I laughed softly.
“That’s a good secret.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
Oliver pointed toward the crowd.
Toward the neighbors.
Toward the officers.
Toward the volunteers.
Toward the people whose lives she had touched.
Then he pointed at Mrs. Adele.
“That’s the secret.”
Years later, people still talked about the Piggy Bank Morning.
The day an entire town remembered a woman who had spent her life remembering everyone else.
The donations helped.
The repairs helped.
