"Gretchen cries at commercials."
They stood beside the Honda. The trunk was full. The backseat was stacked with a pillow, a blanket, and a tote bag full of books. Everything she owned that mattered fit in this car.
Mia fiddled with her keys. "Okay."
"Okay."
She looked at the house. "You'll be all right?"
"I'll manage,” he said.
"Check on Ethan."
"I will."
"I mean really check on him. Not just knock and accept 'fine' as an answer."
Noah put his hands in his pockets. "When did you start parenting me?"
"Someone has to." She smiled but it wobbled at the edges. The bravery she had been carrying all morning was starting to thin. She looked at the lake through the trees and then back at him.
"Four years," she said. "Criminal justice. Then the FBI application."
"Focus on your classes first. The FBI isn't going anywhere."
"That's what Grandpa said."
The words landed in Noah's chest like a stone dropped in still water. He kept his face neutral. "When did you talk to Hugh?"
"Last week. He called to wish me luck. Said he was proud of me." She shrugged. "It was nice."
Noah nodded slowly. Hugh calling Mia. Hugh calling Ethan. His father reaching out to his grandchildren while refusing to speak honestly with his own son.
He buried it. This wasn't the moment.
"He's right," Noah said. "We're all proud of you."
Mia's eyes filled and she stepped forward and put her arms around him. Noah held his daughter and felt the years compress. She had been small enough to carry on his shoulders. She had been afraid of thunderstorms. She had once fallen asleep on his chest during a movie and he had sat perfectly still for two hours rather than wake her. Now she was leaving and the world was opening up to take her and there was nothing he could do but let it.
"Call me when you get there," he said into her hair.
"I will."
"And text me when you stop for gas. Be sure to check the exhaust pipe before you drive away."
"Dad."
"Humor me."
She pulled back and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I love you."
"I love you more, kid."
Mia climbed into the Honda, adjusted the mirror, and started the engine. It turned over on the second try. She buckled her seatbelt, looked at him through the window, and gave a small wave. He raised his hand.
The silver Civic pulled down the gravel drive, turned left onto Connery Pond Road, and disappeared around the curve where the birch trees leaned over the pavement.
Noah stood in the driveway with his hand still half raised and listened to the engine fade until there was nothing left but the sound of the lake and the wind in the pines.
