The Apartment on Larkspur Lane (Autumn Lake #2)

4. Noel

4

Noel

I n the early years after he’d left Bald Knob, Aunt Gigi hadn’t been privy to his whereabouts, just in case his father got any notion in his head to wrangle it out of her. But Noel regularly sent her cash and short letters tucked into envelopes with no return addresses, even though he knew no dollar amount would be enough to repay her for what she’d done for him. On the rare occasions he called her, she thanked him profusely for what he sent and never asked for a penny more.

Until, during one of those calls, she’d told him about slipping on the icy sidewalk in front of her house, that she’d broken an ankle in the fall. “But not my hip or either of my arms, thank the good Lord above. I was able to scoot on my tush all the way up to my stoop where I could sit on the first step with a little dignity, I’ll have you know. Then I just waited for someone to pass by, hoping they’d realize a little old lady settin’ on her porch step in the middle of a January morning weren’t no normal sight.” She had chuckled at Noel’s shocked exclamations and continued. “I was laid up in my easy chair long enough to knit up a whole mess of baby blankets. Pastor Schafer boxed them up and sent them off to an orphanage in Haiti. Can you believe it, Noel? My little ol’ blankies got to travel the world. They’ve seen places this ol’ girl can’t even imagine in my wildest dreams.”

After that conversation, Noel added another line to his cell phone plan and sent her a smart phone. “Go down to the high school and ask one of the kids to show you how to use it,” he’d instructed. “Then keep that phone with you at all times. I won’t have you sitting out on your porch step in the cold like that again. You could have gotten pneumonia.”

She’d made a dismissive noise over the line. “Don’t you know you can’t catch a cold from bein’ cold?”

Sending her that phone was a decision he’d come to regret at times, but one that had given him a certain peace of mind, knowing that she could reach him at a moment’s notice.

Then three years ago, his father had suffered a massive stroke down in the mine, and Aunt Gigi had called Noel as soon as she’d gotten the news. Bruno had survived, but his paralysis was extensive, and from what the doctors could tell, he would no longer be capable of caring for himself.

In spite of his vow never to return to Bald Knob, Noel had made the trek back to the hollow, even though he knew his father wouldn’t want or accept his help.

“You can keep your handouts,” Bruno had railed in long, slurred syllables, saliva dribbling from the slack side of his mouth. In fact, when Bruno had made it clear that if he never laid eyes on his son again, he’d die a happy man, Noel had agreed wholeheartedly.

But for Aunt Gigi’s sake, he saw to it that his father’s transition from the hospital to the long-term nursing facility—the same one his uncle had been in—went as smoothly as possible, paying for everything Bruno’s insurance didn’t.

After his father’s collapse, Noel traveled to Bald Knob when he could, even if only for a few days at a time. It wasn’t to see his father, of course, but to make sure that his aunt continued to have everything she needed. It was his way of taking care of her because she was taking care of Bruno. In December, he’d spent the three-day Christmas weekend with his aunt, then had returned to Autumn Lake to put in some quiet, stress-free hours in the office before John returned from his long holiday vacation.

Noel had gone back to Bald Knob mid-January for two days to celebrate his aunt’s birthday with her, and now here it was, not much more than a month later, and he was already heading back again. His aunt had asked him to come, something she never did, and although she insisted everything was fine, her request concerned him enough to make it happen. He’d put in several fifty- and sixty-hour weeks since the holidays; he figured he could take a couple of days away to set his mind at ease.

As he pulled into his aunt’s driveway, he was pleased to see how nice her little yellow house looked these days. The lawn, although brown from the winter cold, looked well-tended. There were burlap bags tied around carefully trimmed rosebushes in the flowerbeds on either side of her newly painted front door, and the honeysuckle vine that rambled over the white picket fence still boasted a smattering of tenacious bedraggled leaves that had clung to the vines through the bitter cold of winter in the Appalachians.

By the time his feet hit the gravel drive, Aunt Gigi was standing out on her little stoop, waving both arms at him, her gravelly voice ringing out in welcome. “Noel Stewart! You made it! How was the drive? Are you hungry? How does breakfast for dinner sound?”

The barrage of questions was perfunctory, he knew, and he didn’t bother answering any of them. “I like the green,” Noel commented when she finally stopped to take a breath. He tapped the front door as he held it open for her. “When did you do that?”

“Oh, I had young Jeffrey Hahn paint it for me a few months ago. He was trying to earn some money to help pay for his mama’s surgery—did I tell you about Emma’s accident last year? She had a little fender bender coming out of the Piggly and busted up her nose something fierce. It didn’t heal right, and she’s had trouble breathing and gets these headaches that just knock her down for days at a time. There’s a surgery she can have, but her insurance only covers part of it, so there’s a chunk of change coming out of her pocket for it. Jeff—senior, I mean. You remember him, right? Didn’t you two go to school together?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Anyway, he is taking on any extra hours he can, but the boys are doing their share, too. I think they just want their mama back to normal. You know how it is when a mama isn’t well.”

She rambled on about the Hahn family’s trying situation a little longer, then something she said reminded her of another family in her church who was going through some trouble of their own. “Shorty Cooper hasn’t been able to go back to work yet, and times are hard for folks already, so I’ve been taking a meal or two over there a couple times a week, just to be sure they’re getting some solid food in their bellies.”

