Love Turns the Page (an Avondale Story)

By Etienne

Tom Foster has his life planned out, and he's systematically pursuing his goals. At twenty-two, he's been organist and choirmaster at The Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd for three years, he's working on his doctoral thesis, and he's beginning a secondary career performing in concert. There is no room in his schedule for romance... until Noah Webster, a gorgeous green-eyed blond, walks into the church one evening to audition for the choir.

What starts as an arrangement of convenience-Tom's usual page turner is unavailable, and Noah agrees to do the job-soon turns into a fast friendship. Then Noah, who is saddled with an obnoxious roommate, rents the spare bedroom in Tom's house, and ultimately the two men become lovers and partners in life. But before they can ride off into the sunset together, they must face one major obstacle: Noah's violent, homophobic Southern Baptist father.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Etienne
• Release date: Sep 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370307371

Etienne

Etienne lives in central Florida, very near the hamlet in which he grew up. He always wanted to write but didn't find his muse until a few years ago, when he started posting stories online. These days he spends most of his time battling with her, as she is a capricious bitch who, when she isn't hiding from him, often rides him mercilessly, digging her spurs into his sides and forcing the flow of words from a trickle to a flood.

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Copyright © 2011, 2016, 2020 by Etienne

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Wherever possible, the syntax and spelling in this book follows guidelines set forth in The Chicago Manual of Style, 14th Edition, and in the Merriam-Webster online dictionary.

Cover photos by Etienne

Bottom photo:

Console, Randall Dyer & Associates organ,

Knowles Chapel

Rollins College, Winter Park, Florida.

Top photo: a portion of the display pipes

C. B. Fisk Organ

First Presbyterian Church, Gainesville, FL.

Cover Art © 2016, 2020 by Gerald Lopez

Acknowledgments

To Jim Kennedy, my long-suffering editor, who does his best to keep me on the straight and narrow comma path.

To my partner of twenty years, for his support and encouragement.

And, most of all, to Roger the organist, agreed to become my beta reader in order to keep this amateur musician in line as to matters musical, and who has also provided many useful and helpful suggestions.

Dedication

To the men and women who work diligently to maintain the centuries-old high standards of church music within the Anglican Communion, despite the constant pressure from popular culture to pursue a lower standard. Long may they prosper—and succeed.

Author’s Notes

Many people have written to inquire if the places described in the Avondale stories are real, and I'm happy to say that most of them are. Avondale is a very real neighborhood in Jacksonville, Florida, situated between Roosevelt Boulevard (US-17) and the St. Johns River. It is bounded on the northeast by McDuff Avenue which separates it from the neighborhood known as Riverside, and on the southwest by Fishweir Creek.

After the great fire of 1901 leveled much of downtown Jacksonville, destroying over two thousand buildings and leaving nearly ten thousand people homeless, the Springfield neighborhood immediately north of downtown was developed. Then the city began to move west and south along the St. Johns River, and first Riverside then Avondale were born. Said to be the first planned community in Florida, Avondale was developed in the nineteen twenties.

The restaurants frequented by our guys are very real, and pretty much as described in the stories:

The Derby House, sometimes referred to as Gorgi’s Derby House was a popular restaurant for several decades, until it closed circa 2011, give or take a year or so. It was the kind of neighborhood hangout where people seated themselves. After its closure, the building was remodeled, enlarged a bit, and a new restaurant emerged, known as The Derby on Park.

Biscottis, which opened in the fall of 1993, is a very popular restaurant located in the Avondale shopping area.

The Pizza Italian in Five Points, was opened by a Greek immigrant in the spring of 1976, and he dished out good pizza, wonderful lasagna, and the best meatball subs in town for just over forty-one years. Sadly, the restaurant closed in 2017, due to the owner’s age and health problems.

Richard's Sandwich Shop in Five Points, for some thirty years offered the best Camel Riders* in town. Sadly, the owner sold the property and retired in 2016.

The Goal Post Sandwich Shop is located across the street from the complex that houses The Loop, and has been a fixture in the neighborhood for a very long time.

The Cool Moose Café has been serving breakfast and lunch to neighborhood residents for some twenty years.

