Aaron looked down at the glove.
“That’s not the same as trying.”
“No.”
The third Saturday belonged to Noah.
That surprised him.
Noah continued.
“But I think maybe this was him admitting it.”
Aaron nodded slowly.
“Yeah.”
The third Saturday belonged to Noah.
Mr. Vance’s house felt strange without him.
The note said:
My house. Porch chair.
That was all.
Mr. Vance’s house felt strange without him.
Noah sat in the faded wooden chair.
Nothing happened.
He leaned forward and felt along the frame.
He looked at me.
“This is awkward.”
“Check underneath.”
He leaned forward and felt along the frame.
His fingers touched tape.
A small black notebook was fixed beneath the seat.
Almost every page had a date.
Noah opened it.
Almost every page had a date.
Saturdays.
“Boy came at 8:10. Too hot today. Told him to quit early. He ignored me.”
Noah laughed.
Another page.
“Rain. Thought he wouldn’t come. He came.”
He kept reading.
Then:
“Driving now. Parks too close to my mailbox.”
Noah frowned.
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
He kept reading.
“Exams this week. Looks tired.”
There were four years of entries.
“Graduation next month. Hope he gets where he’s going.”
“Seemed upset today. Didn’t ask. Maybe should have.”
Noah stopped smiling.
There were four years of entries.
Four years of Mr. Vance noticing him.
At the end, one line had been underlined.
His voice was quiet.
“Need to tell him thank you properly.”
Noah closed the book.
“He knew all that?”
His voice was quiet.
“I guess he did.”
“I thought he barely noticed me.”
Aaron read several pages in silence.
Aaron and Claire came over later.
Noah showed them.
Aaron read several pages in silence.
Then he stopped.
