Claire noticed the patch first.
Beside the porch, one small section of soil had been deliberately left untouched.
Mr. Vance had instructed that nobody disturb it before the final Saturday.
Claire arrived carrying a hydrangea.
“Mom’s favorite,” she said.
Aaron picked up the shovel.
“I guess I’m digging.”
Claire gave him a look.
“You always hated yard work.”
“I still hate yard work.”
Noah smiled.
Aaron dug the hole.
Noah lowered the hydrangea carefully into the soil.
I crossed the street to get a watering can.
For once, nobody cried.
There was no final envelope buried beneath the roots.
No hidden fortune.
No shocking inheritance.
No last-minute revelation.
Just four people standing in the yard of a lonely man who had apparently understood more about all of us than we had understood about him.
Mr. Vance had never been good at saying what he felt.
