I raised the camera and pressed the shutter button, the quiet click sounding loud in the quiet evening.

I took a picture of the joists, then another of the orange flags buried under the black mulch.

“Are you enjoying the view, Joan?”

Tyler was standing on his concrete patio, a red plastic cup in his hand.

He had his sleeves rolled up, his watch catching the last orange rays of sunlight as he stood near his patio table.

“I am just taking some photos for my records, Tyler,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could.