But I went home feeling part of something larger than the problem I’d been carrying.

The neighborhood wasn’t an audience for my marriage.

It was a place where people could show up with gloves and shovels and improve one small corner together.

I had begun to understand what Patty meant when she said everybody needed help.

When the last snow melted, I found a folded paper under the old washing machine.

It was a grocery list in Roger’s handwriting, dated from the year Trevor started kindergarten.

Apples.