Under a Summer Sky, page 3
Laney was impressed by his passion and knowledge. “I guess I never really thought about it that way.”
Noah smiled. “And, by the way, I think you’d make a great teacher. You have such a warm, easygoing personality—kids would love you.”
“You think so?”
“Mm-hmm,” he replied, taking another bite of brownie.
“How about you?” she asked.
He looked up in surprise and swallowed. “Me?”
“Yes. How’d you know you wanted to be a minister?”
“Oh,” he said, relieved by her clarification. “Well,” he began, carefully considering his answer. “I guess it started when I was in high school. I was very involved in our youth group. We were always helping people or raising money to go on trips to help people. Every other summer we went on a mission trip. One year we helped rebuild a cabin in West Virginia. Another time we cleaned up a vacant lot in a poor section of Philadelphia and turned it into a vegetable garden. Other summers we worked as counselors at a Bible camp. We were always doing something—shoveling walks, visiting old folks, having bake sales. Our minister had a knack for coming up with creative ways for us to help others, and I came to realize that those times were the times I felt happiest . . . and most content.” He looked over. “I honestly believe we’re put on this planet for a reason—and not a self-serving reason. I think we’re supposed to find a way to help . . . a way to make a difference.”
She studied his profile in the soft light of the late day sun. “You must have a pretty strong faith.”
Noah licked his spoon and smiled. “Not always. There’ve definitely been times when I’ve wondered if God hears my prayers at all. At one point, I even questioned His existence. Now I just question my ability to hear what He’s trying to tell me.”
“Have you always found it so easy to talk about?”
He shook his head. “No, I used to keep my faith to myself. I was afraid people would think I was some kind of crazy religious zealot, but then I realized I was—like the Bible says—keeping my light under a bushel. I’ve come to believe that God is interested in every detail of our lives—even the little things. I have a friend who prays for good hair days and good parking spots.” He laughed. “And she usually gets them. I think what God loves most is having an intimate relationship with each of us, and I want to help people understand that. ”
Laney had never met someone her age that seemed so grounded and comfortable with who he was . . . and she loved that he wasn’t afraid to share his faith. Her grandfather was like that too.
On Wednesday, wearing a blue oxford shirt that matched his eyes and stone-colored khakis, Noah tucked a bouquet of freshly cut black-eyed Susans behind his back, smoothed his hair, and knocked on Laney’s door; and when she opened it, it was all he could do to keep his clean-shaven chin from hitting the floor—she looked stunning.
“Hi,” she said with a shy smile.
“H-hi . . . wow!” he stammered. Her peach-colored sundress accentuated every delicate curve of her body, and her shiny, dark hair fell freely past her shoulders. “You look . . . amazing.”
She could feel her cheeks flush. “Thanks. So do you. In fact, you might even pass for a minister.”
Remembering the flowers, he pulled them from behind his back. “These are for you.”
“Wow—thanks! You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” he said with the boyish smile she was growing to love.
She held the door open. “Come in while I put them in water.”
He followed her inside and saw boxes piled everywhere. “I guess you really are leaving.”
“I know—it’s a mess,” she said, filling a plastic cup with water. “I don’t even have a vase.”
Noah noticed an old ten-speed leaning against the wall. “Hey, if you come to my family’s party this weekend, bring your bike.”
“I’m afraid I’ll be bringing everything because I’m heading home right after.”
“Oh, well, let me know if you need help.”
She looked up from arranging the flowers and glanced around the room. “I should be okay. It looks worse than it is.”
Ten minutes later, Noah parked the truck on a side street near historic downtown Falmouth, and they walked toward the famous landmark restaurant, The Quarterdeck. He held the door for her, and she teased, “Gee, I could get used to this.”
“I hope you do,” he said, following her in.
The hostess led them to a table in the corner near an open window, and Laney looked around, admiring the old restaurant. “This is really nice,” she whispered.
“I’m glad you like it,” he whispered back with a grin, opening his menu.
A waitress appeared to take their drink orders, and Noah looked questioningly at Laney, but she looked uncertain. “Are you having a drink?”
“Yup.”
“A drink-drink?”
He grinned. “I’m studying to be a minister . . . not a saint.”
She laughed and turned to the waitress. “I’ll have a glass of white wine.”
“And I’ll have a Rolling Rock,” Noah added. When the waitress left, he teased, “Are you sure you’re old enough to have a drink-drink?”
“I think so, but you never know around here—they keep changing the drinking age. I have a friend in Connecticut who’s come of age twice already, and they’re talking about raising it again.” She paused uncertainly. “What is the drinking age in Massachusetts?”
“Twenty.”
She nodded. “I’m good then. I’ll be twenty-one on the thirty-first.”
“That’s my dad’s birthday.”
“It is?”
“Yup.” He paused, thinking. “He’ll be forty-one.”
Laney looked puzzled. “How old are you?”
“I turned twenty-two on June twenty-first.”
“So your dad was . . .” She tried to calculate in her head.
“Young,” Noah said, finishing her sentence. “My dad was young—he was nineteen when I was born.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “Well, back then, people started families at a much younger age.”
