“He shoved my bike into the garage wall.”

Michael laid the metal spatula flat on the counter.

He came around the kitchen island and crouched beside Noah’s stool.

“Was he yelling at you, buddy?” Michael asked.

“He was yelling at Mom about grocery money,” Noah said.

“My bike was in his way.”

Derek picked up his coffee mug but didn’t drink.

The garage wall at Lena’s rental on Maple Street was unfinished brick.