Finding Noel (17 page)

“Yes, I know,” Macy said. “Did you?”

“Not at first. But by the time I found out, I was already in love with the man.” She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “You know, love conquers all.” She laughed dramatically. “Yeah, right. He was just another in a long line of fixeruppers.”

“Mrs. Foster said that you know where my father is,” Macy said.

“Yes, we still talk all the time. We're much better friends now that we're divorced.”

“Does he live far from here?”

“I don't think your dad's ever ventured far from here. You know your dad.”

Macy just frowned. “No. I really don't.”

“Right. I'll stop saying that. I'm sure you're just poppin' to see him. I just want you to be prepared. He's pretty sick.”

“From the drugs?”

“And everything else he's abused his body with. God knows what's keeping him alive. He needs a liver transplant, but he's so high-risk that the doctors denied him. I think the hospital sent him home to die. He's been living over at a buddy's place.” She looked into Macy's eyes. “He is very excited about seeing you.”

“He knows I'm looking for him?”

“I told him last night after that woman called. He asked me to put you on the line the minute you arrived.” She bent over and lifted a portable phone from the floor next to her chair. “Are you ready?”

Macy glanced at me and took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Barbara dialed the number from memory, then handed the receiver to Macy. Macy held it up to her ear as Barbara and I watched.

“Hello. Is Marshall Wood there?”

There was a pause.

“Daddy? This is Macy.”

We found Macy's father. I learned something valuable today.
Oftentimes the greatest hurts of our lives
come from running from the smaller ones.

MARK SMART'S DIARY

Macy's father lived less than three miles from his ex-wife's home, on the south end of the Kearns city line. The area wasn't exactly the high-rent district, and the homes were all cracker boxes neatly built along narrow streets lined with older cars.

As I pulled in to the crumbling cement driveway, my car bottomed out loudly on the gutter, alerting the home's residents of our arrival. I noticed someone brush back the front curtains and then disappear.

I shut off the car and then looked over at Macy. This was the third time I'd sat with her anticipating a meeting that could change her life. Only this time we knew whom we'd find. Macy looked very tense, and she was fidgeting with a ring on her finger. “What are you thinking?” I asked.

“A million different things. It's weird, I've anticipated this moment my entire life, but I still don't know how I'm supposed to act. What if I lose it? What if I totally freak out and scream at him for what he did to us?”

“Then he deserves it.” I reached over and took her hand. “Just do what comes naturally. Whatever that is, it will be the right thing.”

She looked at me soulfully, and I realized how vulnerable and afraid she was. I couldn't help but think how beautiful her eyes were. “Thank you for being here,” she said.

I looked at her and grinned. “How did I get in the middle of all this?”

“You asked to use my phone.”

“I really need to get me one of those portable phones,” I said.

“You need to get a phone—period,” she said.

“That Barbara woman was… interesting.”

Macy suddenly grinned. “Interesting as in fascinating or interesting as in a nightmare?”

I smiled back. “Yes.”

“Maybe my father's the same way.”

“That would explain a lot about you.”

“You're so mean,” she laughed, and it was good to see her relax. She squeezed my hand. “All right, let's go.”

We climbed out of the car and walked up to the door. The front porch was supported by two painted wood beams, both chipped and scarred. A wind chime made from flattened tin forks and spoons hung from the portico. There was no doorbell, so I knocked. Almost immediately a man opened the door. He was bald and short, maybe in his late fifties, and with a belly that hung over the waist of his pants. He glanced over me, then his eyes settled on Macy. She looked at him, unsure if this was her father or not.

I sensed her confusion. “Mr. Wood?” I asked.

“No, I'm Ken. Marshall's in bed.” He turned to Macy. “Your dad's waiting for you.”

I put my hand on her back. “Go ahead.”

She stepped inside, and we followed Ken to a bedroom at the end of the hallway. Macy stepped into the open doorway and stopped. Then she raised both hands together, cupping them over her mouth. I stepped up behind her and looked over her shoulder. Her father lay in bed propped up by pillows, the sheets pulled up to his waist. I'd never seen a grown man that thin. He had an oxygen tube curled around his ears to his nostrils. His eyes were sunken and full of tears.

“Baby!” he called.

Macy couldn't talk.

“Come here, baby.”

She went to him and she fell forward into his embrace. They were both weeping.

“Finally home,” he said, crushing her hair with his fingers. “Finally home.” Ken and I stepped into the room and watched the reunion.

“I've missed you,” he said.

“I've missed you too,” Macy said.

“Look, Ken. Look how beautiful my little girl is.”

“I can see.”

He looked at me. “This your boyfriend?”

Without looking, Macy said, “Yes.”

