“It’s all real to me,” Cuddy said, his eyes apologetic.
“I know. And just because everyone can’t see it, doesn’t make it less real.”
Cuddy grinned, the corners of his mouth rising slowly until they peaked and the smile touched his eyes. “You’re a good doctor, aren’t you, Noah?”
* * *
Cuddy was a model patient. He fell into the routine at Montlake with a touching determination to exorcise old demons, though Noah tried not to think about demons or ghosts, or spirits of any kind. It wasn’t until two weeks after Cuddy’s admittance that Noah arrived at work to reports that Cuddy was agitated and emotional, and he’d been asking to see him.
Noah found him in his room staring out the window, his hands cupping his lean cheeks, his eyes troubled. He didn’t wait for Noah to pull up a chair before he began to pace.
“I need to tell you something, Dr. Andelin. Do you want me to call you Dr. Andelin? I would rather call you Noah.”
“You laughed when I told you my name the first time . . . remember?” Noah asked softly.
Cuddy got a distant look in his eyes, and he tipped his head as if to jostle his memory, to slide his thoughts back into his mind.
“I laughed?”
“You asked me when the flood was coming.”
“The flood?”
“I think you were referring to Noah and his ark. That flood.”
“Noah was a prophet . . . everyone laughed at him. No one believed the flood was coming,” Cuddy said, nodding his head slowly as if it was all coming back to him.
“Are you a prophet, Cuddy?”
“No,” Cuddy said, adamant. “God doesn’t tell me things. But I need to tell you something, Noah,” he insisted again.
“All right,” Noah said.
“You might laugh. It’s okay if you do. Or you might be sad. Very, very sad.” Cuddy brought a hand to his face again, anxious, scrubbing at his cheeks as though the motion comforted him. Noah did the same thing when he was agitated, and he waited patiently for Cuddy to speak again, confident he would, eventually.
“I wish I had my rocks,” Cuddy whispered.
“Do you want to hold my hand?” Noah asked. “Would that help?”
“I would like that . . . yes,” Cuddy murmured. “But I don’t think I should.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to tell you something. And it might make you very sad. And you might not want to be holding my hand when I tell you.”
“Have you seen something that scares you Cuddy?”
“No. I know something. And it doesn’t scare me. It makes me happy. But it might scare you.”
Noah controlled his expression, nodding with a neutral face. But he was surprised. “Why don’t you tell me, and we’ll talk about it.”
“I knew your mother.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I called her . . . Andy.”
“Are you sure it was . . . my mother?”
“Yes. I’m sure. I called her Andy . . . short for Andelin. She called me Cuddy—”
“Short for Cutler,” Noah said, putting it together.
“Yeah. We were just kids.”
Noah stiffened. “You knew my mother when she was . . . a kid?”
“I knew her when she didn’t have a home,” Cuddy whispered. “Neither of us did.”
The rigidity in Noah’s limbs spread to his chest, trapping his breath and seizing his heart.
“Why don’t you sit down, Cuddy. Then you can tell me about her,” Noah said. His words sounded strangled and odd, even to his own ears. Cuddy nodded eagerly and rushed to obey.
“I never knew her real name. Not all of it. Everyone had nicknames. Nobody uses their real names. It’s like that on the street. None of us know much about each other. Nobody wants to talk about where they came from or the fact that they have nowhere to go.”
Noah nodded, urging him on.
“I thought she liked me. I liked her. She was quiet. She didn’t yell or swear. But I . . . took too many drugs then. I thought it would make the ghosts go away,” Cuddy explained.
“Did it?”
Cuddy shook his head. “For a while it did . . . and then I started seeing a different kind of ghost. Not like Cora or . . . or the angels. The dead I started to see were . . . dark. Scary. They wanted me to let them in. They wanted my . . . home.”
“Your home? They wanted . . . your body?” Noah kept his tone warm, but his hands were cold.
Cuddy nodded. “They hadn’t ever had bodies. They weren’t the dead. They were ghosts who’d never lived. And they wanted to.”
Noah was silent, waiting, not wanting to rush the tale or take Cuddy down a path he wasn’t ready to go.
“I was afraid,” Cuddy whispered. “And Andy was afraid too. I was no good, Noah. No good. One day, she wasn’t beside me when I woke up. When I finally found her she told me to go. She told me she didn’t want to be found. She told me she couldn’t be around . . . me . . . with a baby in her belly.”
Noah made himself breathe. In and out. In and out. And he held Cuddy’s gaze.
“Andy said the baby wasn’t mine. But I knew it was. Andy wouldn’t let . . . anyone else touch her. She didn’t like to be touched.”
Noah could only nod, overcome. No. His mother hadn’t especially liked to be touched.
