July 1997. ‘On March twenty-first Lola said she was pregnant,’ says Max. ‘She’d probably been a couple of weeks late with her period before she found out. Say she was due the first week in March, then she’d have been ovulating around the middle of February. That’s when our child was conceived.’
‘Right,’ says his mind. ‘And this is the middle of July so she’s five months gone.’
‘If she didn’t lose the baby when we crashed,’ says Max.
‘I don’t think she lost it,’ says his mind.
‘Why not?’ says Max.
‘It’s in the nature of things that you should have two children that you’ll probably never see.’
‘That’s hard.’
‘That’s your life. Get used to it.’
That night Max dreams the Ark drifting through rain and storm and dark of night. The sky clears and it’s the dawn of a new day. Here’s the Ark stranded on the mountains of Ararat. Here’s the rainbow sign of the covenant. The little door up near the peak of the Ark’s roof opens and Max sees a face. The face of a child, a boy. The boy’s face comes closer, closer. His eyes grow bigger, bigger. ‘Noah?’ says Max.
‘Daddy?’ says the Noah child.