Page 89 of Intermission
I close my eyes against the press of tears. I could have told them. I should have told them.
But what if they’d said no?
So I didn’t.
On purpose.
Putting it in those stark terms, even if only to myself, paints thelacking parts of my character in bolder strokes I can’t ignore.
“I guess I only told them a part of the truth.” As I let out a long breath, my temper flares. Not toward him or even my parents. I’m angry—spitting-mad angry—at myself. “Which means I may as well have been telling a lie.”
“Faith, don’t—”
“I lied, Noah.”
A tremor moves through my frame, leaving me feeling heavier. What have I done? What will this do to... us?
Admitting—no,owning—that I lied makes me feel dirty. Ugly. Hopeless. But I know what the Bible says about sin. I know what I need to do to rid myself of the weight of its shame.
“I-I should go home and—and confess.” My voice breaks. I feel my face crumpling, so I bury my face in my hands, unwilling to let Noah see my full-on ugly cry.
“Faith, look at me.”
“No. I can’t.” My body shakes. I’m cold, more inside than out. “You deserve someone who... someone better.” I push to my feet, averting my face. “I should go.”
Without getting up, Noah reaches for me. His fingers wrap gently around my wrist. “Now just hold on, Faith.”
“Hold on?” The words volley back to him in a higher pitch than is dignified.
“Yes,” he says, understanding in an instant what brought about my reaction. “Hold on.”
I risk a glance his way. His smile is weak but true.
“We’ll go together.”
“Together.” I shake my head. “Are younuts? Mom said we could be friends, but I still can’t bring you to the house.”
“It’s time.” Noah rises to one knee, facing me. “You’re not the only one who needs to confess. To repent.”
His grip on my wrist slides down to my hand.
It crosses my mind that this is a posture I’ve dreamed about for our future—ourway-in-the-futurefuture. But in my dreams, he doesn’t ask, “Will you pray with me?” And he doesn’t follow it by clarifying, “This is not a romantic hand-hold, by the way,” just before bowing his head.
I kneel, facing Noah, and join my other hand with his.
“Father God,” he begins, “we want to do the right thing, but we keep messing up. We want you to be the biggest part of us, of our friendship, and whatever else it is and could be. Forgive me, Lord, for continuing to deceive Faith’s parents—”
“No.” My head shoots up, interrupting his prayer. “You can’t take the blame for this, Noah. It was me. I’m the one who didn’t tell the whole truth.” I look up at the gloomy sky. “Scratch what he just said, God. It’s my fault. Just me. I’m the one who needs forgiving.”
“Hey,” Noah says softly. “I knew your mom’s rules, but I wanted to be alone here with you more than I wanted to please God by hanging out with you around a bunch of other people.”
“More than you wanted to please mymother, you mean.”
“No, I mean God. Coming here today was my idea. Putting things in the Dutchman’s pocket was my idea. I’m as much at fault for being romantic as you are, if not more. I’m guilty, Faith. My need, my appeal for forgiveness is just as necessary as yours.”
He closes his eyes. “Lord, you know our hearts. You know I love Madeleine Faith Prescott as much more than a friend. You know I don’t want to cause her pain or hardship—and I certainly don’t want to cause her to sin—but I keep doing exactly that.” His intake of breath hitches, and his voice falls to a whisper. “Forgive me, Lord.”
His earnest regret, his disappointment in himself—in us—is almost a tangible thing. It stains the air between us with a raw hope that I recognize, strangely, as the truest expression of his love I’ve yet experienced.
