As much as you enjoy the rush of accomplishment, equally welcome the sting of frustration. Accept it as part of the process—that brush effect you can’t get “just right” or the failure to mix the colours the way your mind’s eye sees them. Without the frustration, we can’t fully enjoy the beauty of success.
Noelle hadn’t expected him so early in the afternoon. She assumed Adam would visit the cottage after his meeting, not before. But there was his text: Five minutes away! She had exactly enough time to clear the remains of this morning’s breakfast and dab on some lip gloss, fluff up her hair.
By the time she’d finished primping upstairs and retrieved the journal from her nightstand, a knock tapped at the front door. Mr. Darcy meowed, and Noelle clutched the journal as she took the first step down. She made herself breathe before she opened the door.
“Hey,” she said. She gave him a bright smile, still amazed at how handsome a man he had grown into. The strong jaw, the confident posture, the broad shoulders…
“Hey, yourself.” He walked past her as she let him through. “So, this is ‘the cottage.’ Charming.”
“Thanks. I love it. Already feels like home.”
“Who’s this?” Adam looked down at the cat circling his ankles to sniff them.
“Mr. Darcy.” He purred and rubbed against Adam’s shins. “And apparently, your new best friend.”
Adam set down his leather case and scratched Mr. Darcy’s ears. “You’re a cute little chap, aren’t you?”
“When’s your meeting?” she asked.
“I’ve got about twenty minutes.”
“How’s everything going? With the project?”
“So far, so good. It can move like a snail sometimes, a renovation like this. And we’re just in the prep phase. I’ll probably have some key meetings with the vicar and the counsel this month here at the village, then things might slow down for a bit. But I’ll still be busy—researching, contacting people and getting them on board, then drawing up the plans. I’ll be mostly in London for that.”
“Sounds exhausting. When would the renovations actually begin?”
“We’re eyeing February, depending on the weather. And the entire project will take several months to finish up, maybe even a year. Hey, is that it? The journal?” He spotted it in Noelle’s hand.
“This is it. You wanna go in here for a bit?” She tilted her head toward the living room, and they walked inside together, Mr. Darcy following along.
“I like what you’ve done with this.”
“It’s all Aunt Joy. I was amazed, how tidy and well-kept everything was.”
“Yeah, you always think that people who are recluses would live like hoarders or something. Just stacks of newspapers in every corner. But I guess your aunt was productive. I mean, the paintings prove that. She didn’t stop living. Just stopped… seeing people.”
“Exactly.”
They sat together on the sofa, and Noelle handed him the journal. She wasn’t sure yet whom else she might tell about it. She hadn’t told Frank, Mac, or Mr. Lester and didn’t know if she ever would. Unlike the paintings, the journal felt so intimate. A peek into Aunt Joy’s soul that colors on a canvas didn’t reveal.
Adam delicately turned the pages, touched the paper clips, and paused to glance at the photos. “Amazing.”
“It’s such a treasure. But it also feels like I’m invading her privacy somehow, reading it.”
“I think she wanted you to have it, though. I mean, she gave you the cottage. Surely she knew you’d stumble on this someday, and the paintings, too. I think she trusted you.”
Noelle remembered the end of Joy’s letter. Adam was right. Tired of hiding. Permission to share… every detail, every treasure. It felt appropriate, sharing it with Adam. But for now, only Adam.
“Where was the secret compartment?” he asked.
She told him about the vacuum mishap that led her to the journal. “I’ve only read the first entry. I thought I’d take my time with them,” she explained. “The first entry talks about the rift with her sister, my grandmother. It seems to be what triggered her becoming a recluse. But she doesn’t give any real details. It’s still a mystery, what happened between them.”
“Have you told your mum about this? Maybe she could shed some light on what happened that night?”
Noelle always hated this part. Not for herself but for the other person. Breaking the news about her mom always made the other party feel awkward. “She actually passed away. About ten years ago. In a car accident. I didn’t have a chance to tell you yet.”