The Loop Pizza Grill, home of the best grilled chicken sandwich in town and locally referred to simply as The Loop, began in Jacksonville in the late eighties, and has grown to several locations around town. The Avondale location, situated on Fishweir Creek, was popular for its deck, where one could sit and watch sea birds foraging in the tidal estuary while eating. Unfortunately, the entire complex was razed by developers in 2017, and replaced by apartments. The Loop moved to another location nearby, but that location, sadly, lacks a deck on the water.

*THE TERM Camel Rider might sound like a pejorative to some in today's politically correct society, but in Jacksonville—which has one of the largest Middle Eastern communities on the East Coast—it's the name of a sandwich offered at the numerous sandwich shops around town operated by people whose ancestors fled the economic decline and religious persecution of the Ottoman Empire. Predominately Christian, they came from Syria, Lebanon, and other parts of the Middle East and settled in Jacksonville during the early twentieth century and shortly before.

All of the sandwich shops offer sandwiches in a pocket of pita bread, and these sandwiches are called riders. The Camel Rider is a pita pocket stuffed with lettuce, slices of tomato, cheese, and cold cuts, with a bit of mustard and a dash of olive oil. The camel rider is a very simple, but amazingly satisfying sandwich.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

About the author

Contact the author

Other books by Etienne

Love Turns the Page

(An Avondale Story)

Revised edition

Etienne

Chapter 1

NOAH HEARD THE sound of organ music the minute he opened the door of the Church of the Good Shepherd. He walked silently through the narthex and stood for a moment at the point where the center aisle began, listening to the music. Not wanting to disturb the organist, he walked slowly and quietly down the aisle, which was no mean feat given that the floor was made of some sort of polished concrete with tiles inset at intervals in a vague pattern. Having been raised in a small-town Southern Baptist church, he hadn’t been entirely enthusiastic about joining the choir of any church. He’d hated the hellfire and brimstone oratory at his home church, and had stopped attending services as soon as he was old enough to get away with it. Cindy, his coworker and reason for joining the choir, had insisted that Episcopal churches were unlike anything he’d experienced growing up—and he was willing to consider anything to get away from his roommate for one or two more nights a week. He shared an apartment with a fellow college student, and their relationship was, at best, strained.

As he reached the steps leading to the choir area, the music stopped briefly then started again. This time, the piece was light and airy, and the notes rose and fell in pitch at a fast and furious pace. Reaching the altar area, he leaned against the altar rail and watched the organist. The young man playing the organ was wearing cutoffs and a tank top, and he was sweating profusely, as it was late June and the air-conditioning wasn’t running. Noah watched in total fascination as the man’s hands flew over the keys, as did his feet on the pedals. The player was clearly having trouble with his music in that the bound volume of music from which he was playing was not cooperating. Every time he turned a page, the page didn’t want to stay put and kept flapping back.

Finally, the player flipped a page too violently, and the book began to slip off the music rack. Without thinking, Noah leapt forward, crossed the few feet of space between where he sat and the organ console, grabbed the music, and settled it firmly in place on the music rack. The player hadn’t missed a note, which made it clear to Noah, himself an amateur musician, that the music had been at least partially committed to memory. He started to step back, but with a quick nod of his head, the organist said, Stay.

Noah remained standing and scanned the music hurriedly until he was confident that he knew where the player was on the page. When the player neared the last two measures on the page, he nodded his head at Noah. Noah quickly turned the page, pressed it down carefully until he was certain it would stay in place, and was rewarded with a bright smile. He continued turning pages as instructed until the piece had ended. When the last note had finished reverberating around the stone and plaster walls of the sanctuary, the organist looked at Noah and said, You’re hired.

Excuse me?

Are you free Saturday evening?

Yes.

Do you own a black or dark navy-blue suit?

Yes.

Then you’re hired.

Hired to do what?

I’m performing in concert at Jacoby Symphony Hall Saturday evening, and my page turner pooped out on me yesterday, the man said. The job is yours.

What do I have to do?

Stand beside the organ console looking pretty and doing what you’ve been doing for the last five minutes, except you’ll be doing it in front of a thousand people. By the way, the honorarium for the service is fifty bucks.

Just for doing that?