Noel sank into one of the chairs at the small table in the kitchen and listened to his aunt discuss her friends and neighbors without hardly taking a breath. Something was eating at her, he could tell, and he had no doubt it had to do with his father. He wouldn’t press her; they’d get around to it eventually, he knew. For now, Aunt Gigi seemed content to talk about everything but Bruno.

She peeled off thick strips of bacon and laid them out in her iron skillet while she talked. In moments, the mouthwatering aroma of frying salted pork filled the room, and he was suddenly ravenous. “What can I do to help?” he asked, knowing already what her answer would be.

“Not a darn thing. You just sit there and look handsome,” she said, jabbing a large metal spatula in his direction. “Would you like pancakes or waffles with your eggs and bacon?” It was a given that there’d be biscuits. Breakfast wasn’t breakfast without biscuits, according to his aunt.

There was nothing healthy about Aunt Gigi’s cooking. The pancakes were made from a mix, the biscuits from a generic brand pop-open can, the eggs were always fried to perfection in the hot bacon grease, and the white gravy would be riddled with sausage or bacon bits from the pan scrapings. But if home could be a taste rather than a place, it would be Aunt Gigi’s breakfast for dinner.

If only he could package that taste up and carry it with him wherever he went. “Pancakes sound good to me. Can I set the table, then?”

“Nothin’ like bacon dipped in maple syrup, right?” She thrust her chin toward the stack of plates on the counter beside her. “No need. I’ll just load everything up on plates here and keep them warm in the oven. But if you insist on helping, the coffee is fresh. I’ll let you pour your own cup. And crank open that window a little, will you? Don’t want to set off that smoke alarm you insisted I have. I swannee, that thing is nothing but a nuisance, Noel.”

The little kitchen had been painted recently too, Noel realized, and everything had a fresh, clean air about it, in spite of his aunt’s penchant for fried foods and cigarettes. The window cranked open stiffly, and he made a mental note to squirt a little WD-40 on the mechanism while he was there. The chill air that drifted in felt good on his face, and he breathed in deeply, the comfortable sounds in the cozy kitchen soothing his spirit.

Noel poured his coffee and topped off his aunt’s cup, too, then took a careful sip of the dark brew. It was much stronger than he liked it and tasted a little scalded, but he’d expected no less. His aunt’s coffee pot stayed on all day long, and a fresh pot just meant that it wasn’t the first one of the day.

Aunt Gigi set two heaping plates in front of him, one with fried eggs, several strips of bacon, and a couple of biscuits smothered in thick gravy, the other with a stack of pancakes. She scooted the croft of butter his way, then handed him the glass jug of real maple syrup she’d heated up in a pan of water on the stove. His aunt was a purist when it came to her syrup.

After setting her own piled-high dishes on the table, she dropped into the chair opposite him, then offered up a short prayer of thanks. For a few minutes, they ate in companionable silence, enjoying the first several bites of the homespun fare.

“How’s Bruno?” Noel finally asked, forcing his shoulders not to tense up in anticipation of her response. He’d stopped calling him ‘Dad’ the day he left the hollow.

“He’s fine, Noel. Just fine. Onery as a stub-tailed, toothless beaver, and just as helpless, too.” She took a sip of her coffee. “There’s a nurse at the home he’s taken a shine to. Name’s Debbie. Not in the romantic sense, mind you.”

“In other words, he’s not mean to her,” Noel translated, his tone dry. "Give him time."

“No, no. It’s more than that.” Gigi shook her head slowly. “I think he’s got a friend in her. She’s not his type at all. She’s bossy and pushy and won’t let him tell her how it’s going to be.”

The opposite of his mother, Noel thought.

“From what I can see, she’s been able to get him to do far more for himself than anyone else has in some time. She’s new to the area, so I doubt you know her. Debbie Sholes is her name. Her husband teaches at the high school.” She rose and went to the oven to pull out the warmed plate of extra pancakes and offered it to him.

Noel took two more, even though he was already full. She’d be offended if he didn’t.

“Anyway, whenever I get over there to visit him these days, he’s usually out of his bed, dressed, shaved, and hair combed and everything. I think he needed someone to believe in him. Someone who wasn’t quite ready to give up on him.”

Noel didn’t meet her eyes. Was that just an observation or a leading statement? Was she accusing him of doing just that? Giving up on his father?

“Don’t look so guilty, Noel,” his aunt said with a rough chuckle. “I didn’t mean that to come out like a reprimand. Most any other son would have shaken the dust off his boots and never looked back. You’ve done far more for that bitter old man than he deserves from you.”

He still didn’t look at her. He may have done everything he could in providing for his father, but he had, in fact, given up on him. Every time Noel showed his face at the nursing home, Bruno would snap and snarl and tell him he wasn’t wanted there, so he’d stopped going, stopped subjecting either of them to each other’s presence. And with that decision had come a great sense of relief. If he never saw Bruno’s scowling face again, Noel had almost convinced himself that he would be just fine with that.

There was always a piece of his heart, though, that longed for the clasp of his father’s hand on his shoulder, a pat on the back, the smile of a man who was proud to claim Noel as his son.

“I wasn’t going to say anything until tomorrow morning, but I suppose there’s no reason to wait.” Aunt Gigi absentmindedly swirled her spoon in figure eights in her cup.

“What is it?” Noel prodded when she still hesitated.

She sat back in her chair and looked him in the eye. “He’s asking to see you.”