Noah picked up his glass, drank the orange juice in three big swallows, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“Can I ride my bike down the driveway now, Mom?” he asked.

“Put your helmet on first,” Mariana told him.

Noah went to the hall closet, took his red plastic helmet off the bottom shelf, and set it on his dark hair.

He pulled the nylon chin strap under his jaw and pushed the black plastic clip together until it clicked.

I stepped out onto the front porch as Noah pushed open the screen door.