He paused at the top step with his toolbox on his shoulder.

“That October fella.

He came from over Greenwich way.

Drove a van with the county’s name on the side.”

He drove off, and I stood there holding two keys that weren’t my father’s and one that was.

Marcus showed up at noon with two coffees and a paper bag spotted through with butter.

“The bakery over on Charles Street,” he said.

“I asked for the one with the almonds.