Jesus.
“She made my father stay home to watch Katie that day, but I was with her. I’d just turned five a few days before, but I don’t remember it. Or much of her at all, really. My father won’t even mention her name, and he loses it if anyone else does,” Noah said, without inflection.
I was speechless. Noah’s mother died—was murdered—and he was there when it happened.
Noah breathed smoke through his nose, and it billowed around him before escaping through the open window. It was a gorgeous day, blue and cloudless. But there could have been a hurricane outside for all I cared. In an instant, Noah became different to me. I was riveted.
“Ruth went back to England when she heard about my mother. A long time ago, she told me that after my mother died, my father was useless. Couldn’t take care of us, couldn’t take care of himself. Literally a disaster—this was, of course, before he sold his soul to the shareholders. And she stayed, and they got married, even though he doesn’t deserve her, even though he’d become someone else. And here we are now, one big happy family.”
His expression was inscrutable behind his sunglasses, and I wished I could see it. Did anyone at school know about his mother—about him? And then it occurred to me that Noah didn’t know about what happened to me. I looked at my lap, fidgeting with the shredded knee of my jeans. If I told him now, it might sound like I was comparing tragedies—like I thought losing a best friend was comparable to losing a parent, which I didn’t. But if I said nothing, what would he think?
“I just—” I started. “I don’t even—”
“Thanks,” he said, cutting me off coolly. “It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“No, it isn’t,” he said plainly. Noah pushed his sunglasses up, but his face was still guarded. “However, there are benefits to having a corporate sellout of a father.”
He was flippant, so I was too. “Like getting a car on your sixteenth birthday?”
Noah’s grin was full of mischief. “Katie has a Maserati.”
I blinked. “She does not.”
“She does. She’s not even old enough to drive it legally.”
I raised my eyebrow. “And your car? Is it your brand of teenage rebellion or something?”
The corner of Noah’s mouth curved up into a slight smile. “Sad, isn’t it?” He said it lightly, but there was something haunted about his expression. His eyebrows drew together, and I wanted so badly to reach over and smooth them apart.
“I don’t think so,” I said instead. “I think it’s brave. There’s so much stuff you could buy with that much money. Not taking it is—it’s pretty moral.”
Noah feigned horror. “Did you just call me moral?”
“I believe I did.”
“Little does she know,” he said, and turned up the volume on his iPod.
“Death Cab?” I asked. “Really?” I asked.
“You sound surprised.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you liked them.”
“They’re one of the only modern bands I do like.”
“I’m going to have to broaden your musical tastes,” I said.
“It’s too early for threats,” Noah said as he turned on to a bustling, narrow road. It was alive with people out enjoying the weather. Noah parked on the street just as the song ended, and I let him open the door for me. I was starting to get used to it. We passed a small park where a handful of old men sat, playing dominoes. A large, colorful mural was painted on one wall, and striped tents covered the game tables. I’d never seen anything like it before.
“It doesn’t mean anything, you know,” Noah said out of nowhere.
“What doesn’t?”
“The money.”
I looked around, at the mostly shabby storefronts and cars parked on the street. Noah’s might have been the newest one. “I think your perspective is somewhat skewed because, you know, you actually have it.”
Noah stopped walking, and stared straight ahead. “It’s shut-up money,” he said, and there was an edge to his voice. “So my father doesn’t have to spend any time with us.” But then his tone lightened. “Even if he gave me nothing, there’s still the trust I come into when I turn eighteen.”
“Nice. When’s that?” I asked.
Noah started walking again. “December twenty-first.”
“I missed your birthday.” And that made me sad, for some reason.
“You did.”
“What do you think you’ll do with the money?”
Noah flashed a grin. “Convert it to gold coins and swim in it. But first,” he said, taking my hand, “lunch.”
29