You Don't Have to Ask

At seven the next morning, Noah was sitting on the edge of the guest bed with his shoes on.

His wet clothes had been washed and dried overnight. They lay folded beside him, his battered sneakers already laced as though he expected us to change our minds over breakfast.

“Going somewhere?” I asked.

He stood immediately.

“No. Sorry. I'm usually up early.”

“You don't have to apologize for waking up.”

Daniel came upstairs carrying the clean clothes.

“Breakfast, buddy. Then we're going out.”

Noah glanced at me. “I can go back if you have plans.”

“We do have plans,” I said. “You're in them.”

At breakfast, he ate one piece of toast and refused another until Daniel announced he had accidentally made too much. I noticed my husband reaching for that excuse and understood why. It was easier to persuade Noah to rescue food than to accept it.

But we couldn't spend the rest of his childhood pretending everything was an accident.

After breakfast, I put on my coat.

“You need shoes that don't leak.”

Noah looked down. “They're okay when it's dry.”

“Unfortunately, weather happens.”

“I have another pair at school.”

“Then you'll have three.”

Daniel bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

The mall was packed with people hunting bargains. Noah walked a little behind us, stepping aside for strangers even when there was plenty of room. In the shoe store, he picked up the cheapest pair on the clearance table.

They were two sizes too small.

“Try these,” I said, handing him a box in his size.

His eyes went straight to the price.

“That's a lot.”

“They're on sale.”

“Still.”

I had been awake half the night, the baby was kicking my ribs, and my patience ran out sooner than it should have.

“Noah, we're buying you shoes. Please stop arguing about every pair.”

He went absolutely still.

“Okay. I'm sorry.”

Daniel put a hand on his shoulder. “She isn't angry with you.”

I sat on the fitting bench and waited until Noah looked at me.

“I sounded angry. That's my fault. My back hurts, and I'm being bossy. You didn't do anything wrong.”

He nodded, but his eyes were wet.

“You don't have to get them.”

“I want to. What I don't want is for you to pick shoes that hurt because they're cheaper.”

The clerk knelt to check the fit. Noah answered her questions so softly she had to ask twice. When he finally stood in a pair that fit, he rocked onto his toes, surprised by the comfort.

“Better?” Daniel asked.

“Yeah.”

That single unguarded word was worth the money.

We bought jeans, sweaters, socks, underwear, and a backpack without a broken zipper. Every time he reached for a tag, I pretended not to notice. Every time he put something back because of the price, Daniel returned it to the basket.

At the register, Noah held a new winter hat between his hands.

“Do you think this one's okay?”

“Do you like it?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Then yes.”

For lunch, we went to a diner. He ordered toast until Daniel reminded him we hadn't come out for breakfast again. Eventually he chose a burger, then left half the fries untouched.

“Not hungry?” I asked.

“I can take them back.”

“To the house?”

“To school. If they'll keep.”

Daniel stopped eating.

I asked the waitress for a container, then ordered a second burger to go.

“You can eat those fries now,” I said. “Tomorrow's food is already handled.”

His face reddened. He picked up a fry.

That afternoon, Daniel sat with him in the living room while I rested upstairs. Their voices came through the floorboards, too low for words. I didn't try to listen.

When I came down, Noah was eating pretzels from an open bag.

He started to put it away when he saw me.

“Leave some for me,” I said.

He held out the bag.

On Sunday, we drove him back to school. The campus stood outside town, a collection of brick buildings around a muddy playing field. During term, students went home on weekends when they could. Noah had been staying whenever a supervisor was available.

Daniel had arranged to meet the residential coordinator. Noah led us to his room first.

Four narrow beds. Four desks. His corner was spotless.

There was one thin blanket on the mattress.

“Where's your comforter?” I asked.

“This is fine. The heat comes on.”

I pressed my hand onto the bed. I could feel the mattress through the blanket.

Daniel looked in the small wardrobe. Two shirts hung inside. One was a school uniform with cuffs that stopped well above Noah's wrists.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked.

Noah looked at the floor.

“Mom said you had the baby coming. I didn't want you to have to pay twice.”

Daniel crouched in front of him.

“You aren't a bill, Noah.”

The boy's mouth trembled.

“I know.”

He didn't sound as though he knew.

We went back into town and returned with a thick comforter, an extra pillow, toiletries, and shelf-stable snacks allowed by the dorm. Daniel filled the meal account while I helped Noah make the bed.

He smoothed the comforter three times.

“You can wash it at our house,” I said. “Don't spend all Sunday waiting for a machine here.”

“Our house?”

“That's where the washing machine is.”

He bent over the pillow so I couldn't see his face.

The coordinator joined us in the hallway. With Noah's permission, she showed Daniel how to receive school notices and explained what she could discuss with him as a parent. He had to update his contact information; years of correspondence had gone through Vanessa.

Noah's grades were excellent.

“He could apply to Westbridge next year,” she said. “Their science program would suit him. We're already helping him prepare.”

Noah shrugged as though it meant nothing, but I saw him watching his father.

“We'll help too,” Daniel said.

Before we left, I wrote my number on a card and made him enter it into the simple phone we'd bought him.

“Call if something happens. Call if you need money for lunch. Call if you're bored.”

He smiled faintly. “You might regret that.”

“There you are,” I said. “I wondered when you'd start being fourteen.”

In the car, Daniel didn't turn the key right away.

“I missed all of this.”

“Yes.”

He flinched, but I couldn't soften it for him.

“You can stop missing it now.”

He nodded and started the engine.

That night, Vanessa called. Daniel took the conversation into the kitchen, but I heard her through the phone anyway.

“What exactly did he tell you about me?”

“Enough that I'm asking questions.”

“Don't let your new wife turn this into a competition.”

Daniel looked at me through the doorway.

“It isn't a competition, Vanessa. Our son didn't have a warm blanket.”

He listened, his jaw working.

Then he said something I hadn't heard from him before.

“No. I'm not taking your word for it this time.”