Chapter 21: The Shower Again

His mother found him at five in the morning, which was exactly where she knew he would be.

Noah stood at the long steel counter of the mansion kitchen with his sleeves pushed to the elbow.

A mound of dough lay under both his hands.

She came in barefoot in George's old robe and sat on a stool.

"You still do it like your father," she said.

"Like who?"

"You punch it first. He always punched it first."

Noah folded the dough over and leaned in.

"You never talk about him."

"I'm talking now."

She took a roll off the cooling rack and tore it in half.

"I'm not going to say much. You're twenty-one and you've made up your mind."

"I have."

"Good."

"That's all?"

"One thing."

She chewed, and swallowed.

"I married a rich man in three weeks. Everyone in that town thought I was a fool, and a few said it.

"You watched me be called a fool for wanting something good."

Noah went still.

"Don't let anyone call you that for wanting four people," she said. "Not Maya. Not a stranger. Not me, if I ever slip."

"You won't slip."

"I might. I'm your mother." She wiped her fingers on the robe. "Be happy, baby. Make it loud."

Noah laughed, and his eyes stung.

He came round the counter and put his floury arms around her.

She held him with a hand on the back of his head, exactly as she had when he was small.

"Now," she said. "Go wash. You smell like yeast and sin."

The long room was dark when he went up.

Three shapes lay in three beds, two in sleep and one pretending.

The bathroom door stood ajar.

Behind its frosted glass, the shower stood dry and dark, with its two heads and its huge glass wall.

Noah looked at it for a while.

Then he went back into the bedroom and sat on the end of Troy's bed.

"Get up," he said.

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