“I’ll bring out two mugs of tea.”

We sat together on the wooden porch bench for twenty minutes, eating fresh apples and watching the afternoon clouds drift past Elm Street.

He didn’t ask about Julian, and I didn’t bring up the court dates.

When he finished his apple, he wiped his pocketknife on his jeans, stood up, and squeezed my shoulder once before heading back to his truck.

At four-thirty in the late afternoon, I sat alone on the front porch bench holding a hot mug of black tea.