Page 143 of Intermission
And he needs a shave.
But he’s here.
Here.In my mother’s house.
“So, as you can see, I got rather filthy in the process. I’m sorry.”
He’s not real. He can’t be. I’m still asleep and caught in the clutches of a cruel dream.
But if I’m dreaming, why does he look... older?
Tired.
Taller. Not much, but maybe an inch . . .
Agony and bliss ripple through my body. Noah. Is. Here.
The jar slides from my grasp.
I take a step forward.
“Faith, stop! The glass! You’re barefoot.”
“Faith?” Mom sticks her head around the doorway. Her face has lost all color. “Faith? Are you okay? I thought I heard—Oh, dear. Don’t move. I’ll get the broom.”
Every breath reverberates in my ears, each inhalation and exhalation faster than the one before. My head is as light as a helium balloon. Love, joy, desperation—my brain is infused, saturated, with so many emotions, but it refuses to settle on just one.
I look down.Sparkly.Someone spilled diamonds on the floor.
Diamonds on the floor? Impossible.
Tears flood my eyes.Cruel dream.
My vision pin-holes. Oohh . . . dizzy.
I look down, at my locked knees.
I’m a performer. I know better than to lock my knees. But I can’t seem to...
So . . . so dizzy.
I try to lift my head, but the sensation of falling steals the strength from my neck.
“Don’t cry, Madeleine Faith.”
Noah’s breath is sweet against my face.Spicy.His voice is even richer than in my dreams.
“Wake up, Faith. Open your eyes now. Come back to me.”
Oh, his arms!They’re stronger now.Thicker.And warm, as if he’s just come in from the sun.
How did I land in his arms?
Noah’s hand caresses my cheek. His lips press against my forehead. “I’m sorry, Faith,” he whispers. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”
The wet skin on my cheeks lifts.
“Ah, there she is. My Madeleine Faith.” A soft, cinnamon-scented tune sends wisps of words—something about a corner, my smile, home—into my hair. The tune is familiar, but the words are... not quite right.