Noah’s eyes grew solemn. “That’s not it.” He paused. “But it is a long story. . . .”
Laney nodded, not wanting to press him, and when he didn’t continue, she looked down at her menu. “So what’s good?”
“Everything,” Noah said, his smile returning. “The chowder is really good, but if you come out to the house on Saturday, you’ll get to have the best chowder on earth.”
“Whose chowder is that?”
“My dad’s . . . well, it’s really my great-grandfather’s recipe. My parents are having one of their famous gin and chowder parties—it’s a family tradition . . . and a lot of fun.”
“Sounds tempting.”
“It would be really great if you came.”
Laney looked up, her eyes sparkling. “Well, what should I have tonight if I’m going to be having chowdah on Saturday?”
Noah laughed. “How about the lobstah?”
5
Late Friday afternoon, a loaded-down Honda Civic with a ten-speed mounted on back pulled into the driveway, and Noah came out, wearing white swim trunks and a faded gray T-shirt that said “Go Pre” on it. “Hey,” he said with a warm smile.
“Hey!”
“Did you find it okay?”
“Yup. Your directions were perfect. There was a lot of traffic though.”
“Yeah, everyone’s trying to beat the rush—most of the rentals run Saturday to Saturday—which makes traffic crazy. If I were ever to rent my house, I’d make it Friday to Friday or Sunday to Sunday.”
“You have a house?”
“Yup,” he said, reaching for her bags. “But that’s another long story, and my parents are waiting to meet you.”
She looked up at the old, weathered gray house and followed him around back. “Watch this step,” he said, tapping his foot. “It’s loose.”
Laney nodded, stepping over the top step and coming face-to-face with a big yellow Lab, wiggling with happiness.
“Don’t mind him—he’s friendly.”
“What’s his name?” Laney asked, rubbing his velvety ears.
“Finnegan,” Noah said. “His brother’s around here somewhere.” As he said this, another Lab nosed open the screen door and moseyed out to say hello too. “That’s Mulligan.”
“What great names! How do you tell them apart?”
“Finny’s a little bigger and a little blonder.”
Laney laughed as they sniffed and wiggled all around her. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such an enthusiastic welcome.”
“That’s how Labs are,” Noah said, “always wearing their emotions on their paws.”
A petite woman, wearing a white bathing suit with a colorful beach towel tucked around her waist, pushed open the door, carrying a pile of wet towels. She was tan, and her light brown hair was streaked with blond, and she looked much too young to have a twenty-two-year-old son.
“Mom, this is Laney,” Noah said. “Laney, this is my mom.”
“Hi, Mrs. Coleman,” Laney said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Maddie said, reaching her hand out from under the towels and warming into a smile that reminded Laney of Micah. “Please, call me Maddie though—‘Mrs. Coleman’ makes me feel old!” She handed the towels to Noah with a look that said, I asked you to do this before, and called, “Hon, Laney’s here.”
“I’m right here, dear,” Asa Coleman said. A tall, slender man with blond hair, graying at the temples, limped around the corner of the house carrying a wooden bushel of weeds. “It’s a jungle out there,” he said, setting the bushel down and brushing off his hands.
“Well, you shouldn’t be kneeling if your knee is bothering you,” his wife scolded.
“Someone has to do it.”
He looked up and smiled at Laney, his summer-sky blue eyes sparkling. There was no doubt in Laney’s mind that he was related to Noah, but he looked more like his older brother than his father. “Maybe we can get Laney to do some weeding while she’s here,” he said hopefully.
“I can weed,” Laney said willingly, immediately liking him.
Asa put his arm around her shoulders and eyed his son. “I told you she’d help me weed.”
Noah—who was spreading the towels on the railing—rolled his eyes and said, “She’s not helping you weed, Dad.”
His father feigned disappointment. “What? I thought that’s why we invited her.”
Maddie laughed and shook her head. “So what are you two up to? Will you be here for dinner?”
Laney looked questioningly at Noah, and he shook his head. “Nope, not tonight, but we’ll definitely be here tomorrow night.” He paused and looked at Laney. “I think we’re going to hit Cape Escape, then Arnold’s . . . and maybe up to Provincetown.”
“I thought you wanted her to come back,” Asa teased.
“I do, but she’s here to experience the Cape, so we can’t skip P-town.”
“Well, it sounds like you’re gonna hit all the hot spots,” Maddie said. “You should try to get to Arnold’s early though, or there’ll be a line.”
“Or we could do what Micah does.”
“What does Micah do?” said a voice from behind the screen door.
“Order takeout and bypass the line.”
“That’s what everyone does,” he said defensively.
“Yeah, everyone except the people in line.”
“What can I say? Life’s short—why should I spend forty minutes standing in line, starving. They’ll catch on . . . someday . . . maybe.”
An hour and a half later, Noah was standing next to a wooden waterwheel, studying the wrinkled blue scorecard that had been in and out of his back pocket eighteen times and tallying the penciled-in numbers.
“What did I get?” Laney asked, trying to see over his shoulder. “Did I win?”
