Page 25

“It’s my favorite place I’ve ever been,” Noelle said after a long pause, sitting back on her haunches and resting her arms on her thighs. “The place I love most and feel most at home.”

“Mine too,” Miriam said. This time, Noelle’s face showed stark disbelief. She understood—how could she say that, and mean it, after being gone for a decade?

She tried to explain. “Have you ever loved anything so much that it made you too raw? Loved it so much you needed to cocoon yourself from it, because the loving left you unable to breathe?”

Noelle shook her head as she looked up, shading her eyes against the sun. “I’m a big fan of experiencing my emotions, personally. I’m not always great at it, but it usually works out better when I try.” Miriam would have expected condescension, but Noelle seemed to be genuinely trying to answer her.

“Lucky you,” Miriam whispered. That impulse to make Noelle understand her drove her to continue. “I’ve kind of been in a self-imposed fugue state, like I pulled up the castle drawbridge, locked all the doors, and hunkered down. And it was hard to maintain, at first, before I was practiced at living in isolation. Anything could have breached my walls, and I couldn’t let them be breached.”

“And Cass would have breached them?” Noelle guessed.

“Cass, Hannah, Levi, the Matthewses. I had to keep them outside the perimeter, because if I let them close, my whole castle would crumble. I was too raw to feel that much.”

“And after your wounds scabbed over, when you weren’t so raw?”

“I guess I didn’t want anything to upset my delicate balance? I don’t know, I was on autopilot at that point, because that’s what a fugue state isfor. I didn’t have to make decisions or examine myself. I could just put one foot in front of the other and survive.”

She went back to painting the Christmas tree, and they fell into silence. She shouldn’t have tried to explain. She never talked to anyone about this stuff, not even Cole or Hannah or Blue.

She kept trying to get Noelle to understand her, to see that her assessment of Miriam was unfair, but she couldn’t tell if she was succeeding. Noelle had never mentioned their fight, and although they were civil to each other and had a few conversations where it felt like she was making headway, she didn’t want to assume Noelle’s opinion of her had changed. It was like Noelle had said, Miriam couldn’t trust her own judgment. She was afraid if she was wrong, it would hurt even more. She couldn’t read Noelle’s body language, her feet always set wide and her arms crossed over her body like she was a tree, solid and dependable and incapable of being swayed.

“You have a gift for this,” Noelle said, startling Miriam out of her thoughts. She looked down, and Noelle was standing back, planted, hands on her hips, eyeing the whole sketch. “Have you ever done any painting for your art, or is your heart in antique upcycling?”

“My art is as real as painting,” Miriam said defensively, because she couldn’t give any of the other answers to Noelle’s question. That she couldn’t paint, even if she wanted to, and it didn’t matter where her heart was. Upcycling had to be enough.

“It absolutely is.” Noelle nodded. “And you’re incredibly talented at it. I just wondered. You can be good at many things at once.”

Miriam chuckled sadly. “I sometimes wish I could trade some of my art and business skills for skills at being human,” she said. “And I don’t paint.”

Not anymore, she whispered to herself.

“I—” Noelle started, and then stopped.

“What?” Miriam asked.

“You’re not the worst person I’ve ever met at being a human,” Noelle said, finally.

Wow, talk about damning with faint praise. Noelle sounded like that admission had been dragged out of her. Miriam was very glad she hadn’t started to believe Noelle might like her, eventually.

“That’s demonstrably true,” Miriam agreed, trying to sound flippant to hide her disappointment. “You’ve met my dad.”

Noelle tipped her head in acknowledgment. “And Levi.”

Every piece of this conversation was like standing on, well, a rickety old ladder. Talking to Noelle made her yearn for things she couldn’t want. She’d spent all her childhood trying to convince people who didn’t love her to change their minds about her, and she was done with it. Trying to befriend Noelle was like banging her head against a brick wall. She’d done that until her head was bloody. No more. It didn’t matter if Noelle spoke her secret language, she didn’t need anyone to get that close to her innermost self, anyway.

“I think I’m done with the part I need your help with,” she said, curtly. Noelle muttered something about soil samples before gathering her paintbrush and hauling it away with her. Miriam breathed a sigh of relief. Sexy, funny, hard-working women who liked her art were better admired from a distance.

She was in a deep painting zone when she suddenly heard Noelle’s voice again, startling her.

“Okay, this is ridiculous, I need to apologize,” Noelle was saying, her hands stuffed into her pockets and her hat pulled down over her forehead.

“For what?” Miriam said, lost. And annoyed. She’d just decided to be done trying to make Noelle like her, and Noelle wouldn’t go away and let her paint in peace. Couldn’t she leave things be, so Miriam didn’t have to think about her anymore? She set her paintbrush down a little too forcefully and turned on the ladder to look at Noelle.

“For the way I hauled off on you, after the will reading. You obviously think I still believe everything I said, and I can’t let that be. Besides, I’m in this program that kind of requires I make amends when I’m an asshole.”

“Wait, did I know that about you?” Miriam asked.

Noelle shrugged. “I don’t drink anymore. It’s not a secret.”