Noah (Angel Institute #7)

Chapter 16

Sixteen

NOAH

T oday is a very big day for the parade committee. We’re previewing the completed—or supposedly completed floats—and doing a final approval on every inch of the parade.

Paige and I have texted about parade things, but not about anything personal. She’s been really busy planning her trip and I’ve been snowshoeing, renting skates, and drawing—a lot. It seems like I have years of images pent up in my head, and they’ve been blocked. I’m trying to open the door to let God work through me, but it’s harder than I thought to fully let go and let God.

All this means is that I haven’t seen Paige since the bakery three days ago. She’s not due to arrive here until it’s time to sign off on the floats, but I wanted to come early and help people finish. I feel silly showing up like this, but it feels like the right thing to do. Sam wanted an extra shift today anyway—I think he’s planning something big for Alexis for Christmas and needs the cash.

I push open the heavy double doors of the warehouse on the outside of town. A gust of cold December air follows me inside.

“Noah. Thank goodness you’re here,” Martha, the town secretary, calls out as she hurries toward me, her arms full of fabric swatches. “We’re having a bit of a crisis with the Winter Wonderland float. Can you take a look?”

I nod, shrugging off my coat. “Of course, Martha. Lead the way.”

As we weave through the floats, I’m struck by the sense of transformation. What was once a plain, utilitarian room has become a workshop of Christmas magic. Long tables line the walls, covered in half-finished decorations, pots of paint, and various tools. The air is thick with the scent of glue. Air compressors chug and hum. People scurry about like elves the night before Christmas. Flatbed trailers have become beautiful floats with Christmas themes. It’s like getting to look behind the curtain to see how that magic is made.

We reach the far corner where the Winter Wonderland float is almost done. I immediately see the problem. The fringe is all wrong. Instead of blue and white combining to look like ice, it just seems like the stripes of a marker. A group of volunteers cluster around it, their faces a mix of concern and frustration.

Mrs. Larson, a retired art teacher, turns to me with a sigh of relief. “Oh, Noah, we’re just not sure about the color scheme. We want it to look magical, but right now it’s reading more... well, see for yourself.”

I step closer, taking in the partially completed float. It feels flat, lifeless.

“Hmm,” I murmur, my mind already racing with possibilities. “What if we added some iridescent glitter? And maybe some deeper blues and purples in the shadows to create depth?”

Mrs. Larson’s eyes light up. “Oh, that’s brilliant. Do we have time?”

There’s a strict deadline. We’ve had a couple of floats drop out because they were so far behind there was no way they could be done in time. It’s disheartening, but they promised they’d plan better and try again next year. I don’t want to see the Winter Wonderland float fall into that category when they are so close to the finish line. It’ll take a push and effort, but I’m sure they can do it. “I think you can make it. Use the battery operated stapler and give it a go.”

As Martha hurries off, I roll up my sleeves and grab a paintbrush. For the next hour, I lose myself in the work, guiding the volunteers as we bring the Winter Wonderland to life. The repetitive motion of the brush is soothing, and I feel the lingering tension.

“Noah?” a familiar voice breaks through my concentration. I look up to see Will standing nearby, a steaming mug in his hands. “Thought you could use some cocoa.”

“Thanks, Will,” I say, accepting the mug gratefully. The rich aroma of chocolate fills my nostrils, a welcome pick-me-up. “What are you doing here?” He seems to be everywhere that I am and no place at all at the same time. I don’t know where he lives. I don’t know what he does for a living. He doesn’t talk about those things either, so I don’t ask. It’s a strange little friendship we have going.

“I’m helping Pastor Robert with the church float. He may have bitten off more than he can chew, but no one is ever alone when they stand with God.” He rubs his palms together.

I nod as I take another sip. The church used the same float for the last three years, but changes things up because of the new theme. Pastor Robert wanted to do a Nativity in a stained glass window motif and it’s coming along nicely. “I’m glad to hear it. And... thanks for giving me some space these past few days. I appreciate it. I do want to apologize again for being rude to you.”

Will’s expression softens. “No apology needed. How are things going?”

Before I can respond, there’s a commotion near the main entrance. I turn to see Emily Thorne, the owner of the hardware store, backing in through the doors, pulling a dolly stacked high with boxes.

“Where do you want these?” she calls out.

I hurry over, Will close behind. “Emily, what’s all this?”

Emily’s smile falters and she glances down at the floor. “Supplies for the floats. Heard you folks were running low on some things.”

I’m momentarily speechless, overwhelmed by this unexpected act of generosity. “This is... wow, thank you. This is incredibly generous.”

Emily shrugs, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “It’s nothing. This parade means a lot to the town. Figured I could do my part. I’m not overstepping, am I? I had this thought, and I wanted to help but … maybe I’m just being dumb.”

I stare at her for a minute, and it’s like I’m looking in the mirror. She wants to be something different from what she has been. Maybe she’s been moved by the Christmas spirit, or maybe there’s something going on in her life that’s changing her heart; but she acted on that thought, that spark of a desire to change, and she’s here.

I trip over myself to lift a box. “I think you did the exact right thing.”

She breaks into a smile, and I can see that she’s actually really pretty. I always thought of her as stern and schoolmarm–ish. That could have been her resting face, though. It always looks like she’s scowling.

Will grabs two of the boxes. “I know just where these need to go. We couldn’t have done this without you, Emily.”

He walks right toward the church float.

“Who is that?” Emily points at him. “How does he know my name?”

I blink. “You haven’t met Will?” I ask. “He seems to know everyone in town.”

