Later that afternoon, he drove Bonnie’s kids home from the fire station while Bonnie dealt with a last minute problem at work.
It had become a routine over the past couple of weeks without either of them formally establishing it.Bonnie worked on Saturdays because Lucas was never in the office on weekends and she could catch up on the backlog of his neglected work.
Gray was at the station anyway, and Cassidy and Noah had taken to hanging around there after school or on weekends, doing homework in the day room while Gray worked on the engine or studied.
Noah rode shotgun in Gray’s pickup, his question notebook open on his lap, a pencil behind each ear.
“I have one more question on today’s list,” Noah said casually.
“Beware, Gray,” Cassidy said from the back seat.“He told me at breakfast he has a big closer question today.”
“You’re not supposed totellpeople it’s the closer,” Noah declared, outraged.“That ruins the impact.”
Gray bit back a smile.“I’ll pretend I don’t know it’s coming and I’ll say the first thing that comes to mind.Hit me with your best shot, Noah.”
“If you could fix one thing in the whole world that’s broken, what would you fix?”
“I’d fix the thing where people leave without saying goodbye.”It was out of his mouth before he had time to apply any filters.The question had, indeed, caught him off guard—Noah’s questions often did—and the honest answer slipped through the gap between thinking and speaking.
In the rearview mirror, Cassidy’s pen stopped moving.
Noah, mercifully, did not possess his sister’s talent for reading subtext.He wrinkled his nose.“Like when someone leaves a party without saying bye?”
“Something like that,” Gray said.
“Thatisrude,” Noah agreed and wrote the answer down.
Cassidy said nothing.But when Gray glanced in the mirror, she was looking at him with what he could swear was sympathy.
“I just thought of another question,” Noah announced brightly.“Do cows know their names?”
“Yes,” Gray said, grateful for the subject change.“Research shows that dairy cows respond to individual names and produce more milk when they’re called by name.They also have best friends and get stressed when they’re separated from them.”
“Cows havebest friends?”
“They do.They groom each other and stand close together.Some cows refuse to eat if their friend is removed from the herd.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” Noah said, his face crumpling with the swift, unguarded empathy of a seven-year-old.
“It’s also one of the most hopeful things you’ll ever hear,” Gray replied.“It means the capacity for loyalty and attachment isn’t uniquely human.A lot of species are wired to need each other.”
“Why do people get sad?”Noah asked, without looking up from his notebook.
Gray glanced at him.The question had arrived with the casual velocity of all of Noah’s questions, but this one carried weight that the seven-year-old might or might not have intended.
“Lots of reasons,” Gray said carefully.“Sometimes because something sad or bad happened.Sometimes because they miss someone.Sometimes because they’re carrying something heavy and they haven’t figured out how to put it down yet.”
“Like a backpack that’s too full?”
“Exactly like that.Sometimes the heavy stuff is invisible, though, so other people can’t always tell when someone is carrying a lot.”
Noah processed this.“Mom carries a lot.”
“Your mom is one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” Gray said.It came out with more feeling than he’d intended.In the mirror, Cassidy’s gaze locked on him again.
“She is,” Noah agreed matter-of-factly.He moved on to his next last question, which involved whether or not sharks could smell fear, and Gray was blessedly on solid scientific ground again.
He pulled into Bonnie’s driveway and parked.The ranch house was small and tidy with a covered porch.A child’s bicycle lay on its side near the garage.Crocuses were pushing up through a patch of dirty snow by the front steps—first brave flowers of the year, refusing to wait for permission.
