Michael stared at him. “Noah,” he whispered, “you shouldn’t have done that.”
Noah smiled through wet eyes. “A son gets to send his father into old age with something under his feet,” he said. “Don’t take that from me.”
It was the same sentence, turned around by time.
Michael broke then. Not loudly. Not in a way that made anyone uncomfortable. He leaned forward and put his forehead against Noah’s shoulder, and the man who had once lifted an abandoned baby from the mud finally let himself be held.
Sarah sat down on the porch step because her legs seemed to forget what pride required from them. “I didn’t know,” she said.
Noah looked at her for a long moment. “You knew enough to be cruel,” he said.
She flinched. No one comforted her.
The little flag on the porch rail moved softly in the afternoon air. Coffee continued dripping through the boards. The neighbors stayed silent. For once, the whole town had nothing helpful to say.
