“Sarah would’ve marched straight down this sidewalk and patted you on the shoulder for the way you handled that boy.”

The flatbed pulled away from the curb, its heavy diesel engine grinding up through the gears until the noise died away completely at the main road.

“Is Trent going to be gone by morning?” I asked.

“His uncle’s driving down from Scranton with a trailer at eight,” Nora said.

I drank the last of my coffee and put the empty stoneware mug down on her wooden railing.

“Thanks for tracking down that 1984 deed, Nora.”