He had two grown children, Aaron and Claire, but I rarely saw them. I assumed they lived far away.
Most days, Mr. Vance sat in an old wooden chair on his porch with his hands resting over his stomach.
People waved.
Sometimes he waved back.
“Mr. Vance can’t get his mower started.”
Usually he didn’t.
One Saturday morning, Noah was looking out our front window when he said, “Mom.”
I was drinking coffee.
“What?”
“Mr. Vance can’t get his mower started.”
I glanced outside.
Noah kept watching.
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