Finding Noel by Richard Paul Evans

yours.”
    Macy didn’t correct her. “Then we’ll see you Sunday.”
    â€œWait. You never left without a kiss for Nanna.”
    Macy smiled, “Sorry, I forgot.” She kissed the old woman’s cheek.
    â€œYou can kiss me too,” she said to me.
    I kissed her on the other cheek.
    â€œSee you Sunday—come hungry.”
    When we got back into the car, Macy started to cry and didn’t stop until we were halfway home.
    When we were back in Salt Lake, I asked Macy, “Want to get some lunch?”
    â€œNo. Not unless you do.”
    â€œI’m okay.”
    She looked back out the window.
    â€œAre you okay?”
    â€œWhat if I never find her?”
    â€œYou’ll find her. It will work out.”
    â€œHow can you be sure?”
    â€œIt’s like Bonnie said: fate plays a hand in these things. I mean, look how we found Bonnie. What were the odds of that?”
    â€œYou’re right.” A moment later she said, “One of our regulars at the Hut is a private eye. I wonder if he’d help look for my dad.”
    â€œI’m sure he would. I bet this kind of stuff is easy for him.”
    She smiled. “You know, I am kind of hungry.”
    We stopped at a McDonald’s for fish sandwiches. An hour later I dropped Macy off at home. “Do you want to come in?” she asked.
    â€œI need to get to work. I’m already late.”
    â€œI work tonight too.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks for coming with me.”
    â€œAnytime. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    â€œOkay, have fun at work.” She ran into the house, and I drove to work wishing that I didn’t have to leave her and wondering where our journey would take us next.



Sometimes you can’t go home again.
    MARK SMART’S DIARY

When I returned home from work, I found a note my landlord had pushed under my apartment door. It read in hurried scrawl, “Call your Aunt Marge collect, no matter the hour. ” A phone number with a Huntsville area code was written beneath. Aunt Marge was my mother’s only sister and one of the three women in the car accident with my mother. I was surprised to hear from her and was worried by the note’s urgent tone.
    I put the note in my pocket, walked outside and down the street to the corner 7-Eleven’s outside pay phone. The headset was cold against my face. I asked the operator to make the call. On the fourth ring, a sleepy voice answered. “Mark?”
    â€œI have a collect call from Mark Smart,” the operator said. “Will you accept the charges?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œGo ahead, sir.”
    â€œAunt Marge,” I said.
    â€œOh, Mark, I’m so glad you called.”
    â€œI’m sorry to call so late. I just got off work and got your message. Is something wrong?”
    â€œNothing new. I’ve just been so worried about you.”
    I was relieved to hear there was no bad news.
    â€œAre you back in school?”
    â€œNot yet. I’m saving for it. But it’s going to take a while.”
    â€œCan I help?”
    I knew she meant it, but I could never in good conscience accept money from her. She had been divorced eight years earlier, and with four children and minimal child support, her life had been a constant financial struggle. “Thanks, Aunt Marge, but I’ll get by.”
    â€œMark, I promised your mother that I would look after you. When are you coming home?”
    â€œI don’t really have any plans to come back.”
    â€œBut you’ll be home for Christmas?”
    I hesitated. “I don’t know.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œThere’s really no reason to come back.”
    â€œWhat about your dad?”
    This question was easier. “The last time I spoke to Stu, he told me not to come home.”
    She was quiet a moment. “I know. He told me. He regrets saying it.”
    In twenty-one