Finding Noel (18 page)

He began to sob. “I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry.”

Macy's voice softened. “I need to go now,” she said. Macy leaned forward and held him.

When he could speak, he asked, “Will I see you again?”

She nodded. “We've got a lot to catch up on.”

He continued to weep as Macy walked out of the room. I glanced back once more at him before I left. I pitied him too.

Macy was quiet for most of the drive home. I couldn't imagine what she was thinking. When we stopped at an intersection on State Street, she erupted, “Why do I have to go back there? Why does
that
woman have to be part of this?”

I glanced over at her. “Remember, you dreamed about this; that you had to go back to the Hummels' to find Noel.”

“It's not fair.”

“Maybe there's a reason you need to go back.”

“Yeah,” she said sarcastically, “like I haven't suffered enough.”

“Maybe it's because you have.”

She didn't answer me, just looked out the window the rest of the way home. It was late and I sensed that she wanted to be alone, so I dropped her off, then went back to my apartment.

I don't know exactly how or when it happened, but Macy has me.

MARK SMART'S DIARY

Once, in a church sermon, I heard a preacher say that if you drop a frog into a pan of boiling water, it will hop out. But if you drop the frog into cool water then add boiling water a teaspoon at a time, you can boil it alive.

The preacher was speaking metaphorically about sin—which is good because I don't know why anyone would want to boil a frog. But I think the preacher could have used the same analogy about romantic love as well. Sometimes love happens so gradually that by the time you realize you're in it, you're already cooked—if you'll pardon the pun. At least that's the way it was with Macy and me.

I couldn't tell you when I decided to ask Macy to marry me, but it was on the way home from her father's house that I first realized that I had.

To an onlooker, I know this probably seems crazy. After all, I'd only known Macy for three weeks, but it
seemed
much longer. To misquote Frost, what my feelings lacked in length they made up for in height. I was madly, head-over-heels, pinch-me-if-I'm-dreaming in love with this girl. I wanted us to be together and couldn't imagine any other alternative.
When you've finally met the one person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. I decided Thanksgiving was the right time to pop the question.

Today Macy confronted her greatest fear and in doing so, herself. Usually life's greatest gifts come wrapped in adversity.

MARK SMART'S DIARY

The school was closed Monday for parent-teacher conferences, and I had to go in to work early. I was finished by three and called Macy on the way home to check up on her. “I'm going to see Irene,” she told me. Her voice sounded hard with determination.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“I have to do this alone. Will you come over later tonight?”

“Yes. What time?”

“About eight.”

“I'll be there. Good luck.”

“Thanks. I'll need it.”

Driving back to the old neighborhood filled Macy with dread. The Hummel home was only five miles from where she and Joette currently lived, but in Macy's mind it had been relegated to another part of the world. Or solar system. Her hands were clammy with cold sweat and she wiped them on her pant legs.

The street was shorter and narrower than she remembered.
It had been almost seven years since she'd been there, and she felt like a war veteran returning to the scene of a great battle. It looked so harmless and peaceful now.

She parked across the street from the house. It hadn't changed much since she left, though it too looked smaller than she remembered. Very little ever changed at the Hummel house by design; only by neglect and deterioration.

There was an old tomato-red Dodge truck parked in the driveway with a yellow snowplow mounted on its front and a magnetic sign on the driver's side door that read
HUMMEL YARD CARE
.

Macy stepped out of her car, walked up to the front door and knocked firmly, as if to prove to herself the strength of her resolve. She didn't bother with the doorbell. It had never worked while she lived there, and she knew no one would ever get around to fixing it.

Bart answered the door. Macy hadn't seen him since she left. Even when they were children he was much bigger than she, and he'd grown considerably: he was now nearly a foot taller than Macy. Even though it was winter, he wore basketball shorts and a T-shirt. His jaw was shaded with stubble and he held a can of cheap beer in one hand. He looked at her and a smile of recognition crossed his face. “Hey, Mace!”

“Hi, Bart.”

“What are you doing here? Come in.”

She was surprised by his welcome. She stepped inside the house. The house looked almost the same as when she left—in fact, it looked the same as when she first came to the Hummels'.
The one change was a new armoire with a television inside.

As she looked around the room, memory and resentment poured in like water into a capsizing boat. The house still stunk of dog and it made her nauseous. She wondered how she'd lived with it for all those years. She expected Buster to come charging in at any moment growling and threatening as he did with all intruders. He didn't.

“Buster still around?”

“Nah. He died a couple years back.” Bart shut the door behind her. “Want a beer?”

“No thanks.”

He pointed to the sofa. “Take a load off.”

Macy looked around cautiously. There was no sign of Irene. She sat down on the sofa. The fabric on the cushions was worn thin, and the springs gave more than they should for a person her size.

“I didn't think we'd ever see you again.”

Macy looked at the cold piece of buttered toast sitting on the cushion next to her and wondered how old it was. She set it on the armrest. “Neither did I.”

Bart sat down across from her, holding the can with both hands between his legs.

“You got really pretty. You married?”

“No.”

“So what brings you around?”

“I came to see Irene. Is she here?”

“She's always here.”

“She doesn't leave anymore?”

“The house?” he asked, as if she were joking. “Nah, she leaves the bedroom sometimes, but not even that much anymore.” He lifted the can to his mouth and drained it. “She mostly just lays in there and hollers for me.”

“Is she sleeping now?”

“That or watching TV.” He crushed the can in his hand. “So where do you live? Are you still in Utah?”

“I live downtown.”

He nodded. “How's your place?”

“It's nice. I have a roommate.” Macy glanced nervously toward the hall, wondering if Irene might choose this time to make a rare appearance.

“So what do you need to talk to her about?”

“I'm looking for my sister.”

Bart looked at her quizzically. “Sheryl's in Colorado.”