Don't Let Go(7)

“Back to um—something’s come up,” I said. “I need to go. You and Daddy have lunch on me.”
“Um, I need to go, actually,” Hayden said.
“Visit with your daughter,” I said slowly, pinning him with each word. I turned back to Becca, who was looking at me like I was traitorous. “Eat your lunch. Box mine up. Drop it by on your way back to school.”
“Wait, hang on,” Hayden said, narrowing his eyes at her. “How are you out of school?”
“Have a good chat,” I said, patting him on the back as I rose from my chair. I kissed Becca on the top of the head. “Loves,” I said into her hair.
“Loves,” she said, although I didn’t feel love. I felt her hate spewing out all over me.
Another parental fail moment I’d have to own up to, but it was better than melting down in my chair. Fortunately, I managed to pass the happy couple on my way to the door without tripping on anything.
“Jules.”
“Oh, shit,” I said under my breath, turning around. At least I thought it was under my breath. By the expression on his woman’s face, it might not have been. She was even more beautiful up close, I noticed, with no crinkles or zits and perfectly lined eyes. I forced myself to meet his eyes instead. “Yes?”
And that was a bad idea. He was two feet away. I could see the deep blue of his eyes, smell him. Feel the heat of his body. Okay, maybe not that, maybe that was just my anxiety and rage and anger and hormonal imbalance going ape-shit.
He opened his mouth to say something, but he looked nearly as floored as I felt. Why was he floored? He at least knew he was coming. He knew he’d see me eventually. I, on the other hand, was just fine with him on the other side of the world, and didn’t realize that gap had closed. Especially not now.
He swallowed back whatever thought was there, and I didn’t let myself analyze it. Not all these years later when I couldn’t even say I knew him anymore. I just nodded.
“Welcome home, Noah.”
I was so proud of myself for forming words.
He just blinked and let himself be pulled back into the chaos as his dad stepped between us and turned his back to me, slapping him on the back as Noah’s fiancée slipped a hand into the crook of his arm.
“Everyone!” Johnny Mack hollered out to the entire diner. His face was transformed from grouch to grin. “My son is here!” At the murmurs and curious looks from people who didn’t know why that was holler-worthy, he waved his hands impatiently. “From Italy! Noah’s home from the Navy. He’s finally home!”
At the smattering of claps and amused expressions and welcome home’s from the clientele, Noah smiled stiffly and visibly reddened. He still wasn’t one for the spotlight, I noticed, as he backed up a step and put a hand on the back of the brunette’s neck, eyeing the room. I felt the discomfort with him, backing slowly toward the door so my exit wouldn’t be analyzed by any town gossips. As much as I wanted to bolt, I couldn’t quit looking at him. It had been such a long time. Most of the people in there were too young to remember the juicy story or the boy who’d left Copper Falls to be a career Navy man. The few old-timers sitting around the lunch counter got up and shook his hand, as they remembered him and knew what he’d been—what he was. They’d kept up with Johnny Mack’s stories of Noah’s adventures over the years, when he joined Special Forces and when he made master chief.
“You here for a visit, Noah, or home for good?” Spinach teeth asked him.
Noah took his hand in both of his and smiled. “I’m home, Mr. Morrison. I’m getting too old to keep moving around. I’m home.”
I pushed the door open with my back and slipped out, welcoming the brisk breeze on my flushed skin.
“He’s—he’s home,” I whispered, echoing the words. I leaned against the scratchy door for a moment, letting the crispness of the air cool me down. I blew out a slow breath, and ignored an odd look from a passing couple. “It’s okay,” I said to them, smiling, squeezing my own fingers to stem the shaking. “It’s okay,” I repeated, softer, to myself. “Quit being a child.”
I pushed off the door when I heard group laughter inside and started the twenty whole feet to my own door. Ruthie was laughing in her singsongy way as I pulled the door open and the little bell jingled overhead. Mrs. Chatalain was on her way out, a little gold sales bag held against her pukey pink outfit.
“Have a good day,” I managed, holding the door open for her. “Enjoy your book.”
“What kind of sale you going to have for the Winter—” she began, nodding back toward the inside.
“No idea,” I said briskly. “What would you like?”
“Buy one, get one free would be nice,” she said, squinting up at me.
“Yeah, it probably won’t be that,” I answered.
“Figures,” she muttered, holding her bag against her as if it would block the wind. “Your mother would have done that for an hour or so,” she said. “With hot chocolate or something.”
“Good to know,” I managed, what my mother would have done or not done being the least of my concerns.
A couple was at the counter finishing up a large purchase of self-help books when I went in, and the guy was flirting shamelessly with Ruthie as the woman laughed a little uncomfortably. I smiled as they left, swiped a sprinkled cupcake from a platter Ruthie had brought out, and landed in a nearby chair, suddenly spent.
“Anyone in here?” I asked, resting my head against the back with my eyes closed.