“I never saw her again. Not until you found me on the side of the road, and I saw her sitting there in your car. I thought for a minute I was seeing her ghost. I thought maybe she was dead. Thought maybe I was dead. Then . . . I realized she was . . . yours. And you were hers. You were . . . hers. Which meant . . . you were mine. I know that’s not . . . something you might want to hear. But . . . I . . . I think . . . I’m your dad, Noah.”
Noah was too stunned to speak. He clutched his clipboard, needing to hold on to something, anything, that gave him purpose and presence of mind. He suddenly understood what Cuddy had meant by floating away, and longed for rocks.
“I saw Andy . . . sitting in the car. She saw me too, Noah.”
Noah nodded. She had seen him. And she’d been afraid. Noah had assumed it was simply the fear of a stranger. The fear of the downtrodden. Of the unknown.
“She didn’t tell you . . . who I was?” Cuddy asked.
“No. She didn’t tell me,” Noah whispered.
“That’s good,” Cuddy murmured, his voice forgiving. “It would have been a hard thing for you to hear. You woulda tried to take care of me then like you’re doing now, and you were just a boy. You didn’t need that.”
Noah could only stare at Cuddy, drinking him in, absorbing his tale, seeing him for the first time.
“They put me back in prison for a while. I’m good at slipping away. Like a ghost.” He laughed softly. “I guess they’ve taught me a few things.”
“I have your eyes,” Noah said abruptly. “And your hands. The way you rub your face. I do that too.”
He felt ridiculous. Unnerved and dizzy. He wrote his name several times across the blank page on his clipboard, just to remind himself who he was, who he’d been ten minutes ago when he was fatherless and self-assured. In the back of his mind, a little voice argued that it might not be true. But that voice was denial, and denial often lied. Noah knew it was true. He had no doubt.
“I saw you at the Homeless Fair,” Cuddy continued. “After all those years. I recognized you. And I was so happy. Then I met sweet Cora. And Miss Lopez. And I got to see how you turned out, and what a good man you are. I was so proud.” His voice broke and he wiped his eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Noah whispered. “I would have believed you.”
“I didn’t want to . . . scare you away. I couldn’t risk it. Just seeing you . . . was enough for me.”
“Did Cora know . . . or Mercedes?” Had she kept that from him too?
“No,” Cuddy whispered. “I never told anyone. Not until now.”
“Why now?”
Cuddy swallowed and wrung his hands, and Noah resisted the need to explain himself or apologize.
“Because you deserve to know.”
Noah felt the sorrow rise. He’d said the same thing to Mercedes. But he knew better. Life wasn’t about getting what you deserved. It was about enduring what you didn’t and not letting it destroy you.
“Andy and I . . . we were so broken. But you! You are p-perfect and wh-whole,” Cuddy stammered, his voice almost reverent. “I don’t know how it happened. But . . . you are a miracle, Noah.”
Noah laid down his pencil and his pad and buried his face in his hands. For many long moments, he fought tears. He wanted to get up and leave the room, to take a minute to collect himself, but Cuddy had shown courage. Faith even. And Noah didn’t want to reject his offering, even if it meant fighting his emotions in full view of his patient. He was going to need to get Cuddy a new therapist.
“Was I wrong to tell you?” Cuddy whispered. “It didn’t feel wrong. Scary. But not wrong.”
Noah smiled through his tears. Cuddy’s need to self-examine was endearing. “No. You weren’t wrong to tell me,” he choked. “It’s just that . . . my mother said the same thing.”
“Are you sad?” Cuddy pressed.
“I’m shocked. But not sad,” Noah reassured, wiping at his eyes.
“My blood isn’t blue,” Cuddy confessed sadly. “My blood is tainted.”
“Someone told me once, Cuddy, that blood’s important, but to a kid, blood doesn’t matter at all. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“You know what I mean. I’m trash. I’m not smart. I’m messed up in the head. I’ve wasted my life. Been in jail. Never had my own place. Never done one good thing.”
“That’s not true. Because of you, Mercedes is alive. You watched out for her, and you saved her life, Cuddy. When you saved her life, you saved mine. I don’t think I can live without Mercedes. I don’t want to live without Mercedes.”
“But . . . I didn’t save Miss Cora.”
Noah shook his head, wondering how many people would bear that cross. “No. None of us did. But you cared about her.”
“I did.” Cuddy nodded emphatically.
“Sometimes that’s all we can do,” Noah said gently.
“I care about you and Miss Lopez. I care about little Gia too. And I cared about . . . Andy.”
“Not many people cared about my mother,” Noah whispered. “I’m glad you did. It makes me feel better knowing that you did.”
“I let her down. I was messed up for a long, long time. I’m still kinda messed up, Noah. I wish I was a better man. Someone you could be proud of.”
“I’ve never had a dad, Cuddy. I’ve always wanted one. I’ve always needed one. So much. And I still do.”