He leaned forward and ran his fingers along the wooden frame.
Something had been taped beneath the seat.
A small black notebook.
Noah opened it.
Almost every page contained a date.
Saturdays.
He began reading.
“Boy came at 8:10. Too hot today. Told him to quit early. He ignored me.”
Noah laughed.
He turned the page.
“Rain. Thought he wouldn’t come. He came.”
Another entry.
“Driving now. Parks too close to my mailbox.”
Noah frowned.
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
He kept reading.
“Exams this week. Looks tired.”
Another.
“Graduation next month. Hope he gets where he’s going.”
Then:
“Seemed upset today. Didn’t ask. Maybe should have.”
Noah stopped smiling.
There were four years of entries.
