He ran down the two concrete steps to the driveway, where his red bicycle leaned against the trunk of the citrus tree.

The pink scar on his left knee was clean and dry under a small square bandage.

He kicked up the kickstand with the heel of his sneaker and swung his leg over the black vinyl seat.

Mariana came out behind him, carrying Lily on her hip in the shade of the porch roof.

Lily pointed her little blue marker at the driveway and clapped her hands together, babbling brightly as her brother put his feet on the pedals.

“Look at him ride, Julian,” Mariana said, resting her hand gently on my forearm.