“You did a decent job.”

“I had some help.” I nodded toward the kitchen, where Lily’s crayons sat in a cup.

He carried the sack out to the porch and stopped.

“Want me to take the old latch with me?”

“Leave it on the step,” I said.

“I want to look at it in daylight one last time.”

By eleven thirty the kettle had clicked off, and Evelyn Price, my neighbor, put two cups on the kitchen table.

She’d brought a flowerpot wrapped in newspaper and set it between the sugar bowl and the bank envelope.