Intermission

Chapter Twenty-nine #2

Dad turns and actually looks at me, taking a moment to focus, as if all his other responses were automated, and he’s just now tuning in to the conversation. He probably is.

“You’re going for a walk, you say?”

“Yes. To the waterfall. I’m taking Janey. And my phone.”

I hold my breath, waiting for him to respond with something like, “That’s what you said the last time, and you ended up making out with Noah Spencer in the foyer.” But he doesn’t.

He gives a couple of little half-nods. “The fresh air will be good for you. You’ve spent too much time up in your room this summer.”

“Um, yeah.” I didn’t think he noticed.

“Take plenty of water.” He turns his attention back to the television. “It’s hot.”

“Will do.”

In no time at all, I’ve put on my trail shoes and filled a bottle of water for each hand. A quick whistle for Janey, and we’re off.

Dad’s right. It’s hot. Perspiration beads above my upper lip before I reach the Parre Hills trails.

It’s too hot to move this fast. Still, I race Janey up the first big hill before trying to pace myself.

Even this early in the evening, it’s much darker under the full-leafed trees. The dim light, combined with my anticipation, seems to make the trail a good fifty miles longer than it is. Finally, I reach my favored slope for descending into the creek bed.

The creek is nearly dry now, as it often is in August. Dust spirals up from the weeds as Janey and I find footholds on the crumbling bank. Janey runs ahead, out of sight, but when her happy bark sounds, hope dances through my core.

I pick up my pace.

I’m not quite around the bend when Janey reappears, prancing around a Noah-in-motion.

When our eyes meet, he halts, and his face tilts skyward. I think the words, “Thank you” cross his lips in that brief moment before he looks at me again, grinning.

“Well, if it isn’t Madeleine Faith Prescott. We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

“How right you are,” I quip. “How about you move to London or something, then, and stay off my waterfall?”

“Your waterfall, is it? And here I thought it was part of the nature preserve.” He laughs, but his smile grows pensive as he takes a deep breath in through his nose. “I guess we’re ending back at the beginning, aren’t we? It’s a little . . . weird.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “At least this time you know Janey’s not going to rip out your throat.”

“True.” He kneels and scratches under Janey’s chin. “That is one pleasant difference.” His smile widens as he stands and holds out his hand.

The five remaining steps between us disappear. Slipping my hand into its only proper home, I let him lead me across the heat-evaporated creek to our favorite perch.

We stand, hand in hand, looking over the ledge. “Do you remember how I ended up on your waterfall the night we met?”

“You were lost.” I smile. “And singing ‘Inútil.’ But changing the words, of course.” It seems decades ago.

“Yes. To fit how useless I felt.”

I nod. “I think you said something about being frustrated. That you needed direction or something.” I give him the larger half of a smirk. “Pretty ironic, huh? Since you were lost.”

“Ironic. Yes. Wasn’t it though?” He laughs softly. “But I found new direction when I found you.”

“I found you, actually.”

“So you did. Serendipity is a beautiful thing. But it was more than that.” He rocks back on his heels.

“That night could have gone so differently. I came out here to hike off some steam. To sing, yes, since Mr. B told me how great the acoustics were. But I also needed to vent, to yell—or sing or whatever—at God and the world. That was my intention for coming out here, to let it all out, where no one would hear me make a fool of myself. But once I got here and got lost here, I was too frustrated with how things were going—or not going, as it were—to even know where to begin. Finally, right before you got here, I prayed. I prayed for faith. And there you were.”

“Har, har.”

“As corny as it sounds, it’s the truth.” Noah shakes his head, frowning now at the stagnant water below us.

“God has an interesting sense of humor, doesn’t he?

Now tonight, when all my frustrated hopes and dreams of that night are about to come true, I decided to come back.

To try and connect with God, to try and find some peace about leaving you behind. ”

My breath hitches, and when I speak, it’s a whisper. “And what did God say?”

“Well, you’re here, so I guess—”

I don’t wait another moment to wrap my arms around him. A breath later, his settle around me. I tuck my head beneath his chin. My heart sings, Thank you, thank you, thank you.

All this time, we’ve held on to the belief that there’s more to our pairing than the simple, fleeting nature of romance, and tonight, against all odds and with no communication other than two hearts seeking one last moment together, a way has been made.

How can I explain how circumstances aligned today, when everything seemed to be falling apart, but to let that serendipity, as Noah called it, rest in the lap of God?

This embrace is honest. It’s pure. Even so, it breaks every rule my mom has so strictly enforced this summer.

But if it was God who brought us together in the first place, doesn’t that make this okay?

At this moment, with Noah’s arms tightening around me, I don’t have the answer. Is it wrong to think being with Noah is right when it goes against my parents’ orders?

Maybe. But regardless of how my parents might interpret our embrace, this is not a romantic moment. This is something far beyond whatever petty “crush” symptoms my mother fears.

No, this is not romance. It’s bigger, deeper, and much, much fiercer than that.

Tonight, for just a little bit longer, I have Noah, and he has me. Even knowing the peace of these stolen moments won’t last, even knowing I might face severe consequences when I get home, I’m overcome with a desperate, desperate, gratitude for this moment.

Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you.

Noah loosens his grip just enough to lift my chin. “You’re crying.”

“I am?” I release my hold on him to brush a hand across my wet cheeks. “Sorry. I’m just so happy you’re . . . that I . . .”

My voice breaks, and my face crumples. I bury it in that perfect place where his neck and shoulder meet.

“I know. Me, too,” he whispers into my hair. “Me, too.”

