He had on a faded gray mechanic’s shirt and was pouring syrup from a glass pitcher over his own stack of pancakes.

There was grease under his fingernails from working in the shop all morning.

Noah reached across the granite counter for his heavy cup of orange juice.

He used his right hand.

Halfway to the cup, Noah jerked his arm back and drew in a sharp breath.

The plastic cup rocked on the counter and settled.

“Did you bang your elbow on the chair?” Michael asked.

Noah kept his eyes on his plate and shook his head.