The Noel Letters (The Noel Collection #4) - Richard Paul Evans Page 0,42
just a book.”
She set it aside. “Bless you. I’ll enjoy opening it after supper.”
“Is there something I can do to help?”
“No, we’re just about ready. Wait, there is one thing.” She turned to Dylan. “Son, would you pour the sweet tea and light the candles? You can leave the pitcher on the table.”
“I’m on it.”
“You’re a dear. The pitcher’s in the fridge.”
She turned back to me. “There’s hot crawfish dip in the living room you can nibble on. And I got you some of those mint sandwiches you were so fond of.”
“Thank you.”
“Now you just go out and sit with Strat and relax while I finish things up.”
“Go on,” Dylan said. “I’ll be right there. Just don’t eat it all.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself.”
I went into the front room. Dylan’s father was sitting at the piano with Alexis, teaching her how to play something. He turned around as I walked in then stood to greet me. He looked exactly the same as I remembered, except he was shorter and his hair had gone completely gray. His smile was as big as I remembered. “Noel Book. It’s been a year of Sundays.”
“Actually, longer,” I said. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“And a Happy Thanksgiving to you. Charlotte and I were so looking forward to having you join us.”
“It’s all my pleasure.”
“Not all yours,” he said.
“Pawpaw’s teaching me a song on the piano,” Alexis said. “ ‘I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.’ ”
“Do you know what a hippopotamus is?” I asked.
She looked at me like I was a fool. “Of course. It’s a short elephant without a trunk.”
“That’s the best definition I’ve ever heard,” I said. I turned to Stratton. “I didn’t know you played the piano.”
“Not like I used to. During law school I played at a bar on weekends for spending money. Now I just do a hymn now and then, or a Billy Joel song. I used to love to play that ‘Rootbeer Rag’ before my arthritis flared up.”
Alexis pounded at the keys until Dylan walked in. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hi, Son. Alex says you got your tree up.”
“Yes, we did. Did you get a haircut?”
“No. I pretty much got them all cut.”
Dylan grimaced. “I walked into that.” He turned to me. “Did you try the dip yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, it’s not going to eat itself.” He walked over and got a little plastic plate and scooped some dip onto it along with cubes of French bread and handed it to me. Then he did the same for himself. “Nothing like southern cooking.”
Stratton replied, “Only thing better than southern cooking is a southern woman.”
“I heard that,” Charlotte shouted from the kitchen.
Stratton winked at us. “I hoped she would.”
* * *
About five minutes later Charlotte walked into the living room. “Dinner’s on.”
“All right,” Stratton said. “You heard the woman. Let’s eat.”
We sat around the oval table; Stratton on one end, Dylan on the other, with Alexis and me at his sides. I was about to start putting food on my plate when Dylan reached over and took my hand. “Grace,” he said.
“I’ll offer grace,” Stratton said. “Dear God, thank you for this bounty and this day to give thanks. We are grateful to live in a free country and to have each other. We are grateful today that Miss Noel has joined us and ask your blessings to be upon her at this sorrowful time of loss. We praise thee and say thanks for all we have, in His name we praise, Amen.”
“Amen,” I said. I couldn’t remember the last time I had prayed.
Stratton rose and began to carve the turkey.
“Dylan says that you’ve been living in New York City,” Charlotte said.
“Yes, ma’am. Charlotte.”
“What do you do there?”
“I was an editor for a publishing house.”
“So you work with authors?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Any that I may know?”
“Kiel Taylor, Debbie Rasmussen, W. W. Spooner, Jerica Bradley.”
“You’ve met Jerica Bradley?” she exclaimed.
“I work with her. I help edit her books.”
“You work with the Jerica Bradley? You know, I just love her books. I’ve read every one of them. She must be just a delight to work with.”
I bit my lip.
She leaned forward. “Tell me, what’s she like? In real life.”
I carefully considered my response, as I’m not one to burst bubbles. “She’s very talented.”
“Isn’t that God’s truth. The next time you see her, please tell her that I’m her biggest fan and to keep up the good work.”
“I would be happy to.”
“Will you be staying in Utah for a while?” Stratton asked.
“At least until Christmas. I’m still figuring things out.”