“I brought cinnamon rolls,” Ava said, stepping down to the stone path.

“My mom said I could stop by for an hour if you were home.”

“I am home, Ava,” I said.

“Put the kettle on the stove.”

Ava went inside through the side door, letting the screen door close softly behind her.

She came back out two minutes later holding two green ceramic mugs of hot tea and set them on the wooden porch railing.

I walked down the porch steps into the backyard garden carrying my short metal hand trowel.