“I'm Mark,” I said.

“Nice to know you,” he said.

“Nice to know you, sir.”

He said to Macy, “How long has it been?”

“Fourteen years, one month, two weeks, three days.”

He shook his head. “Do you remember our last day together?”

“We did all the seasons.”

“That's right. I thought I might not ever see you again. So I wanted to get in all the memories I could. Easter. Halloween. Christmas. Do you still have that ornament from your mother?”

“Yes. I've carried it every place I've gone.”

“Those ornaments were so important to your mother. She even spoke of them as she was dying. Your sister Noel has one just like it.”

Macy reacted to hearing Noel's name, almost as if it was delivered with a low-voltage shock. She moved back from him. “Tell me about Noel. Do you still see her?”

He was quiet for a moment, then he burst out in a fit of coughing. “No. I haven't seen her since they took her from me.” He saw the disappointment in Macy's face. “That's what I regret most of all—apart from losing the both of you—was separating the two of you. It never should have happened. I promised your mother that I wouldn't let it happen.” He suddenly choked up. “But I did.”

Macy rubbed his arm. “I remember so little about her. It's like she's there, in my head somewhere, but just out of reach.” She looked at him somberly. “Tell me about her.”

“Do you remember what your ornament said on it?”

“Noel. December 25.”

“That was Noel's first Christmas. She was born Christmas Day. I wanted to name her Holly. But with the last name of Wood, your mama wouldn't go for that. So we named her
Christina Noel. Your mama wanted Christine for the Christ child.”

“I couldn't remember her name…” Macy confessed.

“Losing her was traumatic for you, baby. You probably don't remember, but you were her mother. You'd fix her breakfast, dress her, bathe her. A counselor at the rehab told me that when parents aren't there, the oldest kid often takes over. He said they found out about me because every day you brought potato chip sandwiches to school.” He exhaled loudly. “I wasn't much good before your mother died. But after…” He looked at her sadly.

“I was only five when mom died.”

He nodded, ashamed. “Yeah, you were.”

“Do you know
where
Noel is?”

“No. They first took her to a foster home, then another family adopted her. I had to sign away my rights. I was in rehab then, and now my head's full of sawdust. I don't remember things too well. But I'm sure someone at the state knows.”

Macy frowned. “The state won't tell me. Her file was sealed.”

For a moment the energy drained from the room. Then her father's face lit up. “I know someone who'd know.”

“Who?” Macy asked eagerly

“That woman who adopted you. Hummel.”

Macy's face flashed with pain. “Why would
she
know?”

“The caseworker told me that the family that took Noel had problems. She cried for you for weeks. Finally the family tried to find you. Don't you remember?”

“I saw her once. It was at our adoption hearing. I remember
Mrs. Hummel getting into a fight with the woman who was with Noel. Then I never saw her again.”

He frowned. “That's a shame.” There was silence. “How long have you been looking for me?” her father asked.

“Not too long. But I've thought about seeing you my whole life—wondering what would happen if I were to bump into you at a gas station or at the supermarket.”

He nodded at this. “I was hoping you'd come.”

“Why didn't you come to find me?”

“I was afraid. I was sure you'd hate me.”

Macy didn't answer immediately. “I don't hate you.”

“You should hate me, sister. I let you down. I let the whole family down.”

“You couldn't help it…”

“Macy, don't make excuses for me. There's no excuse for what I did. Was there ever a good enough excuse for a father to abandon his children?”

“I don't know,” Macy said.

For a moment they both just stared into each other's eyes. “You should know there's a reason. Not an excuse, but a reason. I know it don't hardly matter now, you can't change the past, but I never set out to be the failure I am. When I was seven, I got polio. They gave me pain medications by the bucketful. I never stopped using them. I couldn't stop. Looking back…” He shook his head. “If I'd known what it would cost me, I would've chosen the pain. The greatest hurts of our lives come from running from the smaller hurts.”

Macy stepped back and for a moment she just looked at
him. I couldn't tell what she was thinking, but I saw something in her I had never seen before—someone much older than the young woman I had met just a few weeks earlier. She touched the corner of her eye, then said softly, “I've suffered, Dad. Far more than anyone knows. I was sexually abused in the drug treatment center they sent you to. I was beaten almost every week by the evil woman who adopted me. I lived on the street for three months. For six weeks I slept behind a dumpster at a Wal-Mart. You'd be surprised what you'd do for a cheese sandwich when you haven't eaten in four days. You're right. I should hate you. But I don't. I pity you. No matter what I've been through, I've never given away anything I should have kept. And I've never betrayed anyone I've ever loved. Nothing could be worse than that.”