He knew she would miss it.
Noah picked up two boxes and carried them down the hall and out the front door. The air was warm and still, the kind of golden morning where the light came through the trees at a low angle and made everything look like a photograph. Ed Baxter's truck was parked in the driveway next door. The old man was in his yard, pretending to check his mailbox, which Noah knew had been empty since yesterday.
Mia's car was a ten-year-old Honda Civic she had bought with money saved from two summers of working at the ice cream shop on Main Street. It was silver, dented on the rear quarter panel from a parking lot incident she still blamed on the other driver. It also burned oil if you pushed it past seventy. Noah had spent a Saturday under the hood last week, changing the brakes, topping off fluids, checking the tires. He had wanted to do more. Replace the serpentine belt. Flush the transmission. Rebuild the entire engine and wrap the whole car in foam. Instead he checked the spare tire and told himself she would be fine.
He loaded the boxes into the trunk and went back for the lamp and the duffel. Mia was in the kitchen filling a water bottle. Ethan's door was closed. Music played faintly behind it, something Noah didn't recognize.
"Did you say goodbye to your brother?" Noah asked.
"I tried. He opened the door for about three seconds."
"And?"
"He said 'bye.' I hugged him. He let me." She screwed the cap on the bottle. "It was like hugging a fence post."
Noah almost smiled. “Sounds about right.”
She grabbed her backpack and they walked outside together. Ed had given up the mailbox pretense and was now leaning against his fence with his arms crossed, wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a cap that said HIGH PEAKS BASS CLUB.
"There she is," Ed said. "College girl."
"Hi, Skipper." Mia crossed the yard and hugged him. Ed held on a beat longer than usual. When he let go, he adjusted his cap and cleared his throat.
"You call if you need anything. I mean that."
"I will."
"And don't let those professors push you around. You're smarter than half of them."
"I'll remind them."
Ed looked at Noah over Mia's shoulder. A nod that said everything a man of his generation could manage.
Gretchen was waiting by the Bronco. She had driven over that morning without being asked, the way she always showed up when something in the family was changing. She was holding a Tupperware container and wearing an expression that said she had cried once in the car and was trying very hard not to do it again.
"Come here, sweetheart," Gretchen said.
Mia walked to her and Gretchen pulled her into a hug that lifted Mia's feet off the ground. She held Mia for a long time. Longer than a casual goodbye. She had driven Mia to volleyball practice for two years. Had sat with her at the kitchen table during homework. Had been the one Mia called at two in the morning when the grief hit and she didn't want to wake Noah.
Gretchen pulled back and held Mia's face in both hands. Her eyes were wet.
"You are going to be extraordinary," Gretchen said. "You already are. But the world is about to find out."
"Gretchen." Mia's voice cracked.
“Your mother would be so proud of you. So proud." She wiped Mia's cheek with her thumb. "And if you ever need anything, anything at all, you call me. Day or night."
"I will."
"I packed you cookies. They're in the Tupperware."
"Of course you did."
Gretchen looked at Noah. The same look she had given him at Luke's funeral. The one that said I'm holding it together for her, not for me. Noah nodded. She patted his arm, got in her car, and drove away without looking back. If she had looked back, she would have lost it.
Mia's eyes were red but she was smiling.
"She cried," Mia said.
