“Principal Vance added Arthur’s name to the lunch line volunteer list,” she said.

“Arthur wants to be the one handing out the fruit,” I said.

“He asked for the yellow apron,” Irene said, her gentle voice carrying its Midwestern lilt.

At five o’clock I walked home.

The late afternoon sun fell across the smooth concrete step in front of my porch.

The wide concrete driveway was completely clear.

The dark grease stains that had covered eighty square feet of it a week earlier were gone.

Noah and Lily sat on the top step with their feet swinging over the edge.