The question hung in the warm air of the car, unanswered for a long second while a yellow school bus squealed to a stop in front of us.
“He has a lot of projects in the city right now,” I said, smoothing down the shoulder of his coat.
“Is he going to be gone tonight too?” Noah asked.
“Things will change soon, Noah,” I said, looking him in the eyes. “I promise you that.”
He gave me a small, quiet nod, squeezed his backpack one last time, and opened the passenger door. I watched his red hood disappear into the crowd of children before I shifted the car into drive.
The local diner on the corner of Elm and Fifth was crowded at noon, the air thick with the smell of fried onions and old vinyl booths. Sarah was already sitting in the corner, her coat draped over the back of the bench and a half-empty water glass in front of her.
She did not ask how I was doing when I slid into the booth opposite her. She simply watched me untie my wool scarf and lay it on the seat.
