Redeem Me (12 page)

“What the—” is all I hear and I assume the two of them have met. “Why is this goddamned animal in my house?” Butch is yelling and sounds even crabbier than usual. “Annie!”

That one hurt. He rarely says my name, but the sound of Jason’s voice yelling it wounds me. I grab the wall with one hand to steady myself. The dog runs out to me, unsure of his surroundings.

“Are you making sure I’m still here? I wouldn’t leave you.” I rub behind his ears and he looks at me full of love. “Let’s go meet Butch. He’s not as bad as he sounds.”

I walk into the family room and Butch is sitting in his recliner with his feet up.

“Is your knee okay?” I ask, wondering why he doesn’t sit up like he usually does.

“Knee ain’t worth a damn,” he grumbles. The dog stays by my side. He’s such a smart little guy. “Why did you bring that damn dog in here?”

“He’s my dog,” I say flatly.

“What the hell did you get a dog for?”

“Sean brought him over. He needs a good home…and I fell in love with him.” The dog walks over to Butch, who glares at him. “I thought you might like to have him over once in a while. He’s good company.”

“Hell no! I don’t want any damn dog hanging around.”

“We’ll see,” I say.

“We’ll see nothing. You leave him here and I’m going to call him shithead.”

“That’s so funny. I was going to name him BJ, for Butch Junior. Isn’t it crazy how we’re on the same page?” I say, making the eye-to-eye symbol with my hand.

“You’re an imbecile,” Butch growls.

“Come on, BJ, we need to go call Dr. Grubb and see if we can get Butch Senior an appointment.” A pillow whizzes by my head. I pick it up and throw it back at him.

“You’re a crazy old man!”

Both Butch and I laugh and BJ jumps up and down, joining the fun.

T
he halls have been decked, God help me. Another Christmas without my parents. This will be my third without them and my first without Jason. I push the memories of last Christmas from my mind and cut the wrapping paper to the wrong size for the box in front of me. I cut a new piece, a do-over…I have five days to find some Christmas spirit. I’m hoping it’s hidden in a bottle of wine. Noble knocks on the back door at the same time he opens it.

“Hello?”

“Come in,” I yell, surprised at how excited I am to see him. Noble’s dressed in navy overalls that cover several other layers that puff him up like the Michelin Man. He’s like a child ready to go make snow angels in the drifts.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?”

I look around at the empty room. “No.”

“I saw Clint’s truck outside and…” His voice trails off as his eyes fall to the floor.

“And you thought we were in here making passionate love by the fireplace?” I can barely finish the sentence before bursting into laughter.

Clint comes into the room carrying two-by-fours, a pencil behind his ear, and a tape measure hooked to his belt. He gives Noble a big grin and shakes his hand excitedly. “Hey, Nick, how’s it going?”

“Good, great. Yourself?”

“Pretty good. Keeping busy. I just started Charlotte’s renovations, so that’ll keep me working for a few weeks.”

“A few weeks, huh?”
Is that jealousy?
“That’s great.”

Clint moves toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Charlita. Later, Sinclair.”

As Clint closes the door behind himself, Noble echoes, “Charlita?”

“Did you stop by for a reason or are you monitoring building permits in your spare time?”

“Just making sure you weren’t being killed.”

“Clint’s harmless,” I say, turning and walking toward the living room.

“…or seduced,” he adds.

“I should be so lucky!” I yell as I disappear out of sight and return carrying Noble’s Christmas present.

“What’s this?” He’s surprised, even a bit uncomfortable staring at the shirt box wrapped in silver metallic paper with a large red bow on it.

“It’s nothing,” I say, hoping to downplay any hint of a big gesture. “Just something I picked up on Fifty-Fourth Street.”

He slowly opens the box and unfolds the tissue paper. Noble admires the picture inside for a long time. I move closer to him to see it as well. I bought it from a street vendor when I was in New York City last month. It’s a hand-drawn picture of Wollman Rink in Central Park decorated with traces of metallic paint. It’s an enchanting scene of a moment in time that will always remind me of Noble.

