Page 152 of Finding Noah

“Because I am,” he replied simply. “You might not ever find yourself able to talk about it openly, and that's okay. But lying about it … to yourself and others … that's a flimsy Band-Aid that won't do anything to serve you in the end. Acknowledge it when you're able. Lean on the people who love you.”

Shame heated my face. “God, I don't know how to talk to them about … about that,” I gritted out, hot tears stinging at my eyes, nausea taking life in my gut.

“Not easily,” Doc replied. “The fear of judgment is very real, I understand. They might see you differently for a bit, but don't be angry with them for that. Understand their shock and sadness comes from empathy, compassion, and love toward you, and they won't know how to help you. It's up to you to voice what you need, as you need it. They're not mind readers.”

I grumbled in acknowledgment. “You're pretty smart, Doc.”

“Well, I didn't go through years of college to be stupid,” he replied, lightening the tone of the conversation before adding, “Be patient with them, but also with yourself, Noah. You won't be okay overnight. Allow yourself to not be sometimes, and then, one day, you will be.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, offering a slight nod.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway,” he declared, a formal end to the topic, “how about something to eat?”

***

Doc brought me a meal fit for a king with more options than one man needed.

I listened as he announced each plate before placing it down on a table. Angel hair pasta with grilled chicken and steamed vegetables. Pork chops with applesauce and mashed potatoes. Baked truffle macaroni and cheese. Chicken Parmesan with vodka sauce and a side of penne.

When he was finished, he joked that he didn't know what I'd prefer, and I joked that he just needed an excuse to clear out his fridge.

But I was grateful to be eating something other than fast-food burgers, grateful to be eating anything at all, and like a man who'd just lost his sight, I fumbled through trying to feed myself before giving him the task.

“You know,” I said in between bites, “this would be a lot easier if you'd just … I dunno … took the blindfold off.”

He chuckled. “I could, but—”

“You'd have to kill me—I got it,” I said, chewing.

His responding chuckle was a little sadder this time before he said, “I promise it's nothing personal. We've all kinda taken a liking to you.”

“All, huh?” I considered that. “How many of you are there?”

Doc sucked in a deep breath, as if he needed the time to decide whether he was going to divulge the info or not. But eventually, he said, “There are three of us.”

“Hmm … so, I've met you and the big, scary dude,” I mused thoughtfully. “But not the third guy … or gal?”

“No, you haven't met him yet. He'll be transporting you later.”

“Oh, good,” I said. “I was wondering how I was gonna get a ride out of here without, you know, seeing anything. Or knowing where I am.”

He laughed again. It was a warm and friendly sound, a drastic difference between him and the man in black who had saved my life. But despite the extreme secrecy, I knew they were, at their core, good people. I knew I could be friends with them, and I would ask to stay in touch if I thought they’d be open to it.

And still, I couldn’t help but wonder what they were hiding. And why.

Dad mentioned sometimes that some of the best men he’d ever known, he had met in prison. Good guys who had gotten wrapped up in the wrong situation—just like him.

What are these men wrapped up in? I wondered, listening to Doc move around the room. But I knew I'd never know, and somehow, I'd have to learn how to be okay with that … and not stick my nose into business that didn't concern me.

Thankfully, I only needed to learn that lesson once.

“Can you at least tell me where you're taking me?” I asked. “Just to prepare myself.”

“You will be taken to a familiar location; don't worry,” Doc said. “You'll be left with your phone as well.”

Behind the blindfold, my eyes narrowed. “You have my phone?”

I listened as he sucked in a long, deep breath before answering, “Yes.”