The Noel Letters (The Noel Collection #4) - Richard Paul Evans Page 0,57

whose life centers around me.

“I’m telling you this, Noel, because the only difference between us is that someone got through to me. I want you to know that you are lovable. And no one can prove otherwise. Not even you.”

We both stood there in silence. Then he said, “Okay, that’s my speech. I’ll let you go. I love you. I think I always have. And I probably always will.”

Tears were streaming down my face. I wanted to be loved by him more than I could say. But he was right. The terror was just too great.

He kissed my cheek, and then as he stepped off the porch I said, “Dylan. Thank you for the letters.”

He looked at me with a quizzical expression. “What letters?”

“The ones you’ve been sending me.”

He shook his head. “Must be some other fool.” Then he walked to his truck and drove away.

CHAPTER forty–seven

Here is a lesson in creative writing. First rule: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you’ve been to college.

—Kurt Vonnegut

MONDAY, DECEMBER 21

Four days until Christmas; five more days until I went back to New York. There were a lot of customers but not a lot of cheer in the bookstore. One of the customers had to remind Wendy to turn the Christmas music on.

Grace came in at her usual time but didn’t stay long. I was helping a customer when she approached me. “I have my book,” she said, lifting it from her tote to show me. I didn’t even look to see what it was.

“I’ll check you out as soon as I’m done here,” I said.

“No hurry. I wrote everything down so someone can get to it later. The counter was a little cluttered, so I left it attached to the notepad in the top drawer.”

“Thank you.”

“I probably won’t get the chance to see you before Christmas. Or after, for that matter. I wanted to tell you that it’s been a pleasure getting to know you better. You’re an amazing young woman. I wish nothing but the best for you.”

I felt emotional. “Thank you.”

“I can see why your dad was so proud of you.” She looked into my eyes for a moment, then said, “Merry Christmas, Noel. And have a happy birthday.” She turned and walked out of the store. I wondered if I would ever see her again.

Dear Noel,

Life is a house of cards balanced on a teeter-totter, precariously perched on a roller coaster. The only thing that should surprise us about our surprises is that we are surprised by them. Don’t worry if life doesn’t look the way you thought it would. It never does. Life is a ladder. You can choose the direction to climb, but not the rungs. As you climb, you will slip at times. Do not be discouraged. Sometimes success is better measured in intention than inches.

Tabula Rasa

CHAPTER forty–eight

All great authors are seers.

—George Henry Lewes

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 23

It snowed hard for most of the morning, not that it did much to deter our clientele. It was, after all, the last full shopping day before Christmas—the last chance at redemption for holiday procrastinators.

The day had been exhausting. Wendy was acting differently than she was yesterday. I don’t know what it was. She almost acted as if nothing had happened. Perhaps it was the denial stage of grief. The two of us had worked a double shift, along with Cammy, Cyndee, and Teddy, our twenty-year-old tattooed rock star–wannabee holiday hire.

Wendy flipped the Open sign over to Closed and locked the door. “One more day,” she said. She handed me another letter. “This came today.”

I was surprised to see it. “I guess this will be the last one.”

“Why is that?”

Before I could answer, Teddy walked up behind us, his graffiti-covered army-surplus backpack slung over one shoulder. “Can I go now?”

Wendy nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Remember, we close early. Three o’clock.”

“Peace out.” He disappeared out the back.

“He’s a funny kid,” I said. “Good worker.”

“He was,” Wendy said, then added, “What a year. I wish your father had been here to see it all.” She sighed. “No, I just wish he was here…” Her words trailed off in sadness.

For a moment neither of us spoke. Then she said, “Every Christmas Eve after we closed, your father and I would lock up and then go in back and have a celebratory glass of wine and just talk. I loved being with him.” She seemed lost in the memory. A moment later she looked