“Do you remember the date night you went ice-skating with my sorority?” I ask, watching him from only a few inches away.

“Yes,” he says, still gazing at the picture.

“I fixed you up with my pledge sister, Raquel.”

“And you went alone because Jason couldn’t make it.” Noble watches me silently, still holding the picture. I know he’s remembering the one time he convinced Raquel to pity me enough to let him skate with me. It was the highlight of my night. We were skating when our high school graduation song came on. He grabbed my hand and started belting it out.

I was embarrassed. We almost fell twice. Finally, Noble picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, still singing. I looked up to see Raquel’s face just before we fell and went sliding full speed toward the wall. Noble hit first, and I slid right into him as if in slow motion. By that time I had completely forgotten about Raquel and the other few hundred people at Wollman Rink. I just lay on top of him and laughed.

Noble pulled it together long enough to sing the last few lyrics in my ear. I can’t hear the song without thinking of it, and that’s what the picture reminds me of—happy times. I can’t think of a time with Noble that wasn’t happy.

He scoops me up into his arms and hugs me. I’m not prepared. He’d been looking at the picture so thoughtfully. He holds me at arm’s length and says, “I love it. I do. Thank you.”

He’s going to kiss me.

I want him to kiss me.

I can’t let him kiss me.

I look down as I whisper, “You’re welcome,” and move out of his grasp.

Last year Jason and I spent Christmas here. Butch and Sean and Michelle came over and we ate and exchanged gifts like a real family. I gave him a picture of me hugging him, his back to the camera. Someone was taking the picture of another person when I just happened to be hugging Jason in the background. My face depicted pure joy, my infatuation with him spilling over from my heart through my eyes and my enormous smile. I was so in love with him. I cropped us out, framed a copy for Jason, and kept another in my wallet—until I burned it in August.

I reach up and touch the rowel necklace around my neck. It’s the only reminder of our first Christmas together, of a time when we were too broken to properly celebrate. Jason had it custom made with a turquoise stone in the center and garnet spikes. It is gorgeous, and a one-of-a-kind, and I still get compliments on it all the time.

Why do I still wear it?

Why didn’t I burn it?

I have a couple of options for tonight, none of which appeal to me. I can spend Christmas Eve with my brother at Michelle’s mother’s house. Or I can leave town completely and spend the holiday imposing on someone else’s family. Or I can go to my aunt Diane’s. They’d all love to shelter me on Christmas Eve. Integrating me into their celebrations seems rather woeful to me. In hindsight I should have evacuated to Margo’s or Jenn’s as soon as they said they weren’t coming home. An exotic location may have helped ease the complete emptiness I feel right now.

Probably not.

I shower and blow my hair dry, still unsure of where I’m headed. If I go with Sean, at least he won’t worry about me all night. Or maybe he’ll worry more. As I sort through my closet, dress by dress, I find the dress I wore the last Christmas Eve my parents were alive. My mom helped me pick it out. Without intention, I slip it over my head. It has these crazy lapels that turn into a tie that wraps around your waist. I remember coming out of the dressing room laughing because I had the straps all over the place, and my mother telling me deadpan, “That looks correct.” I cross the straps at my belly, wrap them around my back and tie them in the front. My mother loved its deep teal color against my complexion. I study myself in the mirror and pick up my purse and coat.

I sit on the end of my pew, closest to the center aisle. The sanctuary is empty except for the organist and someone helping with a primitive sound check. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It fills me with peace. I eye the candles flickering on the windowsills, the wreaths above the altar, and the hundreds of poinsettias dotting the room—their cards dedicating them to the living who are loved and the dead who we’ve lost. Somewhere in this sea of red are poinsettias with the names of my grandmother and both my parents.

Thank you, God, for Sean. Please don’t let anything happen to him.

Pastor Johnson would be happy to know I began my prayer by thanking God for something before launching into my requests. I have a lot to be thankful for.

Thank you, too, for my health, my sanity—although it’s been questionable the last few months—and BJ. For Butch, too, I guess.

