Page 65 of Something Like Hail

The front door to the house was open beforeNoah stepped out of the car. His mother was standing there, dryingher hands with a dishrag as she peered in their direction. Noah’sstomach sunk at the same time his heart leapt, making him feel tornin two. Then his feet carried him forward.

His mother, Arlene, had changed. She was alittle older, the chestnut hair more frazzled and gray, but she wasstill his mom. He remembered the calloused hands pressing half anonion to a bee sting, her sagging arms spreading loving warmth whenhugging him, and her eyes crinkling up with joy when he was beingsilly.

“Noah?”

She dropped the dishrag to the ground andran to him. Noah, too overcome with emotion to do the same, stoppedin his tracks, choking back tears as he discovered that noteverything had changed. Her hugs felt just as good as heremembered.

* * * * *

Noah had been very silly for the past sixyears. Sure, he’d gotten in an argument with his parents and theyhad kicked him out. Such things happened. Parents were human too,just as subject as anyone to the whims of emotion. They could makemistakes and feel regret. Maybe they had too much pride to ask himto come home, but clearly he was still loved.

Currently he was sitting at the kitchentable, a glass of cold lemonade in his hand. Harold was at hisside, grinning broadly at having done a good thing. And he had!This was awesome! Noah regretted not visiting sooner. Mostly.

“This is a lovely house,”Harold enthused.

“Thank you,” Arlene said,but Noah noticed the way his mother grimaced slightly. Probablybecause of the poor word choice. “Lovely” wasn’t a word that boysused. He remembered her teaching him such things. “Tell meeverything,” she said, keeping her attention on Noah. “Are youworking?”

“Yes,” he answered. “I’vebeen saving up, trying to get a place of my own.”

“Is this your roommate?”she asked, shooting an uneasy glance toward Harold.

“Coworker and buddy,”Harold said easily.

Arlene relaxed visibly. “What sort ofwork?”

“I, uh—” Noah coughed andtook a sip of lemonade.

“Customer service,” Haroldanswered for him. “We work for a big production studio. Do you readany fashion magazines? Esquire? Vogue? GQ?”

“I certainly do not!”Arlene said. “I have better things to do with my time.”

“I’m right there with you,”Harold continued unabashed. “I only ask because the studio we workfor does a lot of photo shoots for big brands and even biggerclients.”

“It’s good honest work,”Noah added quickly. His parents had never been impressed byfrivolous things like fashion. “I get paid to make peoplehappy.”

“You always were my littleray of sunshine,” his mother said, a hand pressed against hercheek. “I still can’t believe how big you’ve gotten. You shouldhave come home sooner!”

Noah agreed and would have been here yearsago, had he known what a warm welcome awaited him.

“I should call your father.He’ll be thrilled to see you.”

Noah watched with amusement as his motherrose and went to a phone on the wall. The old-fashioned kind withcords. It even had a rotary dial! He was tempted to ask Harold ifhe had ever seen such a thing, but another question tookprecedence. “Dad has a cell phone now?”

“I bought him one,” Arlenesaid, jutting out her chin. “I’m getting too old to go chasingaround the farm just to tell him that lunch is ready. Oh! Clarence?You’ll never guess who’s here!”

Noah took the opportunity to check onHarold, whose pleased expression gave way to one that was hopeful.“Everything okay?” he murmured, giving a thumbs-up.

God, he was a dork! A wonderful, sweet,considerate dork. Noah returned the thumbs-up and felt his eyesgetting misty. It was good to be back. Fort Stockton might not beperfect, but it was home.

“He’ll be right here!”Arlene said. “We should celebrate. A big dinner! What do you say?You both need some meat on your bones.”

“Meatloaf?” Noah saidhopefully.

“I’ll get right onit.”

“I’ll help,” Noah said. Hestood, but before he could do much of anything, the front dooropened and he heard heavy boots approaching the kitchen.

He turned around and saw his father, whopaused in the doorway. Noah’s red hair came from Clarence, as didhis height and build, except his father had spent a lifetimeworking on farms. His skin was bronze and his arms were covered inlean muscle. His father’s strength was practical, his hands gnarledfrom so much use. As always, he wore overalls and a blue button-upshirt. A cowboy hat too, which he took off and set on the nearestcounter. Then he nodded and thrust out a hand.