“Count it yourself if you want.

Forty crisp bills straight from the bank on Main Street.

To cover your trouble with those lilac roots and settle that disputed three-foot easement once and for all.”

I looked down at the white envelope sitting among the wrapped pears.

“Those lilac bushes went in eight years ago, Harry,” I said.

“Bushes can be replanted, David,” Harry said, sweeping his heavy hand in a sharp circle as if he were waving away smoke.

“Progress doesn’t stop for old shrubs, and paper deeds get messy after forty years.