At five o’clock on the dot, the squeak of the third step signaled Noah’s descent. He stood by the front door, already sliding his feet back into his damp sneakers.
“Thank you for the hospitality, ma’am,” Noah said, standing straight with his hands behind his back.
“Did you two finish your project?” I asked, leaning against the kitchen doorframe.
“We made some progress, ma’am,” he said, keeping his eyes on the floor.
I watched him walk down the driveway toward his bicycle, his movements slow and deliberate in the gray afternoon light.
“Why is Noah staying until exactly five o’clock every Sunday?” I asked Lily as she came back into the kitchen to place her empty glass in the sink.
“We just have a schedule, Mom,” she said, her voice flat.
She turned and headed back up the stairs without another word, her bare feet silent on the carpet.
I went to the bottom of the steps and looked up at the dark hallway.
I stood staring at the closed bedroom door as the autumn wind rattled the windowpane.
