It took the three of us four trips with cookie sheets and both dishpans, and a sack and a half were still sitting on the concrete when the porch light came on.

Lily carried the dishpan clutched to her chest with her elbows sticking out.

“Does Mr.

Heckert hate us?” she asked, without looking up.

“No,” I said.

“What he hates is that I quit.”

“That isn’t the same thing,” Noah said.

We spread the coins over the kitchen table, and then over the floor once the table was full.