“Two more inches,” I said.

“Give the roots room to spread out.”

We planted six new purple lilac roots along the property line.

The nursery receipt was in my shirt pocket, forty-two dollars in all.

The yellow surveyor stakes were still driven into the lawn every ten feet, stamped by the county surveyor and on file at the municipal building.

On the other side of the shared gravel driveway, Harry Caldwell’s old estate sat empty and silent.

A red liquidation notice hung from the post by the road.