Instead, he cleared a small spot on the shelf above the mower.
He placed the envelope there.
“You sure that’s where you want to keep it?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He looked at the mower handle and then at the envelope.
“So I remember.”
He didn’t explain what he meant.
He didn’t need to.
The following Saturday, I woke to the sound of the garage door opening.
For one confused second, my mind went straight back to the previous four years.
Then I remembered there was no reason for Noah to cross the street anymore.
I walked to the front window.
Noah stood in our driveway with one hand on the mower.
He looked toward Mr. Vance’s porch for a few seconds.
The chair was empty.
Then Noah looked back at our own yard.
He pulled the mower toward the grass and bent to start it.