This internal dialogue feels righteous and I have a sense of pride at my improvement in preparing my heart for worship. Surely this is closer to the objective.

Thank you, Lord, for the collection of incredible friends you have provided me.

I’m almost giddy with the ease of my praise. I flip open the pew Bible and read:

If only it were that simple. But I guess that’s precisely what the Bible’s saying. It is that simple. God is, and always has been, right here with me, reconstructing my life when I could barely live it. For the first time since my parents’ deaths, I realize I’m not alone. I continue my praise.

For Margo, and Jenn, and—

“Are you by yourself?” Noble asks, and I look up at him, surprised. He’s to my left, having entered my pew from the far side. I feel at peace…and joyful, and the complete opposite of alone.

“No, but no one’s sitting here.”

Noble sits down immediately to my left.

“You’ll wish you were in a few minutes,” he says, and his impish grin warms me.

And thank you for Noble.

“Charlotte O’Brien, look at you! You’re as pretty as ever.” Mrs. Sinclair barrels into my pew and hugs me before I can answer. She holds me at arm’s length. “How have you been? How’s that brother of yours, and Michelle?”

I begin to answer, but she continues. “Where are you going after church?”

“Now, Larissa, give the girl a chance to speak. Merry Christmas, Charlotte,” Mr. Sinclair says as he also moves into my pew.

“Merry Christmas,” I say. “Noble mentioned you guys were coming home. How long are you here for?”

“Oh, I’ll bet he mentioned it, Charlotte,” Noble’s sister Jackie pipes in, and we all move farther down the pew, allowing room for her and her family to join us. “Are you guys dating?” She gives us the once-over. “You’re pretty good together.”

“Jackie!” Noble barks. “It’s Christmas; give us a break.”

“Nick and Charlotte. They
are
good together.” Enter his other sister, Tracy. Both their husbands look at me sympathetically as they try to keep their broods from climbing over the pews. In all, we fill two rows in the church. My pew is hosting eight people and I’m squeezed between Noble and his dad.

No. Definitely not alone. Thank you, Jesus, for this cast of characters, too.

Mr. Sinclair leans over and whispers in my ear, “You should come by later. I went to visit my old buddies down at the crick. Picked up some moonshine. Real smooth.” He closes his eyes as he says it, conjuring up the taste. I look at Noble and he’s barely containing his laughter.

The church is now bursting with neighbors and Pastor Johnson begins his announcements. Noble labors to raise his arm over my head and rests it on my shoulder. Someone gasps one pew back.

“Let’s start some rumors,” he says, leaning toward me and rubbing my shoulder with his outstretched hand, thoroughly enjoying himself. I lean in so only he can hear me whisper.

“I think I’ve had a lifetime of scandal already.”

“Lily-liver,” he says, and I shake my head and lay it on his shoulder. The woman behind me clears her throat and Mr. Sinclair rolls his eyes at me.
Is he drunk?
Either way, he’s adorable. I think you probably have to drink to enjoy this wildly animated and most endearing family he’s created.

I go home alone but happy and peaceful for the first holiday since my parents passed. My answering machine is blinking, but I don’t press play. Not tonight. I want to savor this feeling for as long as possible.

12:01 a.m.

A
nnie, you have to believe that we’re going to make this work.”

There’s a long pause on the line and I wait for the familiar, overused words of apology to come floating from the answering machine. Instead he hangs up and I roll over.

“New year, new you, Charlotte,” I say as BJ jumps on the bed and snuggles in next to me. I think he’s beginning to recognize Jason’s voice on the answering machine and its devastating effect on me. He’s probably thankful I’m not throwing it across the room.

I fall back to sleep.

I
pull into my driveway as the first flakes begin to fall on January 10. The wind’s beginning to whip and all of the blackbirds have sought cover. The town’s buzzing with the news of our first big snowstorm. As is always the case, the meteorologists have been vague with the forecast until about two hours ago, when they started declaring “blizzard conditions, including near whiteout visibility, downed trees, power outages, and several feet of snow.” What’s not to love?

