartment. I’m pretty sure that my landlord was glad when I told him that I was leaving. Actually, I’m surprised he didn’t break open a bottle of champagne. It took him all of a half hour to hang out a vacancy sign. I took some of what little money I had saved and purchased a one-way airline ticket for Huntsville.

  Wednesday was my last day at work. It was around eleven when I said goodbye to my coworkers, and though I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t chase her, I found myself driving to the Hut. Macy was working at the front counter and looked up as I entered. Just seeing her brought me a stew of emotions: relief, anger, sadness, fear. From her expression I suspect she felt much the same.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hey.”

  “How you doing?”

  She just kind of tossed her head.

  “I’ve been trying to call you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I just looked at her. “That’s it?”

  She nodded.

  My heart sank even more. I took a deep breath. “I just came to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me.”

  Another worker interrupted us. “Mary, the phone’s for you.”

  “Take a message, please.”

  “It’s Jeff.”

  “Tell him I’ll call him back.”

  Macy turned back to me.

  “And in spite of how everything turned out,” I continued, “I’m really glad I got to know you. I’m sorry that I ruined everything.” I took another deep breath. “I just wanted to say goodbye before I left.”

  She flinched. “Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  “For how long?”

  I shrugged. “I bought a one-way ticket.”

  She looked at me in disbelief. “When are you leaving?”

  “Saturday. This Saturday.”

  She was speechless. It was almost like pressing the reset button on a computer and watching for it to reboot. Finally, I said, “I better let you go. Give Jo my best.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  A lump rose in my throat. “Well, take care.”

  “You too.”

  I walked out of the café. My eyes moistened as I headed out to my car. I couldn’t believe that after all we’d been through, it had ended like this.

  Joette called this morning to set up a meeting, presumably to talk about Macy. There was something in her voice that makes me think that all is not well in Oz.

  MARK SMART’S DIARY

  The next morning I was teaching my last guitar lesson when my landlord knocked on the door.

  “Phone’s for you,” he said, sounding less annoyed than usual. I think knowing that I would soon be gone made him nicer.

  “Who is it?”

  “A woman. She says it’s important.”

  “Thanks.”

  I left my student practicing a chord and went up to my landlord’s apartment. I picked up the phone. “Hello.”

  “Mark, this is Joette.”

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “I was wondering if we could get together and talk.”

  “Sure, but it will have to be soon. I’m leaving Saturday.”

  “I know, Macy told me. Could we get together tomorrow, during my lunch break? I’ll treat you to lunch.”

  “Denny’s, right?”

  “On State and Twenty-First.”

  “What time?”

  “My lunch break’s not until two.”

  “I’ll be there. How’s Macy?”

  She paused. “We’ll talk about that.”

  How foolish to believe we have any idea of what is really going on around us or that permanency is an earthly option.

  MARK SMART’S DIARY

  Joette was waiting for me in a corner booth when I arrived. She was wearing her waitress uniform and was drinking cola from a straw. She waved me over and I sat down across from her. “Thanks for coming. It’s good to see you.”

  “You too.”

  “How have you been?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “I know.” She handed me a menu. “Are you hungry?”

  “I was born hungry.”

  She grinned. “Then let’s order first.” I opened the menu and looked through it. When I set it down, she asked, “Ready?”

  “I’ll have the Reuben.”

  “Good choice,” she said, sounding very much the waitress she was. “With the fries or salad?”

  “Fries.”

  “And what do you want to drink?”

  “I’ll have a Coke.”

  “Okay.” She walked back to the kitchen. I looked around the restaurant; this was Joette’s world. She returned just a few minutes later carrying my drink. She set it down in front of me and slid into her seat. Her expression turned grave.

  “I need to ask you something very important.”

  “Okay.”

  “How do you feel about Macy?”

  Under the circumstances I thought this was a strange question. “You know I asked her to marry me.”

  “I know,” she said, “but how do you feel now?”

  “Hurt. Angry.” I took a deep breath. “And I wake up every morning with a heartache. She’s all I think about.”

  “If you could have her back, would you take her?”

&nb
sp; “Of course. But that’s really not my decision.”

  “Macy is hurting too. She misses you. Maybe even more than she knows. But she’s afraid, and she has every right to be. If you had lived through what she has, you’d be afraid too.”

  I slowly rotated my cup in my hands. “Yeah, so what do I do?”

  “Please don’t give up on her. She’s going to need you.”

  There was something about the way Joette said this that made me anxious. “What do you mean…?”

  She lifted her napkin and dabbed at her eyes. “Sorry.” She exhaled deeply. “Do you believe that people come into our lives for a reason?”

  “I don’t know. My mother always said that. Maybe she was right. Look how Macy came into mine. She saved my life.”

  “I know what you mean. When I first met Macy, I thought I was there to save her. Five years later I realized that she came to save me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She looked at me thoughtfully. “Macy came into my life about twelve weeks after I lost my little girl. Angela was only four years old. My husband was out of town at the time, as he usually was. He was a sales rep for a medical oxygen supply company, and he was always on the road. I was used to doing things alone with Angela. She had seen someone roasting hot dogs on TV and she wanted to do it too, so I took her up into the canyons for a weenie roast. I was trying to start the fire, and Angela was sitting on a blanket not ten feet from me. I was never much of an outdoorsman and I had trouble getting the fire going, but I finally did. When I turned around, Angela was gone. I ran around, screaming for her, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. It was spring and the creek was nearly over-flowing its banks. I was afraid she might have walked too close to the water and fallen in.” Joette lifted her napkin to her eyes again. “The next day park rangers found her little body a mile down the creek.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She breathed in deeply. “I can’t tell you what a nightmare that time was. I had to call my husband and tell him that she was missing, and the next morning I had to call him and tell him she was dead. He completely blamed me. The one person whose support I needed more than any other turned on me. I had a breakdown and spent five weeks in the university psychiatric ward. When they released me, my psychologist told me to go back to work—to get my life going again. I did. I was heavily tranquilized. I felt like the Tin Man, heartless and hollow, just going through the motions. I worked twelve hours a day, then went home and cried until I slept. Then I’d get up the next morning and do the same thing.