Finding Noel (11 page)

JUNE 16, 1981

It was a year and a half after her husband left when Mrs. Hummel took to her bed. She stayed in her room for days at a time, the blinds drawn, occasionally summoning one of the kids to her side to bring her food. For the most part, Bart, Ron and Sheryl ignored her, embracing her absence as an opportunity for pleasant anarchy. Ironically, only Macy, who was now fifteen, felt sorry for her. She did her best to keep the house in order, sometimes using her own money, earned by babysitting, to buy groceries.

One night Macy's best friend, Tracy, followed her home. She stood outside the door while Macy walked into Mrs. Hummel's darkened room.

“Where have you been?” Mrs. Hummel growled. “I've been calling for you for hours. I've practically lost my voice.”

“I could only wish,” Macy mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just got home. I went grocery shopping. We were out of milk and cereal.”

“Where's Sheryl?”

“I don't know.” Macy actually did. She had seen her down the street, smoking with a group of boys.

“Get over here.”

Macy walked to her side. Irene lunged at her in an effort to hit her, but her swing was sufficiently slow that she missed. Macy was now bigger and stronger than Mrs. Hummel and could have easily retaliated but never did.

“You find your sister. It's your fault she's not around.”

Macy turned from her.

“Don't you walk out on me! Don't you walk out on me!”

Macy walked out of the room. Outside in the hallway her friend Tracy was seething. “I'm going to give that witch a piece of my mind.”

“No, you're not. Let's just get out of here.” Macy led her friend out to the living room.

“Why do you put up with that?”

“She's just sick.”

“She's sick in the head. Even my mom says so. The woman's a nutcase.” Tracy exhaled in frustration. “Listen, Mace, I can't be your friend anymore and watch what goes on here.”

“Yeah, well what am I supposed to do about it?”

“My mom says you can live at our place for as long as you need.”

Macy glanced back at the room. After a moment she said, “I'll think about it.”

“There's nothing to think about. Get your things right now.”

“I don't know.”

“It's me or the witch. I'm not going to watch this anymore.” Tracy walked to the front door. As she turned the handle, she looked back once more. “Are you coming?”

“Wait,” Macy said.

Tracy's voice was calm but emotional. “I mean it, Mace. If you won't let me help you, then I'm leaving.”

She glanced down the dark corridor, then back at her friend. “Give me a minute to pack.”

It took Macy less than ten minutes to collect her things. She threw everything into a canvas duffel except one small box that she carried separately.

“What's in the box?” Tracy asked.

“It's my Christmas ornament. My father gave it to me the day they took me away.”

“May I see it?”

“Yeah. But be careful.” Macy handed over the box as gingerly as if it held a Fabergé egg.

Tracy examined it. “Wow. I'm surprised it's still in one piece in this house.”

“I keep it hidden. I only take it out on Christmas Day.”

“It's beautiful.” She handed back the box. “Let's blow this dump.”

Macy followed Tracy out of the house, quietly closing the door behind her.

Today I met Macy's best friend, Joette. From Macy's description I fully expected wings and a halo, not a Utah Jazz sweatshirt and a White Sox baseball cap.

MARK SMART'S DIARY

I looked outside and shook my head. It was snowing again. It was only November and I was already sick of the snow and the cold. It would have been difficult to find Macy's home with the mailboxes and curbs covered with snow, but Macy had instructed me to look for the duplex with the most Christmas decorations. It was easy to find. I recognized Macy's car in the driveway and I pulled in behind her.

The door was decorated with a Christmas wreath. I rang the bell, and a petite woman in her early forties wearing a sweatshirt and a White Sox baseball cap opened the door. Her red ponytail was pulled through the back of the hat.

“You must be Mark.”

“I am.”

“I'm Joette. Come in.” She looked past me. “Ah, it's snowing again.”

I stepped inside. “Yeah, you get a lot of snow here in Utah.”

“Especially this year.” She shut the door behind me.

The living room was small and looked lived in, but it was neat and well cared for. It smelled pleasant, like one of those scented candles—nutmeg and cinnamon. There were pictures around the home, mostly black-and-white photographs:
like Ansel Adams landscapes. In the far corner was a picture of Jesus, and beneath it, on a dark maple stand, was a Bible. Peculiarly, a framed
Wizard of Oz
movie poster hung above the fireplace.

The house was decorated for Christmas. There were two crèches displayed separately on the end tables at each end of the sofa: one carved of olive wood, the other pastel porcelain. Across the lid of an upright piano a mass of pink angel hair flowed between three large glass candleholders.

“Have a seat.”

I sat down at the sofa, and she sat down on the opposite end, her hands folded in her lap. “It's nice to finally meet you,” she said. “Macy's told me a little about you.”

“And you still let me in?”