“Oh. Blimey. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. And I don’t think Mom ever knew anything about a secret or trouble brewing between Joy and Gram. The rift didn’t seem to happen until the art show, which was a couple of months after my mom’s death.”
Adam nodded. “You said the first entry gives at least a little detail, though?”
“Read it for yourself.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Plus, I’d like another person’s perspective. And Aunt Joy wouldn’t mind.”
“How do you know?”
“You were like family to us back then, all those summers. She adored you.”
He winced. “I always felt a little afraid of her. She was a tough broad.”
“She could be. But she had a heart of gold.”
Adam sorted through the first batch of Polaroids then flipped to the first page and read slowly, his expression solemn. “It’s so… raw. I’m glad you trusted me with this.” He handed back the journal.
She had been right to share it. And more than that, whatever awkwardness still lingered between them as adults, her friendship with Adam had stayed firmly intact. The foundation of respect remained at the core. She could trust him.
Is it possible? Keeping him in my life this way, as just a friend? Unthinkable a couple of weeks ago, at Jill’s. But lately, with him popping up unexpectedly, she’d let down her guard a little, welcomed that easy chemistry they shared as teenagers. In the end, she’d rather have him in her life, in any capacity, than not at all.
“Do you have time for a cup of tea?” Noelle asked.
“A quick one, sure.”
She had brewed a fresh pot of Earl Grey just before Adam’s arrival, so the tea was ready in a snap. She handed his to him then blew on the surface of her cup. She didn’t know where it came from, but before she could stop herself, she asked, “So, what does Laurel think of all this?”
“All this?”
“You know, the new project. The school…”
“Oh, she’s fine with everything. I mean, she doesn’t know much about the project, the details. I think it bores her. She only knows that it’s taking up a lot more of my spare time.”
“Yeah, I guess that would be tough on a relationship.” She’d just circled the elephant in the room but didn’t really care.
“It can be,” he agreed. “I suppose we’re rather used to that, living separate lives. Our work has always kept us busy, apart. Just more so these days. She does a lot of traveling with her job. And now I guess I do, as well.”
His businesslike tone about his fiancée made Noelle even more curious. She pressed a little further. “Tell me about her. I mean, what brought the two of you together? You said she was your client’s daughter?” Perhaps subconsciously her ability, or inability, to hear about his fiancée without becoming anxious would test her previous theory, that she was capable of being “just friends” with Adam.
“Yeah, he brought her to the office one day on their way to lunch, and we hit it off, I guess. She asked me questions about architecture, said she’d studied it in college, so we had that in common back then.”
“Back then?”
“You know how it is when you’ve been with someone for a while. Time goes by, and those early things in common sort of get pushed back. You forget them sometimes. You know, that stupid cliché about people growing and changing. It has to happen, I guess.”
“Mmm.” Her discomfort rose, and she almost wished she hadn’t brought up Laurel at all. Besides, other people’s relationships always seemed oddly sacred, like a pool into which an outsider shouldn’t be wading too deeply. Just as Adam had handed back Joy’s journal, not wanting to pry too far, perhaps Noelle should hand the subject of Laurel back to him.
But before she could attempt to change the subject, Adam’s phone rang. “Sure… Uh-huh… Yep, brought those with me… Will do.” He clicked off and said, “It’s the vicar, Michael. Needs to speak with me before the meeting starts. Guess I should get going.” He rose from the couch and nearly stepped on Mr. Darcy, who’d made a pillow of Adam’s shoe. “Thanks for the tea. And for sharing the journal.”
Noelle set down her cup and followed him to the door. “Have a good meeting.”
“Will do.” He paused as if he forgot something then offered a quick peck on Noelle’s cheek. As his cheek scratched lightly at her skin, she reminded herself, This is the British way, a typical courtesy. Their version of shaking hands. Nothing personal. Just friends.
And then he was gone.
Noelle pushed the bell again, wondering if she’d gotten the time wrong. She stood on Jill’s doorstep, Joe’s scrumptious carrot cake in hand, and waited. She and Jill hadn’t seen each other since their big dinner party with Adam nearly three weeks ago, but they’d kept in steady touch with texts and calls. Jill knew all about the secret paintings, the symbol, the big Dan call, and moving permanently to Chilton Crosse, but not about the journal.
