Allyson In Between ✔︎

Chapter Eighteen

"I'm off again tomorrow," Noah volunteers. Like maybe he read the last sentence over my shoulder before I pressed send. "I'm also available Wednesday or Thursday afternoon, but the golf tournament starts early Friday and takes up the whole weekend."

Oh right. "What does golf have to do with being a lifeguard?" I ask.

"Nothing. I work at the golf course now."

"Why did you change jobs?"

"I took a couple of weeks off after your accident," he says, slow and careful. And his eyes are narrow, like he's considering each word before it leaves his mouth. "And then, I uh...wasn't into it anymore. When I called to tell the manager I wasn't coming back, he offered me a job in the cart house."

Noah shrugs. But there's nothing casual about the gesture. It almost looks painful.

Oh. "You took time off because of my accident," I say. "Is that why you're not a lifeguard anymore?"

He takes a breath like he's about to answer, but nothing comes out. No words. No air.

"I'm sorry," I say. And I truly am, because I wasn't... "The accident is like, one of a thousand things I've been told about that doesn't feel real to me. I mean, yeah..." I raise my arm, thread my fingers through my hair and find my scar. It's hard to imagine the kind of impact that could put a person in a coma. But Noah doesn't have to imagine anything. He was there. "Would you tell me about it?" I ask. "Like how—or I guess, why..."

I stop because Noah's leaning back. And the look on his face—which is obvious distress—reminds me of what Mom said about seeing him at the hospital that day. She used the word devastated, but it didn't mean anything to me then because Noah Dodge was just an image in my head. A boy with a beautiful smile.

"Thank you for saving me," I say—because when I said it before it was just good manners, an obligation. I didn't mean it the way I do now.

"No problem," he says, cold and impersonal. Then he opens my door and walks, stone-faced, around to the driver's side.

I lean into the car and grab my purse. "I'm just..." I point to my house to remind him that I said I'd walk.

"Ally," he says, in the same hesitant tone he used after he rejected my kiss. Right before he gave me the "explanation" I still don't understand.

"I'll be fine. I need the exercise. It'll help me think."

That's true, usually. But right now I just feel numb. Overloaded, I guess. I close the passenger door and walk, focusing on the front porch of my new house—and I don't look back until I'm there, knocking.

Noah is still standing beside his car. I offer up a little wave, that means, "I'm here now. Safe. Please go away."

The front door wafts open and Mom is there, happy. But her wide, hopeful eyes and warm smile quickly dissolve into crow's feet and worry. "I got one of my headaches," I say. "I took a half-pill and it worked for awhile, but I think I might need the other half now."

I can't say this is entirely true. My head does hurt a little, but really, I just want to sleep. For days.

She pours me a glass of water and leads me up the stairs. Her curiosity is obvious, but Mom seems to understand my need for silence. She tucks me in and lays a comforting hand over mine—and for a moment, I'm truly home.

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I open my eyes to a different worried face. Lindsay is sitting on the floor, hugging her knees. "Samantha sent you a text," she whispers, lifting a finger to indicate the phone on my bedside table.