Page 56 of Joy to Noel
“I’m doing just fine,” I reply. Liam has stepped up behind me, so I gesture to him. “Pops, this is Liam Park. He’s been overseeing the pet food factory for the past few months.”
Liam holds out a hand, and Pops angles his neck to meet Liam’s eyes. “You’re the one who came in telling everyone where they were wrong?”
“Um, yes?” Liam answers, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
“And now things are working the way they should and won’t shut down?” Pops asks.
“Yes, sir. That’s the plan,” Liam says, hand still outstretched.
“Good thing for you,” Pops mutters. He vaguely nods and says, “You can come in.” Leaning heavily on his cane, he turns to lead us into the house.
Liam mimes shaking his hand up and down, and I snort a laugh. His eyes dance as they meet mine, and I mouth, “Told you so.”
I catch Clara watching us and give her an evil eye before I follow Pops into the house. “You got any sweet tea, Pops?” I ask.
“Sure do,” Pops says. “Might not be as cold since the fridge has been off, but I’ll get y’all a glass.”
Liam gives me a concerned look, aggressively shaking his head. It only makes me smile with even more evil glee. He has no idea what he’s in for.
I see the horror Liam tries to hide when Pops hands him a glass of brown liquid so thick it’s more syrup than tea. Pops eyes Liam distrustfully, waiting for him to take a drink. Liam’s eyes dart to mine—as though I would save him from this trial instead of thoroughly enjoying my spectator experience.
I give him my Grinchiest grin.
He takes a gulp, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he stifles a cough. “Mmm,” he says. “Thank you.”
Clara has graciously played along and not interfered with my little game, but I don’t miss the “I’m on to you” look she gives me.
We help Pops out to the front porch, where there are several wooden rocking chairs he crafted decades ago. Pops was a master carpenter in his day, and the whole town is full of his signature furniture creations. Now, he spends his time whittling small animals and knickknacks to sell at “Santa’s Workshop” during Christmas Fest.
Liam makes a big show of insisting that he clear away all of the tree branches littering Pops’ yard, but I think it’s just his way of getting out of drinking any more of the sweet tea syrup. Clara is the only person who can drink it without exerting great effort to swallow.
I find I have a much easier time stomaching the sugary drink when I’m able to watch the muscles in Liam’s arms and back as he hauls tree limbs into a pile.
Clara chatters away with Pops, and I throw in a comment here and there. I decide to do Liam a solid and pour out half of his sweet tea into a nearby bush when Pops isn’t looking. When Liam joins us on the porch, he takes one look at his glass and mouths, “Thank you.”
I get Pops sharing about his carpentry experience, and Liam listens with genuine interest (in between forcing down swallows of tea). After an hour has passed, Clara announces that we should get back to see if Emily needs more help.
“Would you want to come stay at our house tonight?” she asks Pops. “I don’t love the idea of you staying out here by yourself with no power.”
“Oh please, I’ve survived a lot worse than a couple days without power,” Pops says. “I’ll sleep much better in my own bed next to Bev’s picture.”
Clara’s eyes mist over like they do any time Pops mentions his late wife. Clara never met Bev, but even I have to admit I get emotional when I hear Pops talk about his beloved soul mate.
“Thanks for stopping by,” Pops tells us. He holds out a hand as he adds, “It was nice to meetcha, Liam.”
Liam’s smile is genuine as he shakes Pops’ hand. The genuine quality of the grin slips when he thanks Pops for the sweet tea, but who could blame him?
After dropping Clara back at Noland’s and purchasing some flashlights, we drive to our house. Hamlet greets us with chill enthusiasm, even allowing me to scratch his chin. We eat up anything still edible in the fridge for dinner, since everything will spoil with another day of no power. As the hour grows later and the sunlight sneaks away, I feel my anxiety rise slightly. Which is stupid. The nightlight on my clock is so faint, it hardly even counts as light. I should be capable of sleeping without it.
Catching Liam’s eye, I see him watching me thoughtfully. His voice is quiet when he asks, “Why don’t you like storms? Or the dark?”
My eyes narrow as I consider the question. He opened up and shared alotlast night, so I suppose it’s only right to return the favor. Still, I drop eye contact as I begin.
“When I was twelve, there was a big storm that came through. The tornado didn’t wind up hitting us, but it did destroy some of the outbuildings on the farm next to ours. When the sirens went off, my sister and I went down to the basement and got in the closet under the stairs, like we were supposed to,” I say. I can feel the darkness closing in around me as I recall the story.
“My parents joined us, but my brother, Chris, wasn’t there. Dad went out to look for him and took the flashlight with him, leaving us in the dark when the power went out. Turns out Chris wanted to go save the barn kittens and bring them to the house with us, which isnotwhat we were supposed to do. My dad found him but stayed in a small cellar in the barn with Chris rather than risk getting hit by any debris. We had to ride out the sounds of the storm in the pitch-dark basement, not knowing if Dad and Chris were okay. Mom cried the whole time,” I explain, swallowing a lump in my throat. “But they were fine. We were all fine. And now I’m twenty-nine and shouldn’t be afraid of storms or the dark anymore.”
When I glance up at Liam, there’s a look in his eyes I’ve never seen before. I don’t know how to characterize it, but I know it makes me feel both warm and shivery simultaneously.
