“You don’t need permission to tell an adult something seems wrong.”

He glanced at me.

I nodded.

I wanted to promise that he would never be afraid to speak again.

It was too large a promise for a child who had only just begun trusting us with the first account.

I said, “I’ll listen.”

Outside, the Buick waited with a hundred and ninety thousand miles on it and a passenger door that needed a firm pull to latch.

Noah climbed in while I put his bag in the back.