The Noel Letters (The Noel Collection #4) - Richard Paul Evans Page 0,26
prepared to do without an accountant as hike through the Amazon without a guide—so I had no idea of the store’s financial status. All I knew from the publishers’ end of things were the ongoing reports of the demise of the independent American bookseller. Happily, in the case of Bobbooks, a line from Mark Twain seemed to apply: “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”
I worked until seven thirty, taking just a short break for dinner, then came home a couple of hours after dark. I decided to read a little before going to bed, and I was a chapter into a new book called Fates and Furies when the doorbell rang.
It was a little late for visitors, especially since I didn’t know anyone, and I had visions of Mr. Smalls, the attorney, standing on my doorstep. I got up and opened the door.
A man stood in the doorway. He was certainly no Smalls. He looked to be my age, tall, with light-brown wavy hair and the beginnings of a beard. He was wearing a leather bomber jacket with a wool scarf and cowboy boots—the fancy type made from some kind of reptile skin. I noticed something in one of his hands—a long, narrow, gift-wrapped box.
He was good-looking enough that it threw me a little. “May I help you?”
He just smiled at me as if waiting for me to recognize him. “Hi, Noel.”
It took a moment, but I did. I recognized his eyes. He was Dylan Sparks, a boy I had been friends with in middle and high school. We were more than friends, actually; he was my first boyfriend, with all that that entailed.
“Dylan! I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”
“Well, it’s been a few years. I saw you were back in town so I thought I’d come by and say hi.”
“Who told you I was back in town?”
“No one. I saw you at your father’s funeral.” He stood there for a moment, then said, “Am I interrupting something?”
“No, I was just reading.”
“Of course you were,” he said. He cocked his head. “Are you going to invite me in?”
“I’m sorry. Yes,” I said, stepping back from the doorway.
He came inside and I shut the door behind him. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” He sat down on the couch next to the fireplace.
“Can I get you coffee or something?”
“No, I’m good.”
I sat on the end of the couch facing him. “This is a little surreal.”
He smiled. “Totally surreal. You look great, though. Time’s been good to you.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry about your father. He wasn’t that old. How are you handling things?”
“I’ve been better.”
“I bet,” he said. “I brought you something.” He handed me the box he’d been carrying. “I read that you should always send sweets after a death, to sweeten the bitterness of loss. I know how you used to like Fernwood’s Mint Sandwiches.”
I took the mints from him. “Thank you. I can’t believe you remembered I like these. I haven’t had one since I left.”
“They’re still good.”
“And fattening.”
“You didn’t worry about that back then.”
“There are a lot of things I didn’t worry about back then.”
“You and me both,” he said. “What else is happening in your life?”
“Where do I begin? Pretty much everything is in commotion. I’m officially divorced.”
“Is that a good or bad thing?”
“Jury’s still out,” I said. “All things considered, I’d rather be happily married. But I suppose it’s better to live a bitter truth than a blissful lie. At least I keep telling myself that.”
“I get it,” he said. “Except I held on to the lie for as long as I could.”
“You’re divorced?”
He nodded. “Yeah. She left me. I kept telling myself it was just a phase she was going through and that she still loved me, she’d just forgotten. How’s that for denial?” He exhaled as he shook his head. “In the end, the divorce was a formality. Truth was, she’d left us years before.”
“Us?”
“I have a daughter. Alexis.”
“How old is she?”
“Seven. Almost eight.”
“I’m sorry. About the divorce.”
“Me too. I liked her. I liked being married.”
“You married Susan, right?”
He nodded. “Susan Tedesco. She was a dancer.”
“I remember her. We took dance together. Only she stuck with it.”
“At least she stuck with something.”
“Was it painful?”
“The divorce?”
I nodded.
“Horribly. Rejection aside, I liked the idea of having a family. She saw settling down as settling for less; I saw it as a higher level of existence. You know my background. I don’t take family or home for granted. Anyway, it’s been five years now. Almost six.” He looked