Jill had invited her here again for dinner, this time just the girls, with Gareth on call this evening. Noelle had recently purchased that used car from Mr. Elton, to his great delight. She didn’t need anything fancy or expensive, especially since her driving skills on the wrong side of the road remained shaky. It would take months before she could gain the sort of confidence she needed in order to buy a new car.
After a third doorbell ring, Noelle fished out her cell phone. Maybe Jill would answer a text. As she fumbled to tap out the first word with the cake gently balanced in her other hand, the door flew open. Jill clutched a tissue, and her eyes were pink and puffy.
“What’s the matter?” Noelle walked in past Jill, who closed the door, shutting out the cold air behind them. “Is it Gareth?”
Jill shook her head then blew her nose.
Noelle set down the cake and put her hand on Jill’s arm. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”
“I’m… I’m pregnant. I just took the test. Three times. It’s pink.”
Relieved, Noelle had to suppress a grin as well as the urge to issue a hearty, “Congratulations.” Clearly, this was not the time. “Come here,” she said and leaned in for a tight hug.
When they backed away, Jill pointed to the living room, and they moved to the couch together. “I know this is supposed to be like a sappy commercial.” Jill folded her tissue with a huge sigh. “I’m supposed to be jumping up and down, thrilled, and you’re supposed to be the girlfriend who’s congratulating me.”
“But this was a surprise…”
“A damned inconvenient one! My boutiques are doing well, and I’m incredibly busy with my new line. A maternity line. Ha! The irony.”
“Jill.” Noelle tried to lighten her tone, prayed for the right words. “I know you can’t see it now, but there is good in this. I mean, you and Gareth are a strong, happy couple.”
“True. But right now, I guess I’m in shock or something. This was not in the plan. I only missed that one pill, and now I’m going to be fat for the first time in my life.”
“You won’t be fat. You’ll be ‘with child.’”
“And my boobs will droop and get all misshapen!”
Noelle worked hard to hide a laugh.
But Jill looked down, her lip quivering. “I’m really afraid, Noelle. I’m too selfish to raise a child. I won’t make a good mother.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.” Noelle held her friend’s hand, wishing she could do more. “I know you, Jill. You are a loving, giving person. You will be an excellent mother. You are good at everything you do. This will be one of them.”
Jill squeezed her hand without looking up.
“Does Gareth know?”
“Not yet.” Jill’s eyes brimmed over again. “That’s the thing. I don’t want my negative feelings to spill onto him. Because I think he’ll be ecstatic. And I don’t want to ruin this big moment for him.”
“You want my opinion?”
Jill reached for a fresh tissue on the table and nodded.
“You’re the one who said it best. You’re in shock. But you’ll have, what, about seven or so months to get used to the idea? It’s not like the baby will be here tomorrow. Maybe, over time, the idea will grow on you?”
“Maybe.” Jill shrugged.
“Gareth loves you. I’ve only met him once, but it’s written all over his face. And you told me before, he would make a wonderful father.”
“True. But I feel like… this awful person. I mean, what woman isn’t happy with the news she’s having a baby? Especially if she’s in a good relationship? Aren’t I ‘supposed’ to be happy? What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing! I just happen to think certain things are meant to be. And this feels like one of those things. You just don’t know it yet.”
For the first time since Noelle had arrived, Jill smiled. Just the shadow of one, but it gave some hope. Jill was going to be okay.
To dispel the gloom, Jill popped up, wiped the last of her tears, and suggested they eat. Not that she felt much like it—she’d been ill with morning sickness all day. Noelle followed her to the kitchen, where Gareth had kept their meal to warm. As Jill prepared the food, she also changed the subject. She asked Noelle all about the village, the cottage, and prodded about Adam and his new renovation job. “So how much have you seen of him?”
“Quite a lot, actually. In little spurts. He’s had to attend a couple of meetings to get things started.”
