The Noel Stranger Read online

  I groaned a little.

  “It was bad?”

  “Yeah. My father was interesting.”

  “Interesting unique, or interesting a living hell?”

  “The latter, mostly. But he was definitely unique.”

  “Were you raised in Utah?”

  “No. I’m from southern Oregon. A town called Ashland. You probably haven’t heard of it.”

  “I’ve been there,” he said.

  “You’ve been to Ashland?”

  “About six years ago I went with my brother to the Shakespeare Festival.”

  “Ashland’s famous for that.”

  “What did your father do?”

  “Pretty much everything. He was a jack-of-all-trades. He came to Oregon when he was nineteen to work in a lumber yard. He ended up owning a lot of land. More than six hundred acres. That was back when it was cheap and before the Californians started moving in,” I said, imitating his drawl.

  “Is your father still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you see much of him?”

  “I haven’t seen him since my wedding. I was surprised that he even came to that.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “She was wonderful. At least what I remember of her. She died when I was fourteen.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did your father ever remarry?”

  “About six years ago. He married a woman a few years younger than me. He made it a point to tell me that he redid his will so everything goes to her when he dies. He owns several millions of dollars’ worth of land.”

  “So he’s wealthy?”

  “You wouldn’t know it. He still lives in the log cabin he built forty years ago.”

  “He lives in a log cabin?”

  “Well, it’s not, like, Abraham Lincoln’s place. It has plumbing, a Jacuzzi tub and sauna. It’s almost three thousand square feet.”

  “Will he ever sell his land?”

  “Not while he’s living. It’s his refuge. He’s a . . . what’s the word? Prepper? He has his own well, a shed full of dynamite, and an arsenal. He even makes his own shotgun shells.” I groaned again. “He hates the world. And he hates that they’re encroaching on him. Especially the environmentalists.

  “Once he was clearing some trees on his property and his environmentalist neighbors called the police on him. As soon as the officer left, my father grabbed me and stomped over to their house. My dad’s a big man, about six-foot-three, with an even bigger temper.

  “In the old days he would have just called out the man—or dragged him out of his house—and beaten him up. But times have changed, and my father’s smart enough to know it. He knew his neighbors would sue him, so he used a different strategy.

  “He pounded so hard on the door that it shook. When the people came, they only opened the door enough to peer out. I remember how terrified they looked. They asked my dad what he wanted. He calmly said to them, ‘You know, you live downwind of me. That eastern ocean wind flows down the mountain slopes like a rushing river.’

  “The man said, ‘How poetic. What’s your point?’

  “My father said, ‘The next time you meddle in my affairs, I’m going to build a pig farm on the border of our property. Just right there, not twenty yards from your house. You snowflakes ever been to a pig farm?’ The woman started making some clueless comment about being vegan and the horrors of the pig-slaughtering industry, and my father said, ‘The smell carries for more than a mile, two on a windy day. In the summer it’s so dank, you can taste the stink. Just twenty yards away, you’re going to think you’re living in a pigsty. Your food will taste like pig dung. That’s not to mention the flies. The infestation will be biblical. Then I’ll slaughter the pigs myself and leave them hanging on meat hooks by your fence. You won’t be able to live here and you won’t be able to sell your house. Hell, you won’t be able to give it away.’

  “The man said, ‘You can’t do that.’ My father replied, ‘Check the zoning, sweetie.’ Then his wife said, ‘You wouldn’t dare.’ My father laughed and said, ‘Just try me, you liberal morons. Just try me.’ Not surprisingly, they never called the police on him again.”

  “He sounds like an interesting man,” Andrew said. “I’d like to meet him.”

  “No you wouldn’t.”

  “But he was pretty shrewd.”

  “He could take care of himself. That’s what he was best at.” I frowned. “Sometimes I’m glad my mother died young so she didn’t have to spend her life with him.”

  “How old were you when you left home?”

  “Eighteen. I was waitressing and a driver told me about Utah. It sounded nice, so I moved here.”

  “Are you an only child?”

  “No. I have a little brother. He’s in Alaska working on an offshore oil rig.”

  “Do you see much of him?”

  “No. Maybe every few years. He left five years after my mom died. I don’t blame him. My father had registered him for the army so he could steal his girlfriend.”

  “Your father stole his own son’s girlfriend?”

  “He tried. That’s how he was. After my mother died, he started dating girls from my high school. I’d be walking home from cheerleading and I’d see him drive by in his Porsche with one of my classmates. If it wasn’t such a small town, he probably would have been in jail.”

  Andrew shook his head. “That’s horrific.”

  “So that’s how I ended up in Utah. I came here to go to school, met the owner of a catering business, and ended up owning it.”

  “You’ve done well.”

  “The business does well. Not that I’m much help these days.”

  “So who runs it?”

  “One of my employees. Actually, she’s more of a friend than an employee. Her name’s Carina. She’s worked for me for over five years. When everything came down with Clive, I melted down, and she stepped in and took over. She’s overwhelmed, but she doesn’t complain.” I suddenly yawned. “Sorry.”

