Chapter 12
Noah stayed with me at the lodge.
One week became three.
Then a month.
Nobody rushed him.
The first problem was food.
He hid it everywhere.
Bread behind pillows.
Crackers inside toy boxes.
Half a banana in the pocket of my overcoat.
That one was unpleasant.
I said nothing until one morning he tried putting eggs into his backpack.
I crouched.
“Planning a trip?”
He froze.
Tears immediately.
“No mad.”
My chest tightened.
“I’m not mad.”
He looked suspicious.
“Then why face?”
Apparently my normal face remained a problem.
Fair.
I softened it.
“Why save food?”
“In case bad.”
There it was.
Bad child.
No dinner.
Simple system.
I picked up the backpack.
“Food stays downstairs because eggs in pockets are terrible.”
He almost smiled.
“But if you’re hungry later?”
I pointed toward the kitchen.
“You ask.”
“What if night?”
“Ask.”
“What if meeting?”
“Ask.”
“What if Grandpa sleeping?”
I sighed dramatically.
“Unfortunately, ask.”
He laughed.
Good.
“Always?”
“Yes.”
That word mattered.
Always.
Then shoes.
He refused to remove them at bedtime once we bought new ones.
Slept wearing sneakers.
I let him.
Three nights.
On the fourth, he placed them beside the bed himself.
No celebration.
Healing hates audiences.
The drawing stayed on my nightstand.
One evening Noah asked:
“Grandpa like gift?”
I stared.
“More than the expensive ones.”
“How much?”
I held my hands wide.
He copied me.
“Big?”
“Very.”
He smiled.
Claudia had thrown his picture into snow because she wanted him to believe handmade love had no value near wealth.
So I gave him the opposite lesson.
May you like
Not with a lecture.
By keeping the picture where I saw it every morning.
