He got right to work. Around nine, I brought a bottle of water out to him. “You’ve earned a break.”
He took it gratefully. “Thanks.”
As he drank, his eyes drifted toward the detached garage. He stared at it for several seconds. “You ever been inside it?”
“Not once.”
He looked genuinely surprised. “Really?”
“Still unpacking.”
He nodded. “Makes sense.” Then he grabbed the mower and walked off before I could ask why he cared.
The Saturday after that, I found him standing beside the garage before he’d even started mowing, his fingers resting lightly against the weathered siding. He didn’t notice me until I spoke.
“Everything okay?”
He yanked his hand back like the wood had scorched him. “Yeah.”
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