The Noel Letters (The Noel Collection #4) - Richard Paul Evans Page 0,53

is in the Avenues. I’ll text you the address.”

I told Wendy that I had to leave early. I don’t think she was happy, but, frankly, she hadn’t been happy with me ever since I told her I wanted to change the store’s name.

A half hour later I was driving up a one-way street to the attorney’s office. It was an old slate-bricked home with a large plate-glass window emblazoned in gold with the name of several other professionals, including a CPA and a marriage counselor.

Mr. Smalls greeted me in the lobby as I walked in, then led me to his office and shut the door behind us. His wood furniture was scuffed and outdated, as if it had been purchased at an estate sale.

“Have a seat,” he said.

I sat down. “I only have a few minutes. I’d like to get to the bank before it closes.”

“This won’t take long.” He handed me an envelope. I pulled back the flap and took out the check. It was a yellow safety-paper check made out to me for a million dollars.

“Ever seen a check for a million dollars?” he asked.

“Not with my name on it. That’s a lot of zeroes.”

“More than I’ll ever see.” He smiled. “Still planning on getting out of Dodge?”

I put the check in my purse. “I’m going back to New York. So I guess I’ll be selling the house. Do you know a good real estate agent?”

“We have one here in this office. Shelley specializes in residential real estate. I can introduce you to her right now, or I can snag her business card for you.”

“Her card is fine for now. Like I said, I’d like to get to the bank.” I stood. “Also, do you know how I would go about selling the bookstore?”

“That’s a bit more complicated. But I’d be happy to look into that for you as well.”

“I’d appreciate it.” I shook his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Smalls.”

“Your very welcome. Good luck.”

* * *

I walked out of the office carrying a million-dollar check, feeling like people would stare if they knew.

I banked with a large national institution that had a branch near my home in Sugar House. I filled out a deposit slip, then walked up to an open window and handed it, along with the check, to the teller. What happened next was a little surreal. The young man asked for my ID, then suddenly froze when he saw the amount on the check. He furtively glanced up at me and said, “Just a minute.” He carried the check over to someone in a small office. That person looked at the check and then over at me, then stood and walked through a door at the back of the bank. A few minutes later a handsome, fortysomething man in an Armani suit walked up behind me.

“Excuse me, Ms. Book?”

I turned around. “Yes?”

He put out his hand. “My name is Roland Cox. Thank you for your business. You’re in the wrong side of the bank.”

* * *

The letter I got the next day seemed especially appropriate. And, in a way, prophetic. I wondered if Dylan had sensed that something critical was happening in my life.

Dear Noel,

Life is difficult. The sooner we accept this, the sooner we can get on living it. Be grateful for your challenges. Without great mountains we cannot reach great heights and we were born to reach great heights. Never give up on your dreams. Too many in this world stop at speed bumps mistaking them for walls. Most obstacles are just stepping-stones on the path to success and failure is merely a temporary space on the gameboard of life waiting for the next roll of the dice.

Tabula Rasa

How was I going to tell him that I was leaving?

CHAPTER forty–four

There’s no such thing as perfect writing, just like there’s no such thing as perfect despair.

—Haruki Murakami

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 17

On Thursday afternoon I let Wendy know I would be taking a longer than usual lunch break. For the first time, I drove to Dylan’s suit shop.

Dylan’s was located less than ten minutes from the bookstore in a strip mall on the slope of the Wasatch mountains. The mall was decorated with strings of Christmas lights and giant foil snowflakes hanging from the parking lot light fixtures.

The upper parking lot was full, and I ended up parking below ground and walking up to Dylan’s store. A large sign above the door read

Dylan’s Quality Men’s Suits and Apparel

In the display window were glossy black mannequins dressed in