“We always take in strays,” she said smiling. Her expression changed to one of concern. “I'm sorry to hear about your mother.”

“Thank you.”

“It's a hard thing. I lost my mother when I was in high school. I still miss her.” She sighed and noticeably changed the topic. “So Macy says you're from Alabama.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You certainly are. No one in Utah says ‘ma'am.' Except Macy. But you can call me Joette. Or Jo. That's what Macy calls me.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said instinctively, and she grinned.

“Sorry.”

“No, I quite like it. So the two of you are off on an adventure today.”

“I think so.”

“I'm glad you're going with her. This isn't an easy thing for Macy to do alone.”

Macy walked into the room. She was nicely dressed in slacks and a suede jacket, and she had clearly spent extra time on her hair and makeup. I guessed that since she hadn't seen her father in fourteen years she wanted to make a good impression. “Hi.”

I stood. “Hi. You look nice.”

“Thanks.” She turned to Joette. “I should be back before work. Don't worry about dinner.”

“Okay. Good luck.” Macy kissed her.

“It was nice meeting you,” I said.

“Likewise. I hope I see more of you.”

“Thank you. Me too.”

She followed us to the door and stood there as we walked to the car. I opened the car door for Macy, then walked around.

When I climbed in, Macy said, “That was a good thing.”

“What?”

“Opening the door for me. Joette was watching. She's big on boys opening car doors.”

“Glad to get off on the right foot.” I started the car.

“So, what did you guys talk about?”

“Nothing much. She told me she was sorry about my mother.”

“Jo lost her mother when she was in high school.”

“That's what she said.” I put the car in reverse and paused. “Where to?”

“It's in Magna. Do you know where that is?”

“It's west somewhere.”

“Just get on Twenty-First South and head toward the Oquirrh Mountains.”

I pulled out of the driveway and started off. After a few miles I said, “Tell me about Joette.”

Macy smiled. “Jo's my angel. She's the most beautiful soul I've ever met.”

“So you like her then?”

Her smile broadened. “Like chocolate.”

“That
is
love.”

“When I first moved in with her, Jo worked until two or three in the morning, but I was off before midnight. So instead of going to bed, I would stay up and clean the house and vacuum and do the washing and ironing. After about two weeks I woke one morning and Jo was sitting on the edge of my bed. She said, ‘We need to talk.' Of course I assumed I'd done something wrong. She said, ‘It's about the cleaning.' I said, ‘I can do better.' She just looked at me, and then she said something I'll never forget. She said, ‘Macy. You don't have to be perfect to live here or to make me love you.' That was it. She got up and left. I started to cry. It was the first time I had ever felt unconditional love.” Her eyes moistened. “I'd take a bullet for her.”

“You're lucky to have someone to love like that,” I said.

“I know. I don't take it for granted. What's scary is I almost lost her a few years back. She had cancer in her eye. Thank goodness the cancer went into remission. It's been almost
three years.” She took a deep breath. “I'm so grateful. I couldn't live without her.”

“What's with the
Wizard of Oz
poster?”

She chuckled. “You noticed. Joette's a
Wizard of Oz
maniac. I think she believes that everything you need to know about life can be learned from
The Wizard of Oz.
That poster was autographed by Bert Lahr.”

“Who's that?”

“He played the Cowardly Lion in the movie.”

I nodded. “Impressive.”

Macy spoke less the farther west we traveled. Magna is an old copper-mining town, its main street largely abandoned and dying. Macy stared at the buildings as we passed them, and I wondered how much she remembered from her childhood. She suddenly pointed.

“I remember walking to that store. We lived on that street up ahead, by the old theater.”

I turned at the corner where a battered yellow theater marquee overhung the street. What letters remained partially spelled the title of some forgotten movie from a previous decade, like an interrupted game of hangman. I drove slowly, straining at addresses on the homes or mailboxes or where snow didn't cover the curbs. Three blocks later Macy said in a voice low with disappointment, “I think that's it.”

I stopped the car and checked the address she'd written down. It was the right house number but the place was clearly abandoned. The windows were boarded over with large sheets of plywood spray-painted
NO TRESPASSING
. The yard
was surrounded with a waist-high chain-link fence. The snow was piled in high drifts on the west side, and weeds and thistles peeked out here and there from the snow. We climbed out of the car. Macy opened the gate, then stepped up through the snow to the house, her feet sinking into the white up to her thighs. She climbed onto the porch and peered through the boards into the house. I followed her up and stood next to her. She said to me, “I want to go inside.”

I checked the front door but it was locked. I looked around to see if anyone was watching us. I could see no one around, so I grabbed the corner of the plywood sheet nailed over the north window and pried it off. I had to throw all my weight against it, and it fell back on the porch with a loud crash. I looked at Macy. “I'll get the door for you.”