Sometimes he waved back.
« Mr. Vance can’t get his mower started. »
Usually he didn’t.
One Saturday morning, Noah was looking out our front window when he said, « Mom. »
I was drinking coffee.
« What? »
« Mr. Vance can’t get his mower started. »
I glanced outside.
Noah kept watching.
Mr. Vance was standing halfway down his driveway, leaning heavily on the mower handle. He pulled the starter cord once, then stopped and pressed a hand against his lower back.