The blue bath towel in my hands was still warm from the dryer, but the draft coming through the kitchen window had already turned the corners cold. I folded it into a neat three-way tuck, the scent of lavender laundry detergent rising in the small kitchen, while Lily sat at the table staring down at her phone. The Meijer grocery receipt sat on the counter beside my purse, showing a total of one hundred and twenty dollars for a week of food that never seemed to last.
“Noah is coming over at three,” Lily said, her thumb scrolling rapidly across the screen.
I smoothed the front of a pair of her jeans, my thumb automatically rubbing the bare skin of my left ring finger where my wedding band had been until three years ago. “He was just here on Friday, Lily. That is twice in forty-eight hours.”
“Actually, we have a lot of work to do,” she said, twisting her silver charm bracelet around her wrist until the metal keys and hearts clicked.
“Is this for the social studies unit?” I asked.
“Sort of,” she said, still not looking up.
At precisely three o’clock, Noah stood on our front porch with his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a faded blue jacket and looked down at his feet as I opened the door.
“Hello, Mrs. Clara, ma’am,” he said, stepping carefully onto the linoleum. “Should I take off my sneakers? They have a little mud on the heels from the driveway.”
“Please, Noah. Just leave them by the mat.”
He unlaced them without sitting down, placing them perfectly parallel to the baseboard. He was always so neat, a contrast to the boys I remembered from my own high school days who left a trail of mud and noise wherever they went. I wanted to ask him about his classes, but he kept his eyes on his socks.
“He is always so quiet, Lily,” I said as she came down the stairs to meet him.
Lily did not answer me. She grabbed his arm and led him straight up the stairs, and a moment later, the third step gave its familiar high-pitched squeak under their combined weight.