We stand like that for a long time. “I know it seems like forever right now,” he says at last, “but it’ll go fast.” His voice lacks confidence, and I’m sure he knows it, too, when he sighs, gives me a squeeze, and releases me. “Let’s sit.”

He waits for me to pick my spot on the ledge and then takes the place beside me.

“You’ll be eighteen in just a little over a year.

For a while, I thought maybe we could try to start fresh then, but .

. . that won’t work. You might be legally an adult, but you’ll still live with your parents until you graduate, and you’ll still be under their authority.

Until you’re out on your own, you have to respect them and follow their rules. ”

“Yeah. But they’re stupid rules.”

“Agreed.” He smiles, but the sadness in his eyes cuts my heart open.

“But as their daughter, you’re called to honor them.

And if I’m ever going to be accepted by them as part of your life, so am I.

” His deep breath shakes on its way back out.

“Faith, I think . . . I think we need to stay out of contact until you go to college.”

My heart jolts in my chest, as if a hawk’s talons have closed around it and yanked. “But—”

Noah stills my argument with a shake of his head. “They’ve told you to stay away from me, right?”

“But we could still chat, see each other, online.”

“How would your mom react if she knew we were?”

His question has a painfully easy answer. “She would confiscate my computer.”

“Exactly. I’m off limits, right?”

“So they say, and yet . . . ?” I shrug. And yet here we are.

“If they’re ever going to accept you and me being together . . . I hate it, but I think it’s the only way.”

I groan.

“It’ll go by faster than you think. Before you know it, you’ll be at college.”

“And you’ll still be in London.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He sighs and pulls up his legs, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve been thinking about this from every possible angle, but every angle comes up with more questions, more ‘what ifs’ than answers.

What we have is something special, but .

. . we have to admit that we’re young. What if .

. . what if we’re not each other’s only something special? ”

I swallow. It hurts. “You want to see other people.”

“No, I do not want to see other people. I love you. That hasn’t changed. I can’t even imagine that changing.”

His voice is firm, and his words ring true, which pinches my heart even more than the thought of him wanting to date someone else.

He takes a deep breath. “But I think, especially if we’re out of contact for the next two years, we have to consider that either one of us could meet someone else—could even love someone else.

You have two years of high school left. Homecomings, proms .

. . It would be cruel of me to ask you to commit to a relationship and then jet off to London, knowing we can’t even talk to each other without you getting in trouble with your parents. ”

“I’m already committed, Noah. But you’re right. A year ago, if you would have asked who would hold my heart now, it wouldn’t have occurred to me to say your name. Last August, Noah Spencer was just some guy who was really awesome in Guys and Dolls. And now . . .”

He’s everything.

Everything.

“Flatterer. But I get what you’re saying. It’s so . . . weird. I feel like I’ve known you forever. That you know me, maybe better than my own family does. And we haven’t even known each other a full year.”

“And we’re talking about a little more than another two years before we even talk to each other again?” I squeeze my eyes shut against the idea and shake my head. “That’s crazy.”

“I think I heard a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence.”

“But,” I say, nodding. “As long as I’m at home, living in her house, eating her food, letting her pay my bills . . . I’m at her mercy.” I choke out a bitter laugh. “Mercy. Right. As if she even understands the concept.”

His sigh is an unspoken agreement. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “So . . . we stay out of contact until you’re at college.”

I nod, but the thought of two years—two years—without a word to or from Noah does not allow me to speak.

“What if . . . ?” He pauses, and the hint of a smile relaxes his brow.

“What if, once I get to London, I talk to my advisor and see if I could maybe change from the three-year program to the two-year? Then I would already be finished at the Academy when you start college. I could come to New York sooner. Start looking for work . . .”

“But you wanted to stay in London, use the connections you’ll make at school to see if you can get cast in some West End productions.”

“Wanted,” he says. “That’s what I wanted. That was my plan. Before you.”

“But it’s been your dream for so long.”

“Sometimes,” Noah says, putting his arm around my shoulder, “a guy’s dreams go through a metamorphosis. Sometimes plans have to be adjusted to make room for bigger, fuller dreams.”

I scoot closer and lean into him. He tightens his hold.

“I was planning to come back to the States, to New York, eventually. Why not right away?”

“But if we haven’t been in contact for two years, how will we manage to find each other? New York is a huge city. And who knows where I’ll actually end up for college?”

“True.” Noah purses his lips. “Social Media? No, I have a better idea. We won’t find each other in New York. We’ll find each other here.”

“Here?”

“Here. At our waterfall. It’s August ninth. Still early August. You probably won’t have left for school yet, but soon. Soon enough, anyway.”

He’s right. A lot of fall terms don’t commence until later in August. The only reason Gretchen went back to school so early is because she has to help her sorority sisters prepare for Rush Week stuff. “Two years from today?”

“Sure. It makes sense. Doesn’t it?”

I want to say no. But with everything going against every other option . . . “Yes. It makes perfectly horrible sense.”

“We’ll meet here on August ninth at . . .” Noah pulls out his phone. “8:17 p.m.”

My breath catches. “It’s after eight? Already?”

“Mm-hmm. What time do you need to be home?”

“There was no set time, but—never mind.” If Mom beats me home, I’ll deal with it. Right now, I’m with Noah, and I will not let thoughts of her intrude on our time together. Not tonight.

“So . . . two years from now . . .” He stands, paces across the dry creek bed and back. “We’ll meet here on August ninth at 8:17.”

With a piercing ache of a nod, I reframe it. “Eight, nine. Eight-seventeen.”

“Eight, nine. Eight-seventeen.” He sighs and holds out his hand. “Deal?”

I slide my hand into his. “De—”

Instead of shaking my hand in the business-like manner I expect, Noah pulls me close and kisses me.