Then he told me he would pay to have the damaged lawn professionally repaired.
Not his father.
Him.
A landscaper would restore the soil properly before winter.
Then he hesitated.
“And next spring…”
“Yes?”
“When you plant the flowers again…”
He rubbed his hands together.
“If you’d let me help, I’d like to.”
I studied him.
Two weeks earlier, this young man had driven through Roy’s garden and shrugged.
Now he sat at my kitchen table asking permission to help rebuild it.
“Yes,” I said.
“You can help.”
He nodded.