“Sounds like you’ll be seeing a lot more of him.”
“Probably.” Noelle tried to sound casual as she helped Jill uncover the vegetables. “So. Guess what I’m thinking of doing? Signing up for art classes, here in London. Just for fun, flexing those muscles again.”
Jill wasn’t the only one who could deftly change the subject when she didn’t want to talk about something.
Noelle didn’t realize it until she stared at the calendar and counted out the Thursdays. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving. Not that it meant anything in the UK. And anyway, her Thanksgiving back home would have been sharing an overpriced, catered turkey with Pam and Desha then mapping out the sales they’d hit the next day, all the while knowing everyone else in the country had loads of family around. Still, she couldn’t help picturing sweet potatoes with crusty marshmallows, thin slices of smoked turkey, mounds of dressing and mashed potatoes, maybe a Thanksgiving parade on TV, and feeling homesick. Restless.
The weeks since she’d discovered the paintings had rushed by in a flash, mostly because of her busy days at the gallery. Noelle helped Frank whenever she could, now that the gallery buzzed with hordes of tourists—more than ever, since news of Joy’s discovered paintings had hit the media. Sometimes, the line to get inside spilled out the door, and the phone never stopped ringing.
Tonight, Noelle wanted to escape the chaos and put her busy days on pause, if she could. She didn’t care if the light of dusk was dimming quickly. She craved a little countryside peace and quiet and knew precisely where to get it. Sitting on the new wrought-iron bench Mac had recently placed in the garden, looking out onto beautiful hills and fields.
Mr. Darcy stalked a beetle in the shrubs while Noelle buried her hands inside her warm jacket pockets and gazed across the patchwork countryside. The winding down of a day, the shadow of a dark sky blanketing everything with a hush. Her most favorite time of day, as it had been in California. Sometimes she still missed specific elements of her other life. The sea air kissing her senses, the seagulls hovering, the sandy beaches stretching out for eternity. She missed the sound of waves, the powerful rushing swoosh through cracked windows at night. But she never had this in San Diego, wide-open countryside, rolling hills, soft coos of a lonely dove. A quiet, a stillness here, that the ocean masked.
Soon, the chill became too much. Noelle headed back to the cottage feeling restored, guided by yellow squares through her windows, beacons to light the way. She fed Mr. Darcy and made some fresh hot tea, craving one of the blueberry scones she’d picked up at the bakery the day before. Giving it a few seconds’ nuke in the microwave, she sat down to check all her devices.
Jill had sent a reassuring text: Gareth putting crib together tonight. Premature, I think. But it makes him happy. Jill had told him the news of the baby the same night she’d told Noelle. He’d been as thrilled as expected, which seemed to comfort Jill, make things easier to handle.
Noelle checked her laptop and found two new emails from Adam. Though he hadn’t been to the village since visiting her cottage to get a peek at the journal, he’d been emailing her frequently. At first, they talked only about the school project or Joy’s journal or the paintings. But lately, they had broadened out to other topics, joking around or talking about pop culture, world events, reminding her of the letters they used to write as teenagers across the ocean during school semesters. Pen pals.
She clicked on his first message and smiled at the nickname. He’d bestowed it on her during a particularly dreary, rainy day during that final summer at Gram’s, when he had touched her blond hair and said, “See? We still have a little sunshine. Even in the gloom.” She thought he’d forgotten.
Hey Sunshine—
Next CC meeting scheduled in a couple of weeks. Maybe we could catch lunch or something?
Adam
Noelle opened a second email from him to find only P.S.—In My Place. Coldplay. Adam had created the game years ago as they endured the rainy days inside at Gram’s estate. They’d sat on the floor of the library, Noelle doodling on a sketchpad and Adam filling out a crossword. One of them offered up the title of a song, and the other one had to match at least one word in the title by using a new title. On and on, back and forth, with no end. Adam had started it up again two emails ago.
She hit “Reply” and typed, Lunch is fine. Just tell me when. P.S.—too easy—Another Place to Fall. KT Tunstall. Your turn. :-P