Cuddy began to smile and nod, his eyes shimmering with emotion.
“I feel like I’m going to float away, Noah. But it feels good this time,” Cuddy said, gripping the sides of his chair with both hands.
“I know what you mean,” Noah said, smiling through his own tears. This session had not gone at all as planned—not even close—and Noah took a few deep breaths and looked down at the clipboard in front of him. There would be time for treatment plans and coping strategies soon enough. For now, they both probably needed some time to let their emotions settle.
“What next?” Cuddy whispered, clearly feeling as unsure as Noah. “I want to get better so I can be a real dad.”
“I need you to talk to me. I need you to be patient with yourself. And I need you to tell me when something isn’t working. And I promise you I’ll do my best to help you get better.”
“Gonna roll my sadness down a hill, gonna roll my sadness down a hill,” Cuddy sang. “Miss Lopez taught me that.”
Noah laughed. He could almost hear Mercedes singing it, shaking her hips and tapping her toes like she did. She’d taught him a few things too.
Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones.
The thigh bone connected to the back bone,
The back bone connected to the neck bone,
The neck bone connected to the head bone,
Oh, hear the word of the Lord!
Funny. For the first time in his life, all the little pieces and all the small parts were coming together. Noah felt strangely whole. He stood, and Cuddy rose with him, his face hopeful.
“Just keep singing, Cuddy. That’s not a bad place to start. Miss Lopez has a knack for making life beautiful.”
* * *
“Is Lopez okay?” Moses greeted, not even saying hello.
“Lopez is okay,” Noah replied, a smile in his voice. “Thank you, Moses.”
He grunted, uncomfortable. But he didn’t sign off the way Noah expected him to.
“I don’t like worrying about people,” Moses said, his tone accusatory. “I’ve been worried for the last two weeks. Decided I better call.”
“Are you still seeing Cora?” Noah asked.
“No. Thank God. I was glad to see her go,” Moses said, unapologetic. His irreverence and disregard made Noah laugh. Noah’s laughter made Moses sputter.
“Holy shit, Doc. What I just said was mean as hell. And you’re laughing.”
“I’m laughing because you’re so transparent,” Noah shot back.
“Nah. I’m not transparent. But your wife is.” If that was Moses’s version of a “Yo Mama” joke, it could use some work.
“The fact that you can’t see her anymore is a relief, Moses. I’m hoping it means Mercedes isn’t about to get herself killed. Again.”
“Your wife was playing guardian angel,” Moses stated.
“Yeah. I guess so. We’ve always looked out for each other. Why quit now?”
“I can’t say I understand it. But I got the feeling Cora loved Lopez.”
“She did,” Noah murmured. “They loved each other.”
“You three are all tangled up like . . . like a ball of string, or some shit. I can’t say I understand it. But I felt it.”
“History is like that. Messy. Involved. And we have a lot of history.”
Moses was silent, but he remained on the line, like he wasn’t ready to let Noah go quite yet.
“I found my dad, Moses.” Noah blurted, surprising himself.
Moses said nothing for so long, Noah wondered if the connection was lost.
“How do you feel about that, Doc?” Moses asked hesitantly. For a moment they were both silent, their roles reversed, and then they started to laugh.
“How do I feel? Hmm . . . well, he’s a recovering drug addict who sees dead people.”
Silence again.
“You messin’ with me, Doc?” Moses asked softly, a shadow of hurt in his question.
“I would never mess with you, Moses. I tried that once. You made me bleed.”
Moses scoffed, but the hurt was gone. “A recovering drug addict who sees dead people,” Moses mused. “Hmm. Sounds like you found my dad. You sure we ain’t brothers?”
Noah laughed again. “He’s the wrong color. He’s a pasty white guy. Actually . . . he looks like me. I didn’t see it. Not at first. But I can see it now.”
“Isn’t that the way of things? Once we know, it all seems obvious.”
“Yeah. But even when we know . . . it isn’t always easy to accept,” Noah replied.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Moses grunted. “I still can’t accept what I know.” He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So you found your dad. What next, Doc?”
“I have to make Mercedes Lopez accept something she already knows.”
Twenty-One
1984
“I don’t have any valentines,” Noah worried, staring down at the list his fourth-grade teacher had passed out just before the bell rang. “Mrs. Hayes told us we had to give a valentine to everyone in the class. I don’t know what to do. Last year, I pretended I was sick and went to the nurse during the party because I didn’t have anything to pass out. Is your class making valentines?” he asked Mercedes.
“The whole fourth grade is celebrating Valentine’s Day, silly. The whole school is,” Mercedes laughed. “But don’t worry. I have some paper. All colors. We’ll make hearts. I know a good trick.”
