How Two Extra Jobs and Forty Thousand Dollars Bought the Old Miller Farm

The driver lifted one hand over the top of the steering wheel, and Nate raised his mug two inches in reply.

“That was Miller’s boy,” Nate said.

“He remembers when this porch was sagging into the weeds,” I said.

Nate set his coffee mug down on the step next to his boot heel.

“It had good bones,” he said.

“Good bones, Em.”

He reached back with one hand and ran his calloused thumb over the riser board he had planed down by hand.

There was no rush in his voice, no quick glance at his wrist to see if he was late for an emergency field call.