“I have enough for the shoes.”

“Get in the truck, Ben,” Carl said, tossing his work gloves onto the dashboard.

“We’ll drive down to the hardware store right now and get those laces tied.”

By six thirty that evening, the sun had slipped behind the tall silo across the road, casting long blue shadows over the farmhouse porch.

Grace sat beside me on the porch swing, her canvas apron folded neatly on her lap, her hands resting quietly as the swing rocked in a slow, steady rhythm.

Ben was in the living room with Carl, stomping across the rug in his brand-new dark blue canvas track shoes, showing off the firm rubber soles.