Not rejection.
Containment.
He was holding himself together with every part available.
The silver sedan in the customer lot was old enough to carry rust along the wheel arches.
I recognized it.
Years ago, Noah’s mother had driven the same car to Leah’s wedding and refused to sit at our table.
My anger became cold.
Caleb met us near the rear entrance.
“I’m sorry.”
“You did nothing.”
He looked at Noah.
“She hasn’t said much.”
“Is Owen there?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Noah opened the passenger door before I could reach it.
His first step faltered.
I came around the car and offered my arm.
He took it.
We entered the workshop together.
The north bay was quiet.
Owen stood outside the break room with his arms folded. When he saw us, relief crossed his face.
“She’s inside.”
Noah stopped.
I touched the base of his neck.
“Three notes?”
He nodded.
I gave the whistle softly.
Two short.
One long.