The grocery store—as in
the only
grocery store in town—was mobbed with people buying batteries, milk, eggs, bread, and water. I got BJ some dog treats and a new toy; a sleeve of premade cookie dough; the last gallon of milk, which I promptly gave to the frazzled woman carting her three kids through the chaos who was only moments too late to grab it for herself; and the new
Vanity Fair.

I begin to explain to BJ what the storm means and to look for my dad’s snow shovel. It’s hanging on the wall at the end of a series of shovels organized by use and size within each classification. “I miss you, Dad. You and your freakish OCD ways in your garage.” Right below the shovel is a crate with bags of salt stacked in it. I love this man. There’s a milk crate on a shelf with ice scrapers and work gloves. I take one of each and hear my phone ring.

It rings again, but I can’t find it. I grab it just as it rings the fourth time and slide the bar to answer.

“Hey,” he says as if we talk every day.

“Hey, Noble. Excited about the storm?”

“Very much so,” he says with an air of mischief. “I’m coming to get you around six. Bring BJ, too.”

“You’re coming to get me?” I ask, enunciating every word in disbelief.

“That’s right. Six o’clock. We’re having a sleepover. We’ll cook some dinner, watch TV until the power goes out, and you’ll spend the night.” Sensing the hesitation in my silence, he adds, “In the guest room. You’ll sleep in the guest room. No hanky-panky, I promise.” There’s silence on the other end of the phone as I digest the invitation. “If we get as much snow as they’re calling for, it’s going to be a long few days,” he says, the jovial tone missing, his concern intact.

Without thinking, I answer, “Okay,” and with that I put away the cookie dough. It’s not like we’ve never slept together before. Noble used to crash at my house at Rutgers all the time. Sometimes he’d sleep on the couch, sometimes…before Jason…in my bed. And I don’t want to be alone. I want to be with Noble. I try to figure out what I should take to my first sleepover on Noble’s farm.

The phone rings again.

“Hello.”

“Hey, it’s your brother. You need anything for tonight?”

“No. BJ and I are actually going to stay at Noble’s tonight.”

Without missing a beat, Sean says, “Right. Of course you are. I’m sure there’s an appropriate response or piece of advice that I should say, but I’m glad you’re not going to be alone. I’ll be over after the storm to do the driveway.”

“Sounds good. Keep in touch. Oh, and don’t worry about the advice. I’m too screwed up to date. I wouldn’t inflict myself on someone as nice as Noble.”

“Whatever you say.”

Noble’s truck pulls into the driveway at exactly six. He’s punctual. I’m on my second trip to the garage with things BJ and I need for a sleepover. By the time I get to his truck with the first load, the windshield is already icing up.

“Man, it’s getting bad,” I say, and deposit my overnight duffel bag between us on the front seat. I start to make another trip inside and Noble jumps out of the truck.

“I didn’t realize you have more stuff,” he says, embarrassed, always a gentleman.

“Oh, I don’t. It’s BJ’s.” I hand him a large boat bag containing BJ’s bed and blanket, some toys, his water and food bowls, a large Ziploc of food, and his leash. It’s billowing out of the top and awkward to carry because the bag is too small to hold everything. BJ hops in the truck and perches himself right between us on top of my duffel.

“Too much?” I ask, feeling like a burden.

“Not at all.” Noble flashes a sincere grin that only slightly hides a little chuckle. He has a way of laughing at me that, rather than offending me, always makes me smile, too.

On the way to his house we pass two cars that have skidded off the road. We slow almost to a stop and confirm they don’t need any help. Both of them have tows on the way and we see large farm equipment to the rescue about a half-mile down. It’s becoming difficult to judge the side of the road without power lines, and if it weren’t for Noble’s mailbox, his driveway would be completely indiscernible. We slowly pass Butch’s house and BJ gives out a bark and wags his tail furiously.

“I know. We’ll go check on Butch,” I assure him as I scratch behind his ears.

We literally slide into the last open spot in the L-shed. The four-mile drive took forty-five minutes.

“I’m going to take BJ next door.”

“Okay. I’ll grab your copious amount of gear and meet you inside.”

