Finding Noel Read Free

you.”
    â€œYou’re welcome. Do you want more?”
    â€œNo. I’m fine.” I glanced down at my watch. It was now almost one. “I should let you go.”
    She looked at me sympathetically. “I’m still worried about you.”
    â€œI’ll be fine.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWill you let me drive you home?”
    I smiled at her. “If you insist.”
    â€œI do.” She stood. “I just need to clean up after us.” She took my cup and went back to the counter. While I sat there, she asked, “Do you want a scone? We have cranberry or cinnamon.”
    â€œNo, thank you.”
    â€œHow about one of our death-by-chocolate brownies? We’re famous for them.”
    â€œI’m okay.”
    â€œYour loss.” She came out wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I’m ready. My car’s out back.”
    I followed her to the back door. I stepped outside while she switched off the lights, then set the alarm and shut the door. It was still snowing, but not as hard as before.
    â€œDo you own this place?” I asked.
    â€œNo. I wish. The place is a gold mine.” She locked the door and put the key in her pocket. “I’m the assistant night manager.” She pointed to a car that looked more like an igloo than a vehicle. “That’s me over there. That big mound of snow,” she said dolefully. “I don’t have a scraper.”
    I looked around and found a cardboard box sticking out of the dumpster. “There’s something.” I tore a flap off the box, then used it to scrape the snow from the car’s windows. She waited until I finished, then she unlocked the doors and we both climbed in. The car was a Ford Pinto with brown vinyl upholstery and plastic prayer beads hanging from the rearview mirror. The plastic dashboard was cracked in places and bandaged with assorted decals, mostly from radio stations. It took several turns of the key before the engine turned over. The windshield was fogged, and Macy revved the engine a couple times then turned on the defroster. The air gradually turned warm. My hands were wet and red from scraping snow, and she reached over and lightly rubbed them.
    â€œYour hands are freezing. Thanks for cleaning the snow off.”
    â€œYou’re welcome.”
    â€œDon’t mind my car. It’s held together with prayer and duct tape.”
    â€œAt least it runs.”
    â€œThat’s right, be grateful it runs.” She shoved a cassette into her stereo and soft music began playing. “Where do you live?”
    â€œI’m over on Third South. Just over the viaduct.”
    â€œI thought you said it was close.”
    â€œI didn’t want to trouble you.”
    While we waited for the windshield to clear, she reached into the back seat and brought up an open box of ginger snaps. “Want a snap?”
    â€œSure.” I reached in the box and took one. She took one as well.
    â€œI love these things,” she said.
    When the windshield was defrosted enough to see through, she put the car in gear and we slowly pulled out from the parking lot onto the road, fishtailing a little.
    â€œThis is scary,” she said. “I can’t believe we got this much snow.” She reached down and turned up the heater. After fifteen minutes of precarious driving I pointed to the large rundown house where I lived.
    â€œIt’s right there. That house up ahead.”
    Macy sided the car up to the curb under a streetlamp. She left the engine running but pulled the parking brake. “You sure you’re okay?”
    â€œI’ll be fine. Thank you. For everything.”
    â€œIt’s nothing.” She suddenly smiled. “I have something for you.” She reached across me to the glove box, brought out a card and handed it to me. “That’s for a free pastry and coffee at the café. You have to try one of our famous