“That lesson came late.”
Children ran across the yard before we opened the car doors.
A spotted dog followed them carrying what might once have been a stuffed duck.
Miriam appeared on the porch wearing an apron over dark pants.
“You came.”
Her pleasure warmed me.
“We said we would,” I answered.
“That does not always mean people come.”
Her gaze moved briefly over my face.
Not checking for damage.
Checking because she cared.
“How are you today?”
“Good.”
“Truth?”
“Tired already.”
“Excellent. We have chairs.”
Elias came from behind the house carrying a tray of raw vegetables.
He had driven.
I noticed before he said anything.
“You got behind the wheel.”
His smile was nervous.
“Seven miles yesterday. Fifteen today.”
“How was it?”
“Awful.”
“But you did it.”
“I did.”
Miriam took the tray from him.
“He pulled over twice.”
“Once.”
“Twice.”
