As he inspected the damp, muddy life jackets we returned, he gave Noah’s a once-over and shook his head. “Little early in the season for a swim, isn’t it?”
“Don’t ask,” Noah muttered.
That, of course, was the boys’ cue.
“JJ fell in!” Kill shouted.
“Because you pushed me!”
“Only because you said you saw an alligator.”
“I did!”
“They don’t have alligators in Arizona, dude,” Kill said with exaggerated exhaustion.
The outfitter grinned, reaching out to tousle JJ’s hair. “Afraid your bro’s right about that. No gators in this river. And I, for one, am not complaining.”
JJ wasn’t letting it go. “Maybe you just haven’t seen them yet. But anyway, Kill pushed me, and then Noah saved my life.” He gave his brother a little shove—casual, but affectionate. “Otherwise, I’d have gotten eaten by the strainer. Which is basically like an alligator. So.”
The outfitter chuckled, then glanced at Noah. “Lucky this guy was around, then. Hope you thanked him.”
“Thanks for saving my life,” JJ said.
Noah gave the kid a faint nod, eyes downcast, his mouth pulling in that tight way I was starting to recognize, even if I didn’t fully understand.
It wasn’t the humble shrug of someone used to being praised but more like a quiet withdrawal. Like being thanked made something inside him pull back, fold in on itself.
The shift unsettled me, enough that I stepped in.
“So, there’ll be another shuttle in twenty minutes?”
The man turned toward me. “Maybe a little longer.” I felt Noah shift beside me, the tension bleeding off him the moment the focus moved away.
We drifted toward the only picnic table in the shade, sitting across from each other, legs brushing beneath the bench. A breeze kicked up through the canyon, warm and dry, smelling like sun, and river rocks, and weathered wood.
Noah ran a hand through his hair, and then, as though he’d shaken something off, looked up. “You think Tay will leave us?” he asked. His normally wavy hair had a bit more of a bend to it because of the river water, the ends curling up in little flicks around his cheekbones.
“I wouldn’t put it past her.”
But I wasn’t really thinking about Tay. Or the shuttle. I was watching Noah. Whatever was bothering him, I was beginning to think, had less to do with hospital administration and more to do with that other part he’d mentioned before.
Instead of pushing, though, I started with something simple.
“I thought you liked kids.”
Noah’s eyes widened. “No. Yeah. I-I love kids.” He said it fast, a little too alert, like I’d nudged a bruise. Then he exhaled slowly. “Sometimes it’s just…” He dragged his fingers through his hair again. “It’s hard to hear that word. ‘Saved.’”
I didn’t interrupt. I didn’t say but you did save him. Because I had a feeling that wasn’t what Noah needed right now.
He leaned forward, forearms braced on the table, looking out over the quiet curve of the river. “Last year, two kids—brothers—were brought into the ER.”
His voice was even. Flat, like he was dictating a report. Like that was the only way he could get through it.
And he didn’t have to tell me about it, but…maybe he needed to? So I waited.
He shook his head. “Just regular kids. Goofy. Barely teenagers. They’d been left alone at home. And they found something they shouldn’t have.”
He didn’t say what, but from the way he sounded, I could only imagine all the different things two young boys could’ve gotten into—all the possible scenarios for two kids to end up in an ER.
