Chapter 7 - NOAH’S MOUTH
Noah refused to talk about Richard.
His therapist did not force it.
The bruise turned purple.
At school, he told friends he walked into a door.
I heard.
“Why lie?”
He shrugged.
“Not their business.”
“Okay.”
Then:
“You don’t have to protect Grandpa.”
“I’m not.”
“Or me.”
His face hardened.
“I know.”
I sat beside him.
“You stepped forward because you were angry.”
“He was throwing us out.”
“Yes.”
“I would do it again.”
“Standing up to him?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
I paused.
“Getting close enough for him to hit you?”
Noah rolled his eyes.
“I didn’t know he’d punch me.”
Neither did I.
Then he asked:
“Did Dad know Grandpa was like this?”
The hardest questions always arrived sideways.
“He knew there were problems.”
“Did he know Grandpa would hit me?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
That answer cost me.
Noah looked down.
“Dad didn’t tell us anything.”
No.
May you like
Mark had tried to protect us with secrets.
That deserved examination too.
