“The prosecutor’s clerk dropped off a packet of papers for you at my desk,” Clara said as we stepped out onto the granite steps.

“They need to know by tomorrow afternoon whether you want to sign the full punitive criminal petition.”

I gazed across the courthouse lawn toward Main Street and watched the traffic light at the corner turn green.

“I want to go see Uncle John in Canton first,” I said.

Clara tapped her pen on her pad and gave one nod.

“I can drive us down to Canton right after lunch,” Clara said.

“John’s been sitting out in that quiet garden all alone for three years.”