Page 78 of First Love, Second Draft

“And my childhood is?”

“Absolutely. People will want to know what sort of childhood you had.”

Come to think of it, Gracie wanted to know what sort of childhood Noah had. He’d glossed over it when they started dating. Gracie had always been the one to prattle on and on about growing upwithout a mom and having a bossy older sister who tried staking a claim on the role of mom despite not having a single maternal instinct.

But what about Noah? Sure, Gracie knew he had three brothers, all older. They weren’t close, she knew that. When she and Noah married, Mikey came to the wedding. Benny sent a card. To this day, she’d never met Pete.

“What are your brothers doing these days?”

Noah set his mug down, then shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, looking out the window above her desk. “Why? Is this for chapter three?”

Gracie tossed her pencil onto her notebook. “This is for me. Do you still keep in touch with them?”

He lifted a shoulder. Sunlight highlighted the crow’s feet around the edges of his eyes. “Talk to Benny every now and again. He’s usually pretty good about calling when he’s strapped for some cash.” Noah’s mouth tipped up in a humorless smile. “Last I heard, Mikey was doing all right. Works for a logging company out in Oregon. Not sure where Pete’s at these days. I’m assuming he’s still alive.” He quirked a brow as if he were joking, but Gracie had a feeling he wasn’t.

“What about your dad? Did he—”

“He’s gone.”

“I know, but did he ever—”

“I don’t want him to be part of the story.” His tone left no room for argument. Noah squinted out the window, the lines fanning from the corners of his eyes etching deeper. With a quick sniff, he ducked his head and shoved off the wall. “I’m going to grab another cup of coffee. You want one?”

“You haven’t even finished your first cup.”

“I need some fresh air.”

“Noah—”

“I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Noah—”

He spun at the door. “I’m not putting my family in the book.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say.” Gracie rose to her feet, a slight twinge in her hip, but nothing like before. A twinge she could live with. “I was going to tell you to wait for me.”

Her dad and Betty weren’t the only ones gathering dust inside of four walls. Other than sitting out on the porch a couple of times, Gracie hadn’t left the house since coming home from the hospital. “I’m sure I could do with a little fresh air too.”

“Should you be walking around out there? The ground isn’t even. What if you tripped and fell? You barely just got back on your feet.”

“I’m not an eighty-year-old woman. Besides,” she used the desk to guide her away from the chair. “If I fall, my orthopedic surgeon is going to kill you, not me.”

“Me? This was your idea.”

“Not the way I’ll tell it. Now stop arguing and grab my sweater. I don’t want to catch my death.”

“You sure you’re not an eighty-year-old woman, using expressions likecatch my death?”

Gracie couldn’t hold back a little laugh as Noah slipped her long sweater around her shoulders. She had missed this. Missed him. If only their marriage was like a ’65 Chevy that just needed a little dust-off and bit of fine-tuning.

But too much time had passed for them. Too many wounds. Their marriage was full of broken parts that couldn’t be fixed or replaced. It had already died in the walls of their past.

Noah linked her arm through his and said, “I’ve got some things I need to tell you. Things I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

Why did Gracie have the feeling Noah was about to take a sledgehammer to one of those walls?

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