Finding Noel (16 page)

Macy stifled a laugh.

“What?”

“It's just…I don't see you dating the homecoming queen.”

I didn't tell her that I was voted homecoming king. “Why?”

“You're much… deeper.”

“No, we're both pretty shallow. Between the two of us we couldn't make a decent wading pool.”

Macy laughed. “What was her personality like? Typical snob?”

“No, Tennys was nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah. She was really pleasant.”

“What does that mean?”

“She just kind of went along with everything. No drama, no problems. The joy of the unexamined life.”

“Just like me,” Macy said, then burst out laughing. “You should have married her when you had the chance.”

I smiled and pulled Macy closer. “Yeah, I probably should have.”

“So are you still planning on coming to dinner tomorrow at Bonnie's?”

I had forgotten about it. “Of course. Do you want me to drive?”

“If you don't mind. I don't like driving that much.”

“That's because you're bad at it.”

She hit me. “I am not bad at it.”

“Yes, you are. You almost hit a light post the night we met.”

“It was a blizzard. I should have let you walk home like you were going to.”

“You should have. Now you're stuck with me.”

“Yeah. I hope so.”

I leaned forward to kiss her again. The patio light began
flashing on and off like a strobe light. Macy pulled back. “I told you.”

“Is she serious?”

“No. She's just teasing. It's like an inside joke.”

“This happens often?”

Macy smiled coyly. “Now and then.”

“So what about you? Where's your boyfriend?”

“I've been on a hiatus from boys.”

“For how long?”

“Since summer. Ever since I broke up with my last boyfriend.”

“Were you serious?”

“Not as serious as he was.” The lights began flashing again and she shook her head slowly. “She drives me crazy,” she said happily. “I better go.” She leaned forward and we kissed again, and again. Finally she whispered, “Good night.”

“Good night.”

She climbed out of the car and bounded up the walk. When she was inside, I started my car and drove home. I definitely could see myself getting too serious.

Somewhere between the main course and coffee, Mrs. Foster served up a new paradigm.

MARK SMART'S DIARY

We arrived at Bonnie's house a few minutes before one. We rang the bell and she hollered to us to let ourselves in. We found her in the kitchen, rushing from pot to pot. Macy stepped in to help. Bonnie assigned me to set the table, then take Fred, her dog, out for a “constitutional,” which I did. All of us, dog included, finished our assignments about the same time. We gathered in the kitchen and sat down to eat.

Bonnie had cooked a pot roast along with fresh green beans, mashed potatoes and hot butter flake rolls. I hadn't eaten a meal like that since I left home. Halfway through the meal Bonnie asked, “How long have you been in Utah, Mark?”

My mouth was full, and I had to finish chewing and swallow before I could answer…“I came here about a year and a half ago.”

“How often do you go back home?”

“I haven't been back since I came.”

“I bet your parents miss you.”

“Mark just lost his mother,” Macy said.

She looked at me sympathetically. “I'm sorry. That's a hard thing. How's your father holding up?”

“I think he's okay.”

“I'm sure he misses you. Especially at a time like this.” She turned to Macy. “Would you pass the beans, dear?”

“Sure.”

Bonnie took the bowl, and as she spooned green beans onto her plate, she said casually to Macy, “Speaking of fathers, I found yours.”

Both of our heads swiveled toward her. “You found him?” Macy asked.

“I was going to call you last night but it was so late. It was past nine.”

Considering that neither of us got off work before eleven, I found this amusing.

“How did you find him?” Macy asked.

“I remembered that about six months after you were taken away, your father remarried. It didn't last long; I don't think it was more than a few months. But I found the invitation.” She turned to me. “I never throw those things out. The woman he married still lives in Kearns. I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of calling her. She said he's been living at a friend's house. That's probably why you couldn't find him listed anywhere.”

“Did she give you his address?” Macy asked.

“No. Just her own. She says she wants to meet you. Anyway I wrote her address down. It's on the fridge. I'll get it.”

She pushed back from the table and went to the kitchen. She returned a moment later holding a sticky note.

“Her name is Barbara Norris, and she lives at 500 Altura
Road in Kearns. She said that's about 616 West. She's in Apartment 321.”

She handed the paper to Macy.

“Bonnie, thank you.”

“You'll have to let me know how everything turns out. Now let's get on with our dinner before everything gets cold.”

Our journey feels like a board game where each throw of the dice lands us on some new square. What a peculiar square we landed on today.

MARK SMART'S DIARY

I noticed that Macy hadn't eaten much since Bonnie's announcement. I'm sure it was all she could do to not jump up from the table and race over to the woman's house. Over Bonnie's objections we did the dishes, then went into the living room for dessert and coffee. Bonnie took out some music rolls and fired up the player piano. When I saw that Bonnie would probably keep us all night, I apologetically told her that I had to get home. Macy knew I had no place to be and she looked at me gratefully. Macy promised to return next Sunday and we said goodbye. When we got in the car, Macy turned to me and said, “Thank you.” Then she handed me the paper with the woman's address.

In ten minutes we were standing at the doorstep of the third-story apartment. Macy pressed the doorbell. Then she looked down at the welcome mat, shifting nervously from foot to foot. We heard approaching steps, and the door opened until the chain caught, revealing half of a woman's face. “Yes?”

“We're looking for Barbara Norris,” I said.

“I'm Barbara Norris.”

“I'm Macy Wood,” Macy said.

It took a moment for the name to register. “Ah.” She shut the door to unlatch the chain then swung the door open. “My gosh, I didn't expect you to be so old.” She glanced at me. “And this is?”

“This is my friend, Mark.”

“Hi,” I said.

She waved dramatically. “Come in. Come in, both of you.”

Macy walked in first and Barbara wrapped her arms around her. “Welcome back, honey. Welcome, welcome, welcome.” Macy just kind of absorbed the greeting. I shut the door and stood a few feet back, watching. When she had released Macy, she went for me. “I don't know you, but if you're with our baby, you're family.”

The woman left me breathless. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Now sit, both of you. Not there, over on the couch.” She pushed me toward the ugliest piece of furniture I'd ever seen—a gaudy green, red and gold patterned sofa-sleeper. She sat down on the only other piece of furniture in the room—a wooden chair from the kitchen dinette set. For a moment she just looked at Macy. “You know, your father talks about you all the time. He carries a picture of you in his wallet. But you were just a child. My gosh.”

“No, I didn't know that,” Macy said.

“Of course you didn't. And here you are. I've wanted to meet you since the first time your daddy told me about you.” She looked at me. “Do miracles ever cease?”

“I don't know,” I said. I wasn't sure if she expected an answer but she looked like she did.

“They don't, believe me, they don't.”

“You were married to my father?” Macy asked.

“If you can call it that. I've had colds that lasted longer.” She looked at Macy and her voice dropped an octave. “I don't know how much you know about your father. But he's a drug addict.”