My eyes linger on Noble as he hauls our bags out of the truck. When he notices, I step in the direction of Butch’s, following BJ, who’s run ahead.

Butch’s small house is cooking from the woodstove heat. He’s sitting at the kitchen table and shows not one ounce of surprise, irritation, or joy at the sight of me.

“Out for a ride?” he asks nonchalantly.

“Kind of. BJ and I are staying at Noble’s tonight.” I start to talk faster. “It’s not a real sleepover; I’ll be in the guest room.” Rambling actually. “Although that’s where guests usually sleep. He just thought since we might be locked indoors for a while it would be more fun with company.”
My God, can I make this sound worse?
“It sounded like a good idea since we’ll probably lose power and…what I mean is he was worried about—”

Butch’s hand darts up and demands I shut up as his eyes close slightly and he shakes his head. I appreciate the gesture, even though it’s rude. BJ’s wagging his tail at Butch’s feet and Butch gives him some love in spite of himself.

“Do you need anything? Milk, food, flashlight?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s not the apocalypse, for Christ’s sake. Everyone’s so damn worked up about a little snowstorm.”

“Clearly you don’t watch the weather. This is the big one,” I say with my arms stretched out in exaggeration. Butch watches me like I’m some wacky kid. “All right, then. BJ and I’ll be back in the morning to check on you.”

BJ starts crying and nuzzles in closer to Butch.

“Traitor!” I harshly denounce him with a phony sneer.

“Just leave him here,” Butch says.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Just leave him.” BJ’s tail starts wagging. I don’t get the appeal, but whatever. BJ is the great equalizer. No matter how much Butch and I have lost, this dog reminds us we can love again.

“Do you have enough food?” I get up to check his bin.

“Yes,” he says, his impatience returning. It’s time to go.

The fifty yards to Noble’s is harsh and numbing. The snow’s coming down sideways and the bottoms of my jeans are saturated and stick to my legs. Even with my hood up my head’s freezing from the wind. We’re definitely going to lose power tonight.

Noble’s standing at the back door and opens it for me when I get close. I bang the snow off my boots and swat as much off my parka as I can before stepping inside.

“Where’s BJ?” he asks as I remove some layers by the door. My hoodie hooks on my shirt and as I pull it up, my shirt comes up, too. I don’t notice at first but the left side of my bra is showing. I redden with embarrassment and haul it back down. Noble has his usual shit-eating grin splattered across his face.

“I’m glad I amuse you so. Butch is going to keep him. I think it’s good; now no one will be alone tonight.”

I don’t look up to meet his stare.

“Aaah, it’s warm in here.” I rub my hands up and down my biceps and consider walking over and pressing myself against the front of him.
Get hold of yourself, Charlotte. You act like you’ve never been cold before.

“I just stoked the fire and brought in some extra wood,” he says, and I take a deep breath, inhaling the warm air.

My bags are on top of the large kitchen table. BJ’s large boat bag dwarfs my duffel.

Noble walks over to the table and dramatically gestures toward my bag. “This I find interesting,” he says. I don’t get the joke. Noting my confusion, he motions toward my baggage. “May I?”

I shrug. Noble takes out BJ’s bed and blanket and puts them on the floor. He inventories the rest. “Three balls, food, treats, a leash, a chewed-up stuffed bear with his face missing…” He opens my duffel, a deflated balloon in comparison, and I understand. I start to laugh before he does. To his credit he’s able to keep going. “Let’s see. A flashlight, a bottle of whiskey”—he raises both eyebrows—“a toothbrush, much appreciated, and about four small items of clothing. All the essentials,” he adds mockingly. “Do you realize you take better care of your dog than yourself?”

“If you’re not going to spoil them, why have one?”

We make dinner in tandem. After cooking alone for months, I’ve forgotten what camaraderie feels like. I’m smiling so much I forget to be sad. We chop celery, carrots, potatoes, green peppers, and garlic for venison stew. I hand Noble the butcher knife to cut the meat. “Did you shoot this?”

“No,” he answers with a hint of deception. I eye him knowingly and he gives in. “Bow.”

