“You wouldn’t be the driver.”
“Exactly.”
He understood.
Every call would become a vigil.
An hour measured by missed check-ins. A phone that rang twice too long. Rain striking the roof. A vehicle overdue by six minutes. A route through blind bends and narrow shoulders.
I glanced at the ceiling.
Noah slept above us.
“If we resume roadside work,” I said, “no one goes alone.”
“That doubles the labor,” Owen said.
“Yes.”
“Small jobs won’t cover it.”
“Then we decline small jobs.”
Caleb folded his arms.
“Have you talked to Noah?”
“No.”
“You should.”
“He can’t drive for months.”
“That doesn’t mean the decision isn’t his too.”
I knew.
The old service van had been more than equipment to Noah. It was his moving workshop. Every shelf had reflected his logic. Every fuse, meter, cable, and connector lived where his hands expected to find it.
Replacing the van without his input would feel too much like building over a grave.
“I’ll ask when he has space for the conversation.”
Caleb nodded.
“Not today.”
“No.”
We ate.
After lunch, Owen and Caleb returned to the north bay. I went into the office and opened my email.
A business card sat beside the keyboard.
GREYHAVEN LEDGER
ELLIOT SHAW