Well, that includes one practice session. That and the concert and will probably take up five hours of your time, tops.

Okay, Noah said.

That aside, how can I help you?

I came to audition for the choir.

You must be Cindy’s friend.

Friend is a bit strong, Noah said. She and I are coworkers. I’m Noah Webster.

Now there’s a famous name.

I think my mother thought it was cute at the time. You don’t want to know what I think.

Well, Noah Webster, the man said, I’m Tom Foster.

He held out his hand, and Noah shook it. He noted that Tom’s eyes were as dark as his curly black hair and positively radiated intelligence and humor.

Pleased to meet you, Noah said.

We have to go up to the choir room for the audition, Tom said, but first I need to clean up. As you might have noticed, I’m sweating like a Mexican whore. Follow me.

He turned off the organ and removed the key; then he grabbed a gym bag from beside the organ bench. Slipping off the bench, he led Noah through a series of corridors, the last of which ended in a locker-room. This church, as you may know, Tom said, has an indoor pool that people use for a quarterly fee, and this locker-room serves the pool. Tom began pulling off his clothes, then located a towel in his bag and added, I’ll be back in a jiff, before he disappeared through an open door.

Noah heard the sound of water splashing on a floor. A few minutes later, it stopped, and Tom emerged from the door, dripping wet, toweling his hair dry as he walked. Noah stared at his body and saw broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. Tom’s upper body was well developed, clearly from regular workouts. It also appeared to be hairless except for a small patch of black pubic hair that framed an impressive set of genitals. Noah suddenly realized he was staring and quickly averted his eyes, somewhat taken aback by the unfamiliar sensations he was experiencing. Tom didn’t seem to notice, as he finished drying his body and deftly retrieved underwear, shorts, and a polo shirt from his gym bag. He pulled them on quickly and slipped into a pair of deck shoes. He stowed the shoes he’d been wearing in a little cloth bag and put it in the gym bag along with his towel, sweat-soaked cutoffs, and tank top.

Okay, Tom said as he stood up and grabbed the bag, let’s go up to the choir room and have a go at it.

NOAH FOLLOWED TOM down another corridor and up two flights of stairs to the third floor. A door off of the landing at the head of the stairs opened into a generous-size room that contained a baby grand piano facing rows of chairs on a series of risers. Tom sat down at the piano and instructed Noah to stand at his right. Okay, he said, let’s hear a scale.

He struck middle C, and Noah followed the music, singing, Do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, do.

Good, Tom said. Now do the same thing using ‘la la la’.

Noah followed Tom’s instructions and was put through a series of vocal exercises, at the end of which Tom handed him a copy of the Episcopal Hymnal and asked him to sing from a particular page. As instructed, Noah sang the line, which consisted of nine words.

Good, but not quite what I want, Tom said. The whole line shouldn’t be legato. The last three words need to stand alone. They should be neither legato nor staccato. Simply touch them and let them go. Think of it as a lover giving his beloved a brief caress and quickly, but not too quickly, lifting his hand away. Like this— He played and, with a rich tenor voice, sang, Come, risen Lord, and deign to be… our… guest—

He turned to Noah and said, Now try again.

Noah obediently sang the line again, as instructed.

Well, Noah Webster, Tom said, you’ve just grasped, in one simple lesson, a concept that has eluded at least half of the choir for the past month.

Thank you.

You might not thank me when I ask you to demonstrate what you just did to the rest of the choir. You’ve had more than a little bit of training, I think.

Some. I play the piano, and I used to play French horn in the band. Somewhere along the line I had a few voice lessons, but I didn’t keep up with them.

Ever done any solo work?

No, Sir.

I assure you that will change once you join my little band of angels. Tell me about yourself.

As you already know, I work with Cindy, but it becomes part-time during the school year. I just finished my first year at FSCJ (Florida State College at Jacksonville) and will start back in the fall.

Are you gonna stay there until you graduate?

No. I’ll be transferring to UNF (University of North Florida) at the end of my sophomore year.

Good, Tom said, that means you’ll be around and available for a few more years. I think you’ll like UNF. I hope to finish my doctorate there by the end of next year.

You don’t look old enough for that.

