The next day I pack some things into a bag and come down the stairs where Dad is waiting with a worried look on his face.
"You don't have to go, sweetheart," he tells me again. He was not wholly against it, I could tell he was worried about Noah. He has only be gone a couple of days and when we tried to call him it took many hours before we heard from him so it’s not as if I don't understand his worry, but I wished sometimes he would put his foot down, for my sake.
"It’s okay," I tell him. "It's just for a couple of days until I am sure he is doing fine." I press my lips together and shrug my shoulders. I can't back out now, though my mind is racing through all the possible conversations I would have with Noah. How I would explain my moving into his house without annoying him.
Dad si
