Page 104 of Intermission
“...I’ve got faith in us, and I believe in you and me. Sohold on... to me tight. Hold on, I promise it’ll be alright...”
My heart stutters as Michael Bublé’s velvety-smooth voice croons through my mom’s car radio. Noah sent me a link to this song within an online playlist he made for me. For us. He sang it to me once, in a spot-on impression of Mr. Bublé, too. But I don’t think I’ve everheard it on the radio before. Or maybe I have, back when it was new. But not since Noah... since we...
I suck in a breath, lean back in my seat, and close my eyes against the burn.
The song ends, but the refrain is a familiar sentiment, replanted in my mind.
I knowexactlywhere Noah Spencer would want to spend his last day in Iowa. He probably isn’t there yet, but—
I steal a look at Mom. Her attention is riveted on the road, but I know her mind is probably calculating the columns of numbers she’ll pour over today in preparation for her meeting tonight.
Herlatemeeting. Tonight.
Mom won’t be home until nine. Maybe ten. And if I’m right about Noah...
A twinge of guilt pokes my conscience.Just this one last time. I just have to see him long enough to say goodbye.
Mom drops me off at home and heads in to work. I speed through my list of chores. At six on the dot, Dad and I eat dinner in the living room, watching the local news. I barely taste the tuna casserole, even though it’s my favorite—a rare, fat-filled taste extravaganza of only a little bit of tuna, but tons of gooey is-it-really-cheese-if-it-comes-in-a-box? deliciousness with crushed crackers and melted butter on top. After dinner, I wash and stack the TV trays and load the dishwasher. It’s only 6:30. Every chore is checked off my list, and there’s plenty of daylight yet.
Plenty of time to take a walk to the waterfall.
I chuck a detergent pellet into the dishwasher and start the machine. After washing off the counters, I head back to the living room.
Dad is already half asleep in his recliner as the local news gives way to an episode ofEntertainment Tonight. With a derisive snort, he adjusts his position in the chair, reaches for the remote, and begins the evening’s ritual channel surfing.
“Hey, Dad?”
“Mmm?”
“Is it okay if I take Janey for a walk?”
“Mmm.” He scowls, but I assume it’s at the television, because hiseyes never leave the screen. “Sure. Where are you headed?”
“Um, I thought we’d visit the waterfall. I haven’t been there for a while.”
“Be careful. Take your phone, just in case something happens.”
“Okay.” I’ve never gotten more than a bar of reception at the waterfall, but if it makes him feel better...
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.