Actually, I’m not. The thing is I graduated from high school when I was sixteen, so I’m probably only a couple of years older than you. Listen, I hear the thunder of footsteps on the stairs. How about having a glass of wine somewhere after the rehearsal? I like to get better acquainted with all of my singers.

Sure, Noah said, I’d like that, except I’m only nineteen, and I’ll have to settle for a Coke.

Not a problem.

People began to enter the room. Noah noticed that each choir member went to a set of built-in bookcases along the wall and removed a burgundy-colored folder of music. The folders appeared to have labels on their spines but were too far from where he was sitting for him to read them. A fat lady came through the door and located her folder.

Ah, here’s our librarian, Tom said. Marilyn, got a minute?

Sure, she said, and sort of waddled over to the piano.

Marilyn, Tom said, this is Noah Webster. He’ll be joining us as of this evening. See if you can find a folder for him now, and you can get him outfitted with robes when you have time.

Sure thing, Tom. Pleased to meet you, Noah.

She went to the shelves, selected a folder, examined its contents, and wrote something on the label. Okay, Noah, she said, this one appears to be up-to-date with the music we’re currently working on, so it’ll be yours. We try to keep the folders in alphabetical order on these shelves.

Thanks, Noah said.

Follow me, she said. I’ll assign you a robe now, before everyone gets here.

She led him through a door he hadn’t previously noticed, which opened into a small room. Along both walls of the room were rows of purple robes and white surplices on hangers, each hanger containing a large white tag marked with a name. She moved to the end of the row of hangers and produced one with no name on the label.

These are pretty much one-size-fits-all, she said, but give it a quick test, why don’t you?

Thanks, Noah said. He set his folder on a shelf above the hangers and slipped into the robe.

Perfect fit, she said. I thought it would be. She wrote his name on the tag. Okay, this one’s yours from now on.

He removed the robe and hung it near the end of the row among the names beginning with W. Back in the choir room proper, he noted that the chairs on the risers were now occupied by twenty or more adults of various ages. As Noah and Marilyn reached the piano, Tom stood and said, Okay, kids, let’s get to work, but first, I want to introduce you to Noah, who has just joined our little group. Noah is a coworker of Cindy’s, and it’s she whom we have to thank for his being here. He’s a bass/baritone, and I fully expect him to start doing all of the solo work that Steve used to do before he moved away. Where is Cindy, by the way, Noah?

She had to work overtime and sends her regrets.

Tom directed Noah to an empty seat between two men on the top riser, and the rehearsal began. He put the choir through a group of vocal warm-up exercises before the rehearsal started in earnest.

When it was time to run through the Communion hymn, Tom let them have at it without comment. When they’d finished the first two stanzas, he said, We’ve been fooling around with this one for a month, and some of you still don’t quite get it. On the other hand, during his audition, our newest member got it perfectly on his second attempt. I told you I was going to embarrass you, Noah… now show them how it’s meant to be done.

He sounded the beginning chord, and Noah sang the first line of the hymn exactly as he’d done earlier. When he’d finished, Tom said, Okay, guys and gals, I want all of you to do precisely what Noah just did.

They ran through the piece two or three times before Tom was satisfied enough to say, By George, I think you’ve got it. And it’s a good thing, too, because it’s on the program for Sunday morning. Thank you, Noah, for setting such a good example.

By the end of the rehearsal, Noah really felt as though he was a part of the group. When he was finished with the rehearsal, Tom stood up, said, Everyone stay put for just a minute, and walked over to the bookcases. He returned carrying two fat books and continued, Will you please come down here, Noah?.

Noah did as he was asked, and Tom handed him one of the books, which he’d opened to a page containing the title of the piece and the legend Solo for Bass/Baritone.

I want you to sing this for us, Noah. Stand over there, facing the group, and give it all you’ve got. I’ll play the first few bars for you. He played a few bars, stopped, looked at Noah, and nodded his head.

They ran through the solo with Noah doing his best to give it all he had. When he finished, there was a sort of stunned silence in the room, followed by a generous amount of applause.

Tom stood up, patted Noah on the back, and congratulated him. Okay, kids, he said, who can tell me what this means?

An attractive middle-aged woman in the front row raised her hand and said, "The Elijah is back on."