  “It’s late,” he said.

  “I’m okay,” I said quickly. “You’re the one with a job.” I looked into his eyes. “Are you tired?”

  “A little. But I don’t want to go just yet.”

  This made me smile. I continued the conversation. “Are your parents still alive?”

  “No. My parents died in a car accident when I was young. So my brother and I were raised by my aunt and uncle. They couldn’t have children, so they adopted us.”

  “Are you close to your brother?”

  “Very. Not physically, though. He’s still in Colorado.”

  “How often do you see him?”

  “Every chance I get.”

  I yawned again. Then Andrew yawned. We both laughed.

  “I’ll go,” he said.

  “All right.”

  He stood first, then reached down and helped me up from the couch. We walked to the door. “Thank you for dinner. And the conversation. It was delicious.”

  “Thank you for coming,” I said.

  He hesitated a moment, then said, “Can I be a little vulnerable with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “After my divorce I told myself that I wouldn’t get involved with anyone. But being with you has been nice.” He looked vulnerable. Vulnerable and beautiful.

  “I know what you mean. I thought it would be a cold day in hell before I spent time with a man.”

  He grinned. “It’s been pretty cold.”

  “And I’ve been living in hell,” I said. “So I guess it was time.” We both smiled. “I guess I didn’t realize how lonely I was.” I looked into his eyes. “I needed someone kind in my life these days. This is unexpected and welcome.”

  “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to see more of you.”

  “It’s okay with me.”

  He touched my hair, gently brushing it back from my face. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “What time?” />
  “Any time. All day if you like.”

  His smile broadened. “I’d love to, but I’m short on workers tomorrow. What if I came around five and took you to dinner?”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “Do you like sushi?”

  “Yes.”

  “I found a little place up on the Bench. Kobe.” He just stood there. Then he leaned forward and lightly kissed me on the lips. I closed my eyes and drank it in. He straightened up. “Good night.”

  I touched his cheek longingly, then leaned forward and kissed him back. “Good night, Andrew.”

  He smiled, then turned and walked out the door. I watched him get into his truck, waved, then went inside. It was past two. In spite of the hour, it was the most awake I’d felt in months.

  CHAPTER

  Sixteen

  I saw Clive today. He asked something big of me. (Bigamy. Yeah, I see it. Not funny.) I told him no, but I felt so sorry for him that I could see myself caving. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m an angel or a doormat.

  —Maggie Walther’s Diary

  I woke the next morning in a pleasant haze. Happiness. I hardly recognized it. It had been too long since I’d felt that way. My blissful state was interrupted by the phone.

  “Did I wake you?” Carina asked.

  “No, I was up. How was the party last night?” I’m sure the question surprised her. It was the first time I’d asked about work in weeks.

  “It was crazy. They had double the number of guests than had RSVPed.”

  “They should know that no one in Utah RSVPs. What did you do?”

  “Fortunately, we had three sheets of lemon bars and two sheets of éclairs for tonight’s event. So we used them. The girls are at the house baking right now.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve just dropped this on you.”

  “Baptism by fire,” she said. “It reminds me of how my dad taught me to swim by throwing me into the deep end of the pool.”

  “Sorry,” I said again. “That wasn’t my intent.”

  “I know,” she said. She changed the subject. “I came by last night.”

  “Why didn’t you come in?”

  “Because there was a truck in the driveway.”

  “What time did you come by?”

  “Around one thirty.”

  “Why were you driving by my house at one thirty?”

  “Because I’m worried about you. I hate that you’re all alone. But then I guess you’re not.”

  “I had someone over.”

  “Who?”

  “A guy I just met a few days ago.”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Andrew.”

  “You met him after we had coffee?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “Why do I feel like you’re interrogating me?”

  “Because I am.”

  “Fair enough. I met him while I was buying a Christmas tree—which, by the way, was your idea.”

  “Don’t blame me . . .”

  “I’m not blaming you, I’m giving you credit.”

  “When I said to change your environment, I meant get a tree, not the guy selling it.”

  “I thought you’d be happy I wasn’t alone. Isn’t that what you just said? You hated that I was alone?”

  “I do,” she said. “It’s just that you’ve only been divorced a few months. You’re vulnerable. Just three days ago you were swearing off men, and just like that you have a love interest?”

  “I didn’t say he was a love interest.”

  “He was at your house at one thirty.”

  “Actually, he was there until two,” I said.

  “Exactly. You’re vulnerable. I don’t want to see you taken advantage of. How well do you know this guy?”

  “I know that he’s kind. He’s funny, in a subtle way, and he’s a great conversationalist.”

  “How long has he been unemployed?”

  “He’s not unemployed.”

  “For the moment. He works at a Christmas tree lot. Seasonal work. How long was he unemployed before that?”

  “He owns the Christmas tree lot,” I said. “He’s an entrepreneur.”

