I recognized the dented front bumper right away.

Walt didn’t pull into the driveway.

He just stopped his car by the ditch and rolled the window down.

I stood up, wiped my wet hands on my jeans, and walked over to the edge of the gravel road.

“The lower gate hinge is worse than I thought,” Walt said.

“We bought new heavy hardware at the store in town,” I said.

Walt looked past me at the white farmhouse.