You, With a View(93)
Somehow, I wind up at Paul’s door instead.
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, then relax as he smiles. “Noelle, come in.”
For the third day in a row, I start crying, and his smile crumbles. He lets out a soft tut of concern, gathering me into a hug.
“I missed you,” I say by way of explanation, resting my chin against his cardigan-covered shoulder.
That’s only part of it. I miss Theo. I miss being in our bubble, listening to Paul’s voice telling stories. I miss the magic of that life, even as I recognize I’m building something special in this one, too.
He pets my hair, leaning a soft cheek against my temple. “I missed you, too, sweetheart. Please come in, all right? Let’s sit.”
He leads me to the living room, and I try not to look anywhere that’ll remind me of Theo. Not at the gallery wall with all the pictures of him, younger with a smile more easily handed over; not at the back deck where I walked out on him playing gardener, displaying that beautiful back my fingers have since traced every curve and dip of. It’s even hard to look at Paul right now—it’s Theo’s face in sixty years.
“I’m sorry I just showed up. I should’ve called or something.”
Or at least made sure Theo wasn’t here, though part of me desperately wants him to be. Other than a baseball game playing quietly on the TV, the house is still.
Paul sits at the end of the couch, angling to better face me as I plop down.
“It’s absolutely fine. I do have my poker buddies coming over later, but we have time.”
I nod and run my hands over my thighs. “I don’t know if you’ve talked to Theo . . .”
“Yes, of course,” he says, his expression turning somber.
“I didn’t come here to pump you for information, or even talk about him.” I swear disappointment flashes in Paul’s eyes as he nods. “I . . . actually, I was hoping I could read the last letter you mentioned.”
His face brightens. “Ah, I was waiting for this.”
He reaches under his coffee table, where a stack of photography books lie. He pulls the top one out and opens it to a page that has a gorgeous landscape photo of Zion. Angels Landing to be exact, where I was so high up I felt like I could reach Gram. A shiver runs down my spine; on top of that lies a letter, though it doesn’t look nearly as timeworn as the others.
Paul nods his head toward it, and I take it, unfolding the three pages carefully.
“I’m not sure if you remember me telling you Kathleen sent Vera and me a wedding gift and a note?”
It takes me a second to pluck the memory out of my mind. “You mentioned it the first day of our trip.”
“Yes, exactly. Now, some of this won’t be relevant because it’s her gossiping about our old college friends. But I would love it if you’d read the part where she talks about you.”
My breath catches in my chest. “She talks about me?”
“All her grandkids,” he confirms, his eyes twinkling. “That part lasts for an entire page. There’s a paragraph devoted just to you.”
I make a mental note to take a picture of Thomas’s paragraph and text it to him. But first, with Paul’s hand on my shoulder, I read mine:
Then there’s Noelle. Now, I’m going to tell you a secret: I know we’re not supposed to have favorites, and it’s easy for you since you have one grandchild. But if I did have a favorite, it would be my sweet girl. I look at her and my heart feels like it’ll burst. She’s my shadow, always following me from room to room. If I’m sitting down, she’s in my lap. People say we’re alike, but she’s so much braver than me. She’s so curious. Gets in everything! And when she really wants something, she never, ever gives up. I feel this with all my grandchildren, and I don’t want to wish away the years—every minute is wonderful—but I can’t wait to see what she does when she grows up. I know whatever it is, it’ll be spectacular.
The words are blurred by the time I finish, and I bend over the letter, holding it to my chest. Over my heart. I’m being stitched together, but damn, it hurts.
Paul sweeps his hand over my back while I cry, not just for the loss of Gram, but for the love she gave me in the first place. For the belief she always had in me, even when I didn’t have any in myself, and for the realization that I’m finding it again. To see it in her own words, like it’s a secret being whispered directly to me from her, is as perfect as it is painful. It’s exactly what I needed, and somehow she knew that.
If there’s anything I can learn from Paul and Gram’s story, it’s that I can fall and get back up, I can let go and it still won’t be too late to hold on to something else, as long as I keep trying. That eventually the peace will come exactly when it’s meant to.
I hate that Gram is gone; I’ll never get over it. But I don’t have to dig up any more secrets to keep her near, because she’s everywhere. She guides me when I guide myself.
Paul’s voice cuts gently into my thoughts. “I wrote her a letter, too, as a thank-you for the gift, but also so I could gush about my own favorite grandchild.”
I wipe at my face, letting my hair curtain between us so I can pull myself together. Though I said I didn’t want to talk about Theo, the truth is I’m hungry for any crumb.