I took the envelope from her hand, the paper feeling heavy, and drove back home with the window rolled down to let the warm afternoon air clear my head.

When I pulled into the driveway, Emma was waiting on the front porch, her fingers twisting her silver ring around and around.

“A flatbed truck just backed down his driveway, Mom,” Emma said, pointing toward the side yard.

“They are unloading giant wooden beams.”

We walked around the side of the garage together, the grass still holding the deep tracks from Carl’s truck from earlier.

Three construction workers in dusty boots were lifting heavy, pressure-treated cedar posts from the back of a flatbed.