“Absolutely not.”
“I figured.”
“Why is he there?”
Keller looked through the office window toward Noah.
Tina had emerged from the kitchen.
She placed a sandwich and a Coke beside him without saying anything.
Noah stared at both.
“He has bruises.”
Keller said.
“Foster placement on Oak Street.”
Another silence.
“The Henderson house?”
“You know it?”
“I know the file exists.”
“That is not the same answer.”
“I can’t discuss a minor’s case with you.”
“Can you tell me what I’m allowed to do?”
“Age-appropriate volunteer tasks under supervision.”
“Maybe a youth mentorship arrangement if his guardian and caseworker approve.”
“No power tools.”
“No hazardous chemicals.”
“No machinery.”
“No formal employment like you’re imagining.”
“He wants money.”
“You can give him a stipend through a legitimate youth program once it’s documented.”
“Today?”
“No.”
Keller exhaled.
Molina added:
“If you believe he is in immediate danger, call law enforcement or the abuse hotline.”
“And if I have a bad feeling?”
“You document.”
“What?”
“Dates.”
“Visible injuries.”
“Statements exactly as he says them.”
“Don’t interrogate him.”
“Don’t coach him.”
“Don’t promise things you can’t legally promise.”
Keller looked at Noah.
“What if he keeps coming?”
“Then keep being somewhere safe for him to come.”
Keller was silent.
Molina’s voice softened.
“Nathan.”
“What?”
“Do not become a vigilante.”
“I’m too old for that.”
“You were too old ten years ago.”
“I’ll behave.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“But try.”
Keller ended the call.
Two hours later, Noah was still on the couch.
The sandwich was gone.
The Coke was half empty.
He had not wandered.
Had not asked when Keller was coming back.
Had not touched anything.
That told Keller something too.
Children accustomed to adults keeping promises waited differently from children accustomed to promises being forgotten.
Noah waited like disappointment was the expected outcome.
Keller crouched several feet in front of him.
“All right.”
Noah sat straighter.
“You cannot legally work in our motorcycle shop like an adult.”
Hope disappeared instantly.
Keller continued before the boy could stand.
“But.”
Noah froze.
“We run community service projects.”
“I can probably put together a supervised youth work arrangement.”
“Sweeping.”
Sorting nonhazardous parts.
Inventory labels.
Cleaning tables.”
“No engines running.”
“No chemicals.”
“No riding bikes.”
“You’ll get paid through a youth stipend once the paperwork is approved.”
Noah stared.
“How much?”
“Ten dollars an hour.”
“Six hours a week to start.”
“Tuesday and Thursday after school.”
“Saturday morning.”
Noah’s eyes widened.
“You serious?”
“If your caseworker signs.”
His expression collapsed again.
“She won’t.”
“Why?”
“She doesn’t come.”
“When did you last see her?”
Noah looked away.
“I don’t know.”
“A month?”
“No.”
“Two?”
Noah stayed silent.
“Three?”
A tiny shrug.
Keller filed that away.
“I’ll handle the paperwork side.”
He said.
“You handle your side.”
“Show up.”
“Work.”
“Tell the truth.”
“Can you do that?”