« Doesn’t he have parents? » I asked.
« I think so… but he says he hasn’t had a real home-cooked meal in a long time. »
There was something in Ethan’s voice that made me stop what I was doing.
« Can he come tonight? »
« Of course. »
That evening, just before six, there was a soft knock at the front door.
Standing there was a skinny teenage boy with messy brown hair and a backpack that looked older than he was.
He held it tightly against his chest as though it contained everything he owned.
« You must be Noah. »
« Yes, ma’am. »
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