Every Last Promise by Kristin Halbrook Page A

told them. I can imagine the exact tone Mom’s voice would have had in that conversation. The calm acceptance that almost conceals her concern. She probably brought up the possibility of therapy again, even though I refused to go twice already. Now, Mom doesn’t press. She leaves her statement as fact and moves on. “Do you have homework this weekend?”
    â€œSome. Not a lot.” I carefully stack plates on the shelf above me. “I could move bales of hay—”
    â€œNo.” Mom turns away from her organizing and closes the pantry door. “Just relax, Kayla.”
    â€œRight.” I finish unloading the dishwasher, pull a soda from the garage fridge, and head out back to the boat. It’s exactly as I left it months ago. The boards replaced and waiting for sanding. It’s not the only thing waiting outside.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” I ask Noah Michaelson, who is standing beside my boat. There’s a line of sweat rolling down his temple and he lifts the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe it away. I stare, unabashed, at the narrow line running down his abdomen until he drops his shirt again, a tinge of red building across his cheekbones.
    â€œHelping your dad move hay. Have to really start saving this year for college. Just finished, actually. Saw the boat on my way out. Cool project.”
    â€œI could have helped with the hay. We didn’t need you.”
    Noah raises his dark eyebrows and I shrug.
    â€œSorry for being rude.”
    â€œSorry and a Coke would be nice.”
    I snort and orange spittle flies from my nose. I wipe my face and say, “The garage fridge. Help yourself.”
    I sit and pick up the sander, then set it down again when Noah comes back with his Coke.
    Instead of turning on the power tool, I climb into the boat and rest my head on the bench. “Have you been in a boat before?”
    â€œSure.” He shrugs. “Lake vacations. Whenever I go to the Philippines. My uncles are fishermen.”
    â€œDo you like it? Being on the water?”
    â€œI take pills so I don’t get seasick. But otherwise . . . it’s fine.”
    â€œOh, I haven’t thought about getting seasick. Hm.”
    â€œI’m sure you’ll be fine.” He sips his Coke. Is silent for a moment. Blurts out, “Why’d you come back, Kayla?”
    I look up at him, shielding my eyes from the bright sun with my hand. “Should I not have?”
    â€œI don’t know.” He looks down at his feet. “Should you have? I don’t really pay attention to what people say, you know. Call it a defense mechanism after so many years of . . .” He pulls off the tab on his Coke and sticks it in his pocket instead of finishing his sentence. “So, why come back? Why did you leave in the first place?”
    â€œI think everyone knows why I left.” I pause. Shouts from the workers in the fields distract me and I have a hard time forming thoughts. “I came back because . . . I’m not entirely sure. Because this is home.” I pause. “And I deserve to be here.”
    â€œBecause you can’t let other people drive you away from what’s yours,” he says.
    â€œYeah. Something like that.”
    Noah balances on the edge of the boat. “It was an accident.”
    â€œThat’s what they say. Some of them.”
    I turn the orange soda can in my palms, bringing it close to my face so I can stall while I read the ingredients label. Nothing to get excited about. Not a single mention of actual fruit.
    â€œAunt Bea is pretty great,” I continue. “She took me ineven though she didn’t know what to do with me. She’s older than my dad and never had any kids. So, here’s this niece coming to stay. To hide. After doing something horrible. But it didn’t even faze her. She said it was an accident. That towns like this . . . people here just need time.”
    â€œWas it an