Noah wanted to see the route.
So we walked.
Past the convenience store.
Past the church.
Across Linden Street.
Past the alley police searched twice.
Then the half block where I found the jacket.
Noah stopped beside the old dumpster enclosure.
“It was here?”
“Yes.”
“My jacket?”
“Yes.”
He smiled slightly.
“The Spider-Man one?”
“The ugliest patch I ever sewed.”
“I liked that patch.”
“You were ten. Your judgment was questionable.”
He laughed.
Then became quiet.
“If you hadn’t seen it…”
I knew where the sentence went.
“Somebody else might have found you.”
“But maybe later.”
“Yes.”
He stared at the dumpster.
“Grandma almost threw away the thing that brought me home.”
I had never thought about it that way.
The clothing Diane tried to destroy became the evidence that forced her to tell the truth.
Noah looked down the street toward her house.
“That’s weird.”
“Very.”
We continued walking.