  “That’s a French word for slacker.”

  “I’m an entrepreneur,” I said. “He’s not a slacker.”

  “Then why is he single?”

  “I’m single, you’re single; why would you ask that?”

  “Because you and I are nuptial victims.”

  “So is he. He’s divorced.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know. A few years.”

  “Where is he from?”

  “Colorado. He’s been in Utah just a few months. He used to be a financial adviser in Denver. And he’s gorgeous.”

  “Gorgeous?”

  “Like, beautiful.”

  “Now we get to the core of the problem,” she said. “Blinded by the hunk.”

  “I’m done with this conversation,” I said.

  “Just remember, honey. The nicer the package, the cheaper the gift.”

  “I am definitely done with this conversation.”

  “Love you, sweetie.”

  “Love you too. Have a good day.”

  In spite of my conversation with Carina, I felt happy all day in anticipation of seeing Andrew again. I didn’t disagree with Carina that things were moving fast, warp speed, but after wandering through a desert, when you find water, you don’t sip it.

  I put on my favorite outfit, something I hadn’t worn since before D-Day (Divorce Day). I also spent extra time on my makeup, even plucking my eyebrows, which shows I was motivated.

  The clock moved slowly. At a quarter to five my doorbell rang, and my heart jumped a little. I was glad he was early. I quickly opened the door. Clive stood in the doorway.

  “Sorry, I left my house key at the police station,” he said. “You would think they’d make it a point to return your property.”

  “Otherwise you would have just walked in?” I asked. Clive didn’t respond. “What are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk with you.”

  “About what?”

  “It’s important.”

  “Important? Like our marriage wasn’t?”

  “Maggie, don’t do this.”

  I shook my head as I stepped back from the door. “You have ten minutes. I need to be someplace.”

  “Where?”

  “That’s not any of your business. And the clock is ticking.”

  “I don’t believe you’re timing me.” He walked past me to the kitchen. I followed him in as he opened the refrigerator. “Do you have anything to eat?”

  “You have nine minutes. What do you want, Clive?”

  He grabbed a pear out of the refrigerator, then sat down at the table, gesturing to a seat next to him. I leaned against the counter. “What is it, Clive?”

  “I have a court date.” He took a bite of the pear. “December fourteenth.”

  “Congratulations,” I said sardonically. “And this has what to do with me?”

  “I want you there. By my side.”

  “You want me to come to court with you?”

  He took another bite. “Yes. To show support.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “To show the jury that I’m not such a bad guy.”

  “But you are.”

  “Am I? Wasn’t I good to you? Weren’t we happy?”

  “I thought we were.”

  “If you think you’re happy, you are.” He looked at me. “Come on, Maggie. Just this one thing. It’s important.”

  “Why don’t you get your other wife to do it? I’m sure she’d be happy to take my place.”

  “For the record, Jennifer didn’t know about you either,” he said. “Look, I know I made a mistake.”

  “A mistake? Taking the wrong exit is a mistake. Taking a second wife is a bit more deliberate.”

  “Yes, I’m a broken man. I’m a sinner. Is that wha
t you want to hear?”

  “I want to hear you leaving my house.”

  He shook his head. “You mean, the house I bought?”

  “The house we bought,” I said.

  He just looked at me. “You know, you used to be nice. You’ve changed.”

  “I wonder why.”

  He was quiet a moment, then said, “Maggie, I really need your help. I could end up in prison. Do this, and I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. What do you want?”

  “I want you to leave me out of this.”

  He sighed. “Mag, how does my going to jail serve the greater good? I know you’re angry, but you still have a good heart. You don’t want to be responsible for me going to jail.”

  “Now I’m responsible?” I groaned. “This is just like you, Clive. You’re a master at turning things around. That’s why you were such a good lawyer.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  I shook my head. Just then the doorbell rang.

  “Expecting someone?” he asked.

  “I have a date.”

  “A date?” He stood, taking his pear. “That didn’t take long.”

  “You need to go.”

  He just looked at me, then said, “Think about it.”

  “I don’t need to.”

  “Since when did you become so heartless?”

  “If I were heartless, Clive, my heart wouldn’t hurt so much.”

  “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Well, you sure didn’t mean not to.”

  He threw his hands up in mock surrender. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I never deserved you.” He walked to the door, then turned back. “Just because I loved someone else doesn’t mean that I ever stopped loving you. I didn’t. I still love you. I never wanted the divorce. You know that.”

  “You had to divorce one of us.”

  “I don’t know why I needed something more. It’s something broken in me. I’m getting therapy.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “You need to leave, Clive.”

  He breathed out deeply. “Okay. I’ll go.”

  I opened the door. Andrew stood in the doorway. The two men looked at each other.

  “Be good to her,” Clive said.

  “I intend to,” Andrew replied.

  Clive turned back to me. “Think about it, Mag.” He furtively glanced at Andrew, then walked past him to his car. He was driving a new Audi with the paper dealer plates still in the window.