We stared at each other on the porch for several long seconds before he checked the name on his phone screen.

“Robert H.” He held out the warm box, his hand trembling slightly.

“That’ll be forty-eight dollars, sir.” I handed him fifty, and then, after a moment, an extra hundred.

“Keep the change, Derek.” His face hardened with embarrassment.

“I don’t need your pity, Robert.” “Then consider it payment for the delivery,” I said.

And as I took the food, he hesitated, and swallowed his pride, and asked, quietly, “Is Gaby okay?” It was the first time in over a year I had heard him say her name without malice in it.

“She’s doing wonderfully.” “And Leo?” “Thriving.