“When I saw Trixie learning to ride her bicycle in the driveway.”
I smiled through fresh tears.
“She crashed into your tomatoes.”
“She apologized to every plant.”
“She felt terrible.”
“She is a good girl.”
I reached across the table and covered his hand with mine.
“You helped us.”
He shook his head.
“You helped yourselves. I only kept the door open.”
That evening, I told Trixie we owned our little home.
She stared at me from the sofa.
“Even the sink window?”
“Even the sink window.”
“And the crooked floor?”
“That too.”
She threw her arms around me.
Across the yard, Mr. Alvarez stood beside his tomato plants. Trixie ran outside and hugged him before I could stop her.
He froze.
Then, slowly, he placed one hand on her back.
For the first time since I had met him, his face gave away exactly what he was feeling.
Grief was there.
