“Turn it on.”
I crossed the room and switched the radio on.
Static burst from the speaker.
A voice emerged, distorted by interference.
Noah laughed again.
“That sounds terrible.”
“You refused to replace it.”
“Why?”
“You said a radio that predicted bad weather had practical value.”
“That is flawless reasoning.”
“I disagreed.”
“You were wrong.”
His smile struck me with such painful familiarity that I turned away under the pretense of adjusting the volume.
At eight fifteen, Caleb came through the side door carrying a paper bag.
He stopped when he saw Noah near the main bench.
“Well.”
Noah looked up. “Morning.”
Caleb lifted the bag. “I brought pastries in case Reid refused to let you downstairs.”
“I can hear you,” I said.
“That was the intention.”
He approached Noah without forcing cheerfulness into the moment.
“You look better.”
“I slept.”
“That is generally how mornings are supposed to work.”
Noah accepted the pastry Caleb offered.
“What is it?”
“Apricot.”
“Do I like apricot?”
Caleb glanced at me.
I said nothing.
