PART 27

On a bright Saturday morning, Tommy and I walked to the farmer’s market.

He was older now, almost as tall as my shoulder, and he carried the reusable bags while I chose apples and tomatoes.

We passed a stall selling handmade wooden houses.

Tommy stopped to inspect the tiny roofs and windows, turning one model carefully in his hands.

He said he liked the craftsmanship but preferred the bridge he’d built with Mark because that one had a purpose.

I bought the little house anyway.