Page 48 of Saved By Noel
Now I stare at Pops quizzically. “What are you talking about?”
“I know it’s not upstanding to speak ill of the dead, but your granddad could be a real piece of work. And I say that as one of his closest friends in life,” Pops adds. I take a seat in the rockingchair next to him, anticipating the need to be sitting down for whatever he’s going to say next.
“Bev and your grandma were friends. Good friends. Your grandma would do her cross stitch while Bev would paint, and they’d shoot the breeze all afternoon. So I got to hear the intimate details of how your granddad’s stubbornness soured their marriage.
“Your grandma grew up loving Christmas, before she married your granddad. One year, when your dad was a boy, she planned a small Christmas party for the town. Nothing too over the top, just some Christmas caroling that would end with hot drinks in the town square and a tree lighting. Bev helped her map the whole thing out.”
I’m silent, but I can guess where this story is headed. All signs point to “that didn’t end well.”
“When your grandma shared her plan with your granddad, he blew up at her. Ranted about the upstanding Noel name, the respectability of the town, his disappointment that she would dare plan a ‘circus event’ behind his back.” Pops pauses for a long minute, staring out at the horizon. “Your grandma never was quite the same after that. Lost her spirit, I guess you could say. Made Bev terrible sad.”
I soak in Pops’ revelation. I’d never been especially close with my grandma because she came across rather stoic. It pains me to know that there had once been a more lighthearted version of her I never experienced. Chase leaves his post by Pops to come rest his chin on my knee. I absentmindedly scratch behind his ears.
“You’re regurgitating all the same lines your grandad and daddy ever said about this town and the Noel family name. But far as I can tell, you never much wanted to be like either of them,” Pops concludes with a side eye toward me. He lets me sit with his observation for a minute before adding, “Clara remindsme a little of the old version of your grandma. Creative, kind, soft around the edges but a little spit-fiery underneath. Don’t let these notions your ancestors put in your head ruin your chance at a relationship with such a woman.”
“Pops, this is not about a relationship with Clara. That’s not something I’m in the market for. This is about our town,” I counter.
“Fine then, don’t let your Noel-men stubborn streak get in the way of you doing what’s truly best for the town. Maybe things have been the way they are for long enough, and it’s time to let in some ideas about the way things could be.”
Chapter thirty
Clara
HOTTIE McSCROOGE
Are you coming to Noel this weekend? I’d like to talk to you about something.
My eyes widen, and the gears stop turning in my brain as I stare at the text on my phone.
I really need to change his contact name.
Reading Clark’s text sets loose a net of moths in my stomach. I’d say butterflies, but he’s too confusing to associate with beautiful butterflies fluttering around in there. Definitely moths. Stirring up gray dust to float around my insides.
Clark hasn’t communicated with me since the night of our float trip. The night I was starting to think he felt the gravitational pull toward me as much as I did toward him. The night when he drew me in with his uncharacteristic vulnerability but then shoved me back away.
I’ve been dedicating time here and there to writing my script ever since that night. My main character, Jack, continues to sound more and more like a Clark clone, keeping him fresh inmy mind. But I haven’t gotten over the emotional whiplash of that day. Which means I haven’t gone back to Noel.
Once again, my thumb acts before my brain thinks, and I hit the call button.
Clark’s gruff voice greets me after two rings. “What’s with you refusing to text and having to call all the time? Are you secretly two decades older than the rest of our generation?”
“Just had to be sure I wasn’t seeing things. Because what I thought I saw was you requesting for me to come to Noel to talk about something,” I respond, trying to keep my voice breezy. I stand up and close the door to my office.
“Congratulations. You can read,” Clark deadpans. One corner of my mouth twitches.
“What do you want to talk about?” I ask.
“Not sure if you caught on to this, but you called me. I didn’t call you. I simply texted like a normal person and asked if you’d be in town this weekend so we could talk. Talkthen. Not talknow.”
I twirl the ring on my finger, considering my response.
“Fine. Yes, I can come to Noel this weekend,” I say after a short pause. “But first, I need to know which version of Clark I’ll be talking with.”
“What the heck does that mean?” he growls.
“I mean, am I talking to the Clark who talked to me by the riverside fire, the one who rescued me from bathroom jail and took meticulous care of my plant? Or the one who trashed the list of ideas I worked on all night and hates me every time I say the word Christmas?”
There’s a moment of silence, and my pulse pounds in my ears.I can’t believe I said that out loud.