She shakes her head. “Never saw him before.” She pauses, thinking, and then brightens. “I guess you used my name, so maybe he picked it up. I have another load in the truck. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Thank you.” I open the box to find paint, brushes, and drop clothes. They’re the perfect colors to go with the grocery store’s float and I deliver them to that area.

As Will and I help Emily unload the supplies, I’m struck once again by the spirit of the community that’s filled this space. People from all walks of life, coming together to create something beautiful for the town they love.

The day continues in a whirlwind of activity. I flit from float to float, offering suggestions here, lending a hand there. The constant hum of conversation and laughter fills the air, punctuated by the occasional burst of Christmas music from the small radio in the corner.

As the afternoon wears on, the aroma of freshly baked cookies wafts through the air. I look up to see Mrs. Thompson, my old third-grade teacher, making her way through the crowd with a large platter.

“Snickerdoodles, anyone?” she calls out, her kind face beaming. “Can’t have all you hardworking volunteers going hungry.”

There’s a rush toward Mrs. Thompson, and I chuckle at the sight of grown adults eagerly reaching for cookies like they’re children.

“Here, Noah,” Mrs. Thompson says, offering me the platter. “You look like you could use a break and a sweet treat.”

I accept a cookie gratefully, the warmth of it seeping into my fingers. I don't know how she managed to keep them warm, but I’m not going to complain. “Thanks, Mrs. Thompson. These smell amazing.”

She pats my arm affectionately. “It’s the least I can do. And I must say, Noah, I’m so impressed with what you’ve done here. You’ve really brought the community together with this parade.”

Her words catch me off guard, and I feel a lump forming in my throat. “I... thank you. But it’s not just me. Everyone here has worked so hard. Paige especially. She has a way with people that makes them feel like they’re worth a million bucks.” I’m not lying. I’ve experienced that feeling myself.

Mrs. Thompson nods, her eyes twinkling. “Of course they have. But it takes a special kind of person to inspire others to create so many beautiful floats. You should be proud of yourself.”

As she moves on to distribute more cookies, I’m left pondering her words. Have I really made that much of a difference? My gaze wanders across the room, taking in all the activity and suddenly it’s like my eyes are open and I can easily spot at least one thing on each float that was my idea or my work. I’ve probably painted or drawn something on at least a third of the floats. I helped make the cage that the bank paper machéd into a snowman, and there are other elements throughout the room that I engineered. I’ve touched on each float and made it better.

I did that.

I’m shocked at how much of myself is in this parade.

And it looks good. Not just good. This parade is a step up from past year.

I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

There’s a hand on my shoulder and Will leans over to tell me, “It’s been inside of you the whole time. Every bit.”

I shake my head in awe. “I didn’t know.”

“Now you do. What are you going to do about it?” He nods his head to the right and I turn to see what he’s looking at.

Paige is standing on a ladder, helping to hang a banner across the back of the city council’s float. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, a streak of glitter paint across one cheek, and she’s laughing at something someone below has said.

As if sensing my gaze, she turns and our eyes meet. Her smile softens, becoming something warm and private, just for me. In that moment, I feel a surge of love and desire so strong it nearly takes my breath away.

Will squeezes my shoulder again. “You can pick the life you want, Noah. It’s your choice. It’s always been your choice.”

His words echo in my head. My choice. My choice. My choice.

Paige climbs down from the ladder and makes her way over to me, navigating through the bustling crowd with ease.

“Hey you,” she says softly as she reaches me. “How’s it going over here?”

I gesture to the Winter Wonderland float behind me, now shimmering with iridescent snow and deep, shadowy blues. “See for yourself. What do you think?”

Paige’s eyes widen as she takes in the float. “Noah, it’s beautiful. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

My choice. My choice . “It was a team effort. Everyone here has been amazing.” What do I want? What have I always wanted? What is the desire of my heart?

The world stops turning as the answer hits me.

I want to share my drawings with the world. I want to bring joy to them through the art I create. It’s what I was created to do.

With that confession comes another layer of understanding—now that I know, now that I’ve recognized that the desire isn’t me being selfish or lazy or any of the other things that my parents called it—now that I know it comes from the Being who created me, I have to act on it.

Paige nudges me. “Noah, are you okay?”

I blink and the world refocuses. “I have to—um—,” I have to do something. I have to step forward. Suddenly, in my mind, I can see the picture of a little yellow house with a small sign out front that says: Art Studio. “I have to go. Can you check the floats off without me?”

Paige’s face falls, and she seems to tuck into herself.

I can’t have that. I can’t stand to see her look so lost. I grab her by the arms and pull her to me, claiming her lips. She’s a little slow to respond since I’ve taken her by surprise. When she does, she breaks into a grin and I pull back to look at her. I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Paige, I have to go talk to someone about selling my art. I don’t know how it’s going to work out, but I feel it in my heart that this is the right thing, and I’m not going to wait one second more.”

Paige nods, her eyes never leaving my face. “Then you have to go. I’ll take care of things here.”

“Are you sure? I’ll stay. If you tell me to stay, I’ll stay.” My soul feels like I’m pulling it in two different directions. I know I have to go, but I can’t leave Paige here if she needs me.

She laughs lightly. “Go!” She grabs my face. “And then come tell me what happens.” She kisses me and I’m pretty sure I could fly to the little yellow house I saw in my mind. I know right where it is because it’s on the way to the snowshoeing trail.

“I’ll find you,” I promise. I kiss her once more, and then I’m off—chasing a future I don’t know anything about, and following a thought that popped into my head. I might be crazy. This might be a fool’s errand.

Or, it might be the new me, who is more like the me God intended me to be.

There’s only one way to find out.