Good-looking and smart too, Tom said. You bet your Episcopal tush it’s back on—with a little bit of coaching, Noah will be even better than the late, and now unlamented Steve ever thought of being before he ran off and deserted us.

Steve who? somebody said, and the whole group had a good laugh.

What are you talking about? Noah said when the room was again quiet.

We’d planned a major concert for next spring, Tom said. "We were going to perform Mendelssohn’s oratorio Elijah with a small orchestra, an expanded chorus, and four soloists. Steve was going to sing the title role, but when he moved away, we had to cancel our plans."

Aren’t there other soloists in town? Noah said.

There are, but we don’t have the budget to pay the soloists. It’s all we can do to pay the orchestra members.

I’m not sure I’m up to something like that.

Don’t worry about it, Noah, Marilyn said as she walked up to the piano during this exchange. There isn’t a person in this room who doesn’t think you have what it takes.

Especially after what we just heard, one of the men said.

Other members of the group gathered around Noah, alternately welcoming him to the choir and praising his singing. Finally, only Tom and Noah remained in the choir room, and Tom asked Noah to join him in his little office. Tom sat down at his desk and obtained all of Noah’s contact information. Then he handed Noah a sheet of paper. Here’s everything you need to know about Saturday’s performance, including where to be and what time to be there.

Thanks.

By the way, if you become the official bass/baritone soloist of the choir, a small stipend comes with it.

Before Tom could say anything else, his stomach rumbled very loudly and he said, Oops, I guess I need something a little more substantial than a glass of wine. Have you eaten?

I was too nervous to eat a full meal, so I had a Coke and half a sandwich.

That settles it. We’ll have a late-night snack while we get acquainted.

Tom shut down his computer, and they left the choir room, which he carefully locked.

Do you have to lock up the church before we leave? Noah said.

The sexton will secure the building as soon as the pool has closed for the day, which is just about now.

In the parking lot, Noah said, Shall I follow you?

If you like, or you can leave your car here, and I’ll bring you back after we eat.

Will it be safe here?

Certainly.

Then I’ll ride with you.

Chapter 2

AS HE LED NOAH to his car, Tom’s brain was working overtime. Cindy had told him that her coworker was cute, but he hadn’t expected the guy to be drop-dead gorgeous. Out of the corner of one eye, he’d noticed Noah approaching the organ console and had taken in the vitals at a glance: blond, slim, tall, extremely good-looking, intelligent face, etcetera. He hadn’t noted the green eyes until they’d made eye contact during the page turning. He’d also noticed Noah staring at him as he emerged from the shower room. The guy actually blushed as he averted his eyes. Hmm, he thought. I wonder what was going on behind those green eyes?

They reached his reserved parking space, and he unlocked the car with his clicker. As they pulled out of the church parking lot, Tom said, I know this old Volvo station wagon isn’t a very sexy car, but it gets me there and back again. More to the point, it’s both reliable and paid for.

It’s newer and nicer than my old clunker.

Actually, this was my mom’s car. She gave it to me a couple of years ago when she got a new one.

That was nice of her.

It was more an expression of guilt than a nice gesture.

What do you mean?

My dad hasn’t gotten over the fact that I refused to become a lawyer like him and join his firm. He’s pretty much written me out of his life and sort of pretends that I don’t exist. He also stopped helping pay for my education when I announced that I was going to major in music. So when his back is turned, Mom makes the odd gesture, like this car.

Surely there’s more to it than that.

Not really. She just feels bad because she didn’t make enough of an effort to stop Dad from being a total jerk.

Maybe he’ll come around one day.

After five years, I don’t think so. Besides, my younger brother is acting the perfect little toad and jumping through Dad’s hoops these days.

That’s rather cynical.

Perhaps, but it’s also painfully accurate.

Tom decided to take his guest to European Street instead of Biscottis for the simple reason that he wanted to see Noah’s reaction to the sometimes highly charged gay atmosphere at the former. Ever been here? Tom said as he pulled into the restaurant parking lot.

No. I can’t afford to eat out unless it’s the Golden Arches.

The struggling college student. Been there, done that.