“I don’t think so,” he replied.
“How can that be?” she said, reaching for the card. “I had two holes in one, and you were over par at least three times.”
Grinning, he held the card out of her reach and shook his head. “Hmm . . . I only see one hole in one,” he teased.
“I think I should do the tallying—how do I even know you’re good at math?”
“I am good at math,” Noah said. “I scored a five on my AP calc test.”
“If that’s true, you should be studying to be an engineer, not a minister.”
“That was one of the many conversations God and I had,” he said with a smile, finally relinquishing the scorecard. While she studied it, Noah returned their clubs, and then reappeared with a handful of tiny, brown pellets.
“I did win!” she said happily as he walked past, heading toward the steps.
“No need to rub it in.”
“Micah warned me you’d be a sore loser,” Laney said, following him back up the worn stone steps to the seventeenth hole, wondering where he was going. He stopped next to a dark pool—a pool by which she must’ve just walked, but because she’d been so focused on the game, she hadn’t noticed. She looked down and saw a school of bright orange goldfish and milky white koi splashing about, jockeying for position and puckering their mouths greedily.
“Micah and I call this one Moony,” Noah said, kneeling down and pointing to a translucent bluish-white fish that looked as if it might weigh ten pounds. “He’s been here for as long as we can remember.” Noah held a tiny pellet out to the big fish, and it sucked it up like a vacuum. “Here,” he said, pouring some pellets into Laney’s palm. She knelt down next to him, accidently dropping several pellets and causing a frenzy of excitement beneath the surface of the water. “Just hold one out. They don’t bite. They just suck.” Laney held a pellet out, and a small goldfish rushed boldly to the surface and slurped it from her fingers. “See? It doesn’t hurt,” Noah said. “You’re the marine biologist—you should know that.”
After feeding the fish and stopping at Arnold’s for “THE BEST FRIED CLAMS ON CAPE COD,” they continued up Route 6 to Provincetown. It was getting late, but by the time they found a parking spot, the nightlife was just beginning to emerge from the shadows. They walked along Commerce Street, watching the outlandishly clad characters and couples parading on the famous street, and Laney took it all in. They went into some souvenir shops, and she bought a pink Cape Cod T-shirt for herself and two jars of beach plum jam—one for her parents and one for her grandparents. “This is perfect,” she said, holding up the jam. “I’ve been looking for something from Cape Cod to give them . . . and now they’ll realize there are other flavors besides peach!” Finally, they stopped in an ice-cream shop, ordered two soft piña colada cones, and walked slowly back to the truck to head home.
A half hour later, when they pulled in the driveway, the house was dark, but as they climbed the back steps, they realized someone had left a light on. Noah pushed open the door, and the two big Labs roused from their slumber and tumbled over each other, blinking sleepily, to greet them. “Hey, guys,” Noah whispered, scratching their big heads. Content that everyone was home and safe, they returned to their beds, circled several times, and curled up. Noah carried Laney’s bag up to his bedroom, turned on the light, and discovered that his mom had put out a fresh towel and washcloth. “The sheets are clean too,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I changed them myself.”
“Thank you,” Laney said with a smile.
“The bathroom’s down the hall on the left. Can you think of anything else?”
She looked around. “No . . . but where are you sleeping?”
“On the couch.”
She frowned. “I don’t want to put you out.... Why don’t I sleep on the couch?”
Noah shook his head. “Then what would’ve been the point of changing my sheets?” he asked. “Besides, we have a lot to do tomorrow, so you need to rest up. And I think my dad’s making blueberry pancakes.”
“I’m ready!” Laney said with a yawn.
He laughed. “You look ready! Okay, well, if you need anything, you know where I am.”
“Okay.”
“Night,” he said, searching her eyes and wishing he could summon the courage to kiss her.
“Night,” she said, returning his gaze, wishing he could too.
6
“These pancakes are amazing, Mr. Coleman,” Laney said, smoothing butter and drizzling syrup on the two additional pancakes—oozing with plump blueberries—he’d just slid onto her plate.
“I hope you made enough to feed a village, Dad,” Micah teased, coming in the kitchen, “because that’s how much Laney can eat.”
“She’s already on her fourth,” Noah reported with his mouth full.
“You’re keeping track?” Laney asked in surprise.
“Yup,” Noah replied with a grin.
“Laney,” Maddie said, leaning across the table, “you don’t have to put up with their abuse—just kick ’em under the table.”
Laney smiled, and at the same moment, two muzzles nudged under her arms, nosing her plate and trying to sneak furtive licks.
“Hey!” Asa admonished. The two Labs pulled their heads out from under Laney’s arms and gazed at him innocently. “Do you mean me?”
“Yes—you!” Asa said in an exasperated voice. “You’d think you hadn’t eaten in a week!”
“C’mere,” Maddie said, motioning to them. “I’m sorry, Laney. Please forgive them. They’re both spoiled rotten beggars.”
“Nice,” Noah said with a hint of sarcasm as he shook his head. “You want her to forgive them, but kick us.”
Maddie just laughed and took a sip of her coffee.
