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"What happened to Mom wasn't because I went on the trip. I know that. But sometimes knowing something and believing it are different."
Noah thought about that.
Then he reached for Emma's hand again.
"Let's ask her."
My pulse jumped.
"Ask her what?"
He looked directly at me.
"If she's still mad."
"Noah, I don't think that's a good question."
"Why?"
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Because I was terrified of the answer.
I couldn't say that.
Noah turned back to Emma.
"Mom, are you mad at Dad?"
Silence.
Ten seconds passed.
Twenty.
No movement.
"See? She's tired. We should stop."
"Wait."
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He tried again.
"Mom, are you mad at Dad?"
Nothing.
I looked away.
Then Noah said, "Maybe that's too hard."
I almost laughed.
As if my unconscious wife were refusing the question on philosophical grounds.
But Noah was studying her with complete seriousness.