In the restaurant, they were seated at a banquette along the rear wall, but not until they’d passed several tables occupied by some very gay men and a few gay women. This isn’t my favorite restaurant, Tom said. It’s just a little too gay for my taste, but the food is good, the service is adequate, and the prices are reasonable.

What do you mean when you say ‘too gay’?

"Did you ever see the movie Mannequin?"

Sure, it’s one of my favorites.

Then you surely remember the black guy named Hollywood in the movie. I’m referring to people like that.

Oh yeah, Noah said.

They ordered sandwiches and Cokes, and he began to quiz Noah. So where exactly are you from?

Live Oak.

Wow. That’s over halfway to Tallahassee from here.

You forgot to mention that it’s very small and very redneck.

That too. So why did you come ninety plus miles to go to a former community college? Don’t they have them in, what would it be, Suwannee County?

The main reason is money, Noah said. There aren’t many jobs to be found in Suwannee County, and the nearest community college is in Columbia County. But to be totally honest, I had to get away from that environment.

Mind if I ask why?

My parents are Southern Baptists, and I hate all that hellfire and brimstone crap. Until I turned eighteen, I pretty much had to go to that church every Sunday. I still don’t know how I did it, but I managed to put my foot down when I became a legal adult.

How did your family react to your rebellion?

Badly, but not as badly as I’d feared. I guess you might say we’ve maintained a sort of uneasy truce over the past year.

Anybody back there that you really care about?

What do you mean? Noah said.

Girlfriend?

Not really.

What does that mean? Do you have a girlfriend back home or not?

There was one girl I mostly went out with, but we never considered ourselves to be a couple or anything, Noah said. We sort of hung out together because there wasn’t anybody else around.

Boyfriend?

A boyfriend! In Live Oak, Florida! Noah said. Surely you jest.

There must be a few queers back in those woods, Tom said.

Noah didn’t bat an eyelash at the boyfriend comment. Hmm, he thought. Maybe it’s safe to probe more deeply.

If there are, they’re extremely well camouflaged. I think they mostly leave town when they figure out they’re gay.

What about you, Noah. Are you gay?

Why do you ask?

I saw the way you looked at my naked body earlier. I’ve seen that kind of look before.

I honestly don’t know what I am, Noah said. Can I ask you a question?

Sure.

Are you gay?

Yes.

It doesn’t show. Does anyone know?

No, Tom said, and it’s nobody’s business. Of course, any single man in my profession is automatically suspect, but I like to keep my personal life personal, if you know what I mean. Actually, I did tell John Cullen, the Rector of the church, when he hired me, but that’s under the seal of the confessional, so to speak.

Do you have a boyfriend?

No. Truth be told, since I started college, I haven’t had much time for any kind of social life. I go to school… I study… I have my job at the church, which involves playing for services every Sunday, plus the odd wedding and funeral, not to mention the adult choir and two choirs of young people. And I give organ lessons to a half-dozen or so students, and I’m beginning to get a second career going, performing in concert in various places. There isn’t much time for anything else. Frankly, if it weren’t for Mrs. Hand and her five daughters, I’d be extremely frustrated.

That got a chuckle out of Noah, and he said, Yeah, I know what you mean.

Where do you live? Tom said.

I share an apartment in Riverside with a total asshole.

Really?

Oh yeah. You have no idea. He’s loud, obnoxious, and a total slob. I can’t wait to move out.

Do you have you a lease?

The lease was up last month, and we’re month to month right now. Why?

Finish your sandwich. I have something I want to show you.

Okay.

THEY FINISHED THEIR meal in relative silence, and Tom paid the bill. Back in the car, he turned right onto Park Street and headed toward Avondale. He drove in silence until he reached Van Wert Avenue, where he again made a right turn. He made two more turns and pulled up in front of a medium-sized brick house.

What’s this? Noah said.

The third smallest three-bedroom house in the neighborhood, Tom said, and it’s mine. Come inside and let me show you.

They exited the car, and Tom unlocked the front door and ushered his guest inside.

Oh my God, Noah said, it looks like my mother lives here—it’s so clean and neat.

He chuckled at that and said, I’m not exactly a neat freak, but I do like to keep things tidy. Let me give you the nickel tour.

They walked through the