“Whose car is this parked on our lawn?” I asked, looking from the car to his changed appearance.

Before he could answer, Mrs.

Henderson from the bungalow next door climbed out from behind the wheel.

“It’s my son’s, he works across town,” Mrs.

Henderson explained kindly.

“Lucas needed a quiet ride out to visit your mother’s grave before Patrick stirred up trouble in the neighborhood.”

I stared at Lucas’s clean wool coat, struggling to match this dignified man with the ragged figure from my childhood.

“The coat is her boy’s too,” Lucas said quietly, smoothing the heavy wool lapels with his rough hands.