“Everything will be fine,” I tell him. Placating Noah is more important than telling him how terrified I am for us. He needs a clear mind right now. “Go,” I urge, pulling back. “Call me when it’s over.”
Standing on tiptoe, I kiss him quickly, then step back.
He drives away, and I go back up the stairs, my fingers tracing my tattoo through my thin shirt.
* * *
Wyatt needs a bath.He’s covered in paint. Washable paint, thank goodness.
“Come on, buddy.” I turn on the faucet in the bathtub and add bubble bath, then peel off Wyatt’s clothes and set them in the sink. Drops of moisture hit the wall as he jumps into the tub. The water swirls around him, paint from his body mixing in and creating a watery rainbow.
I watch him play, but I’m wondering about Noah. He hasn’t called or sent me a message. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I don’t even know what good or bad means right now.
Is it good if he goes to Stanford? Or bad?
Is it bad if he stays here and goes to community college? Or good?
All I know is that he can’t make choices based on me. That would be—
Splash!
“Wyatt!” I leap off the toilet lid and thrust my arms under the water. My hands slide over his chest, but I’m able to grip him under the arms and lift him up. Free of the bubbles and water, he rapidly blinks wide eyes and draws in fast breaths. Pulling him out of the tub, I sit back down and set him on my lap. It was just one second, he’s fine, but he’s terrified. He clings to me, water drips onto my legs and tufts of soap glide down his face.
“I just wanted to be a dolphin,” he cries, his tiny body shaking. I wrap a towel around his back and rock him back and forth.
“Everything is okay, you’re fine, I’m here.”
We go to his room, where I dry him and dress him. For the next two hours we read and play, and when Wyatt’s mom returns, I tell her what happened. She’s not mad as I feared she would be, but grateful I was beside him. When I leave, I take a heaping plate of guilt with me.
Yeah, I was beside him, but I was distracted. Thoughts of Noah had taken over my brain, and what would’ve happened if I hadn’t noticed the splash?
For the first time I realize what Noah did by running into the lake when he thought I was drowning. Until this afternoon, I’d thought it was sweet and heroic in an overdone way, but now I see how he must’ve felt thinking someone was really drowning. He thought someone needed help, and he was willing to pay whatever it cost.
Good people deserve good things.
I hope that coach is coming for something other than wine.
* * *
My phone might soon becomea 3D fixture on my wall, like a piece of avant-garde art.Here is an expression of teenage frustration.Noah still hasn’t texted.
At eight o’clock, I was worried.
At nine o’clock, I’m ticked off.
When my mom opens my door at nine-thirty, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, her cheeks taut, I stop thinking about my phone and the messages I’m not getting.
“What is it?” Sky asks, sitting up from her pillows and tossing aside an article she’d printed out about cultivating good study habits.
“Mom?” I ask, uncrossing my legs and swinging them over the side of my bed. Sky and I are both waiting for her to say something, but her eyes dart back and forth and she moves her hands around as if she wishes she had something to do with them.
“Mom,” Sky’s voice is stern, “you’re freaking us out. What happened?”
Slowly she walks into our room and sits on the end of my bed. “I’ve lost four houses in the last few weeks,” she finally answers, her voice low. “I know neither of you watch the news, but some things are happening and people are nervous. When people are nervous, the first thing they do is tighten the hold on their wallets. Buh-bye, extras.” She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. When she opens them, her gaze stays on the dingy carpet. “I’m an extra.”
“No, you’re not,” Sky and I argue.
I scurry across the small bed and wrap my arms around my mom from behind. Sky comes to sit beside her and piles her arms on top of us.
