Nate stayed right where he was, standing still on the gravel drive, staring down at the bare, dry rectangle of dead yellow grass where his boat trailer had sat for four years.

By May, Kim’s new chain-link fence ran forty yards around her backyard on Elm Street.

Nate set his folding lawn chair on the fresh sod and picked up his glass of iced tea.

Kim came out through her sliding glass door carrying a plastic bag of potato chips and a bottle of barbecue sauce.

“The boys can run all the way to the alley now without getting near the street,” Kim said.

I set my green bean casserole on the picnic table beside two bowls of potato salad.