Allyson In Between ✔︎

Chapter Eight

| photo by Eric Mclean from Unsplash |

Mom calls my name in a questioning tone. It sounds like she's halfway up the stairs.

Crap. Noah's car is parked on the street. I've been sitting here reading for at least twenty minutes. I jog out into the hallway and past Lindsay's closed door. Mom stops when I get to the upstairs landing. "I've been calling you, Allyson. Noah is here."

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear you."

She nods and turns. I follow her down, moving even slower than usual because I'm stunned by what I've just learned. Noah visited his mom in Georgia a few days after school let out for the summer. Unfortunately, the boy from New Jersey came to Virginia to visit his dad the same week.

It was the summer before we started tenth grade. But is that the thing Noah didn't want me to know—and if it is, why? It's not like he has anything to be ashamed of.

He's standing in front of the front door like he just got here, so he must've been running late. Which is a relief. Dad steps into the foyer from one of the side rooms and offers his hand. "It's good to see you again, son."

Noah accepts the handshake with a tight smile. "It's good to see you, too."

"I never had a chance to thank you properly for what you did for Allyson."

Mom nods vigorously to this. And her eyes are teary, the way they were when she told me Noah came to the hospital. When Dad finally stops pumping Noah's hand, she launches herself forward and locks him in an enthusiastic hug.

His eyes go wide. His arms drift up uncertainly, like he's trying to decide if he's supposed to hug her back. Then he finds me, standing there mortified on the bottom step, and he gives me an awkward wave—that might also be a plea for help.

"Um, Mom?"

"I'm sorry," she says, letting go. She uses her fingers to wipe the tears from her cheeks; then laughs: a short, nervous burst. "Thank you, Noah. Our family is in your debt."

He gives her a stiff nod, compressing his lips, and it seems a little weird. Like he's uncomfortable with their gratitude. Or maybe just uncomfortable around them, period?

Yeah, probably.

"Come on in," Mom says, gesturing to the family room.

"He can't stay," I blurt. "I mean we're going. Somewhere."

Mom does the rapid blinking thing. She's quick to take control of her expression, but her disappointment overpowers the forced smile. "We don't have to go," I say. "I just...Noah offered to show me around and I thought it would be okay. But if it's not..."

"Of course it is, honey. If that's what you want to do."

There's nothing in Mom's tone or on her face that supports that statement. It is not okay with her that I just got here and I already want to leave. And that look, the sheer dishonestly of it, reignites every bit of the frustration I was feeling when Noah asked if I wanted to get out of here.

He gives me a nod. It's almost indiscernible, but it reminds me of the thing he didn't quite say when we talked at Faircrest: "I'm sure your parents will give you a tour, but if you ever need to get away from all of that..." I still can't say I know exactly what he means, but the confidence in that small nod is all the reassurance I need to propel me forward, past Noah and out the door.

"Do you have your phone?" Mom asks as I work my way down the brick steps.

"Yes."

"Please text me when you're on your way home."