needed to discover that being needed was not the same thing as losing himself.
And Noah, without knowing it, had asked the question that exposed both of them.
Not whether John had money.
Whether he knew how to stay.
By the time they left the restaurant that night, rain had begun falling over Seattle again.
John carried the leftovers.
Olivia held his hand.
Noah walked between them, jumping over cracks in the sidewalk with Sir Chomps-a-Lot tucked under one arm.
At the car, Noah looked up.
“John?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“You’re driving, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good.
Mom gets lost.”
“I do not,” Olivia protested.
John opened the passenger door for her.
“You absolutely do.”
She gave him a look.
Noah laughed.
John laughed too.
Then he looked at the two people waiting for him to get into the car.
For most of his life, leaving had been easy.
That night, as he climbed behind the wheel and turned toward home, staying was easier.
