Caleb nodded.
“Your mother and I are still working on that part ourselves.”
Mara sat beside Noah.
He handed her the envelope.
She did not take it.
“Keep it.”
“Why?”
“Because secrets are already doing enough work in this family.”
Caleb looked at her.
That sentence was not only about cancer.
He knew it.
Mara glanced toward the motorcycle.
“The blood is still there?”
“Almost gone.”
Her eyes hardened.
“You promised me you wouldn't ride alone.”
Caleb looked away.
Noah looked between them.
“You promised?”
Caleb sighed.
“Yes.”
Noah’s expression changed again.
“You break lots of promises.”
“Apparently today is performance review day.”
Mara did not smile.
“You could've been seriously hurt.”
“I wasn't.”
“You came home with bruised ribs and six stitches.”
“Four.”
“Four stitches are not a defense.”
Noah whispered, “You have stitches?”
Caleb pointed above his eyebrow.
“Small.”
Mara looked at Noah.
“Your father has decided that because he is frightened of something he cannot control, he should control every other dangerous thing personally.”
Caleb stared.
“That was specific.”
“I've had twenty-four hours.”
Noah looked at his father.
“Is that true?”
Caleb wanted to defend himself.
He had arguments ready.
The man needed help.
The attackers were dangerous.
There was no time.
He did what anyone should do.
All true.
None answered the deeper question.
Why was he alone on that road after promising Mara he would not be?
Caleb rubbed his hands together.
“Some of it.”
Mara’s eyes softened slightly.
Noah sat again.
“What happens now?”
Caleb looked at Mara.
She understood what he meant.
Not the fight.
The illness.
Mara walked to the workbench and sat against it.
“Monday.”
Caleb said, “Treatment starts Monday.”
“What treatment?”
“Chemotherapy.”
Noah knew the word too.
Internet.
Cartoons.
Adults whispering.
Maybe school.
“Will your hair fall out?”
“Maybe.”
“All of it?”
“Could.”
Noah studied Caleb’s thick dark hair.
“Your beard?”
Caleb’s face became horrified.
Mara smiled.
“Finally, somebody asking the important question.”
Caleb touched his beard protectively.
“The doctor did not specifically mention beard loss.”
Mara laughed.
Noah almost did.
Caleb watched both of them.
This was what he had feared losing.
Not life in the abstract.
This.
Mara laughing near the motorcycle.
Noah sitting barefoot on the garage floor.
Ordinary light.
Dirty rag.
A stupid beard joke.
His diagnosis had turned mortality into something enormous and theatrical.
But what he actually wanted to preserve was painfully small.
Dinner.
School pickups.
Garage conversations.
The sound of Mara complaining that he left boots in the hall.
Noah asking why wrenches came in so many sizes.
Caleb looked down.
“What?”
Mara asked.
“Nothing.”
She knew he was lying.
She let him.
Monday arrived too quickly.
Caleb hated hospitals.
Not for the reasons people assumed.
Needles did not bother him.
Blood did not bother him.