“I’ll pick up three pounds of fresh green beans at the Strasburg market on Saturday,” he said.

Brenda smiled, tapped her clipboard once against her hip, and turned back toward her desk in the front office.

“Don’t be late, Nathaniel,” she said.

“The pork goes on the table at five sharp.”

“I’ll be on the porch at four fifty-five,” Nathaniel said.

He swept the rest of the sawdust into the heavy metal dustpan and dumped it into the scrap barrel by the bay door.

At half past four, Nathaniel sat on the end stool at the counter inside the Route 30 Diner.