They dropped their coats by the door of Mercedes’s apartment, and Mercedes dug her class list from her backpack and assembled the supplies they needed on the kitchen table.
“All right, Noah. Watch,” she demanded. Mercedes folded a piece of pink paper in half, and with a skill that belied her nine years, cut out half a heart. Unfolding it, she presented it to Noah with a satisfied smile. “See? Perfect.”
Noah nodded, impressed, and watched as she cut out several more.
“You cut the hearts, and I’ll write the names on them,” Noah suggested. “I write pretty good.”
“That’s a lot of hearts,” Mercedes warned. “Twenty-five for my class. Twenty-five for yours.”
“We can do it,” he said, confident and more than a little relieved. They worked quietly for several minutes, concentrating on their assignments, Noah carefully crossing out the names on the lists and making two different piles, one for each class. When they were done, they sat back and stared at what they had accomplished.
“They’re kind of plain,” Mercedes said, wrinkling her nose. “They need glitter or something. I wish we had some stickers.”
“We could write something nice on the other side, like . . . a Valentine’s message,” Noah suggested.
“So they look like those candy hearts!” Mercedes clapped. “We’ll write Kiss Me, Hug Me, Love Ya. Stuff like that.”
Noah grimaced and shook his head. “We could just say You’re Nice or You’re Cool. I don’t want to write Kiss Me on any of them.”
Mercedes snickered, and together they started writing short messages on the back of each heart.
“This one says my name,” Mercedes said, holding up a yellow heart from his stack. “I don’t need to give one to myself.”
Noah took it from her hand. “It’s from me, goofball.”
Mercedes stared at him, her brows lowered. Then she cut out one more heart from her scraps of paper. “Okay then. This one’s to you from me. A pink one. Your favorite color.”
“Pink’s not my favorite color.”
She giggled, and he realized she was teasing him. She wrote his name on one side and then turned it over.
“What else are you going to write on it?” he asked.
“It’s a surprise.”
Noah frowned and looked down at the yellow heart he’d made for Mercedes. Yellow wasn’t her favorite color either. He turned it over and thought about what he should write. There were so many things he could say. He could say I Love you. It was Valentine’s Day, after all. But that seemed weird, and Mer would laugh and think he wanted to be her boyfriend. He could write that she was funny and cute and nice. She was all of those things. He thought for a minute longer and then picked up a pencil and wrote THANK YOU in bold across the back. He stared down at the words. They seemed so simple, but he was grateful for his friend. Every day he was so grateful.
“Can I have that now?” Mer asked, trying to see what he had written.
“Maybe. Can I have that?” Noah indicated the pink heart with his name on it.
She pursed her lips, considering. Then she handed it to him. He pushed the yellow heart toward her, suddenly shy.
She’d written two words on the back. YOUR MINE. He knew she’d spelled you’re wrong, but he didn’t tell her. He traced the words with his eyes. She made him smile. You’re mine. Not Be Mine. You’re mine.
“You’re welcome,” Mercedes said, and Noah looked up in surprise.
“You wrote thank you. You’re welcome,” she said again. “But thank you for what?”
“For being my best friend,” he said, shrugging.
She grinned, revealing her two missing teeth. “And you’re never gettin’ rid of me. I’m yours.” She pointed at the pink paper heart in his hand. “And you’re mine.”
* * *
Mercedes found the mugs on her kitchen table with a note from Noah, apologizing for the one he’d smashed. Eight mugs, all powder blue, just like the one he’d broken. But that’s where the similarity ended. Each mug had a pink heart on the side with the words YOUR MINE written across it. You’re was misspelled.
“What the hell?” she mused. That was going to drive her nuts. She stared at the misspelled word, puzzled, and then a memory niggled, and she began to laugh.
She called Noah, and he picked up on the first ring.
“Hey, Mer.”
“Hey, Boozer. I came home and found some weird coffee mugs on my table. You misspelled you’re.”
“No . . . you misspelled you’re.”
“I can’t believe you remember that! Geez. You’re a freaking elephant.”
“I still have that valentine in my ammo box. I found it last week when I was cleaning Cora’s things out of the closet.”
Mercedes’s heart lurched painfully. “You should have called me. I would have helped,” she said quietly. “I was going to do it for you. But I didn’t think it was my place.”
“I should have done it a long time ago. I just . . . never got around to it. It was time.” He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “How’s work?”
She was at a new salon—she’d needed somewhere to take her clients—and the adjustment had been grueling. She’d managed to keep her Mondays open for Gia, but hadn’t carved out a place for Noah, and the time apart had created an uncomfortable expectancy. She knew she’d been quieter than usual. Subdued even, and in typical Noah fashion, he’d given her all the space and patience he thought she needed.