“Impressive, Noble.” And not all that surprising. “I can see you running around the woods with a bow. Like Cupid.” The statement makes me giggle, but the image in my head has no humor. It’s Noble, still and powerful, aiming a bow in the middle of the cold woods.

I finish cutting the tomatoes as Noble browns the meat in a skillet. I add whiskey when I think Noble isn’t looking and add another splash for good measure. The meat’s been frozen, but it will still taste delicious. I’ll have to take some to Butch tomorrow.

We eat by candlelight at the large table in Noble’s kitchen. We sit at either end and I can barely see his face the light’s so dim. Noble has the radio set to the Philadelphia classic rock station and the music serenades us.

“The stew’s delicious,” I say.

“It is.”

“You, and your bow, are a great provider.” There’s a peace in the room, as if the snow has formed a giant pillow around the house, absorbing anything unpleasant.

We finish our meal and clean up together, joking the entire time. Dinner with Noble is the adult equivalent of children catching snowflakes and making snow angels. It’s innocence and love and family. It’s home.

“Do you want some wine or are you drunk from your recipe for venison stew?” he asks.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were making fun of my Irish heritage. Everything tastes better with whiskey.”

“You know, I find myself saying the exact same thing all the time—breakfast cereal, pudding, spaghetti sauce,” he says as he hands me a glass of Cabernet. He sits on the end of the couch I’m comfortably sprawled out on. “I’m glad you’re here.” His gaze turns serious.

“I am, too,” I quietly admit. I shiver. I think from a chill, but it may have something to do with his stare.

Noble leaps up and pokes the fire. Embers float through the air but stay safely enclosed beyond the hearth. He adds three more logs and the sparks fly up the chimney. The crackling of the fire warms my insides as the flames warm the rest of me. My father would have a fire burning on a night like this.

“You’re family,” I blurt out, and he turns to look at me.

“Please tell me not like a brother.”

“No, not a brother, but safe, very safe. Being with you reminds me of my childhood.”

He returns to poking the fire with his back to me.

“Did you know?” I ask. Noble stops moving and doesn’t turn around. He knows what I’m talking about. “When I saw you at the fair last August, did you know that he’d gotten her pregnant?” I wince as I say it. It’s the first time I’ve ever brought it up to anyone. I take a gulp of wine to dull the pain.

Noble takes a deep breath.

“I’ll never lie to you, Charlotte,” he says, turning to face me. His brow wrinkles as his eyes break contact with mine. He’s tortured by guilt. “If you promise not to lie to me.”

Noble pauses and I nod in agreement.

“Did you know it was Jason who broke into your house?”

I sigh, already regretting the pledge of honesty. “When Sean called me, I suspected it was Jason. When I saw the note above my bed, I knew it was him. He looked for the key under the turtle, but you had it.”

Noble looks down at the mention of the key, hiding his face from me.

“Why didn’t you tell the police?”

“Tell them what? That my ex-boyfriend had too much to drink and was desperate to talk to me so he broke into my house?”

“Yes, some version of that,” Noble says without any humor.

“He shouldn’t have been at my house that night, or at Violet’s party, but I’ve done some things during this separation I’m not proud of,” I say, remembering my hate-filled rants. “He didn’t deserve to be arrested for being in my house.”
I’m no longer sure what he deserves
.

“Did you know?” I ask again, not relenting. “At the fair, you hugged me and it felt…unlike anything I’d ever felt with you before. I remember thinking there was something behind it, but I couldn’t figure out what.” Looking back now, it was sorrow I felt when Noble hugged me. An emotion completely foreign to our relationship.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

Noble’s eyes bore into me and I know I don’t want to hear the answer.

“Yes,” he says, both angry and guilty at the same time.

The outrage is searing my insides. I knew it. I knew all along, but I couldn’t accept he knew. The idea that he knew for one second and didn’t—

“I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want you to go to Oklahoma, but I couldn’t be the one to tell you.” He pauses and stares into the fire.

“How could you have let me go down there?” I aim my disgust of the entire situation squarely at Noble.