“I’m fine.”
I stared at him.
“You? Turning down French fries?”
“I’m not hungry.”
That was suspicious enough.
Then I offered him another dollar “for later.”
He accepted that one immediately.
A few days later, he asked my husband, Cyril, if he could earn money by raking our yard.
Cyril blinked at him.
“You live here.”
“I know.”
“Are you asking me to pay you to clean your own yard?”
Noah nodded.
Cyril looked at me.
“I admire the business model.”
When Cyril refused to pay him, Noah walked across the street and offered his services to Mrs. Reynolds.
Soon, he was knocking on other neighbors’ doors asking if they needed leaves raked, weeds pulled, or garbage cans rolled back from the curb.
Every dollar he earned disappeared into an old pencil case under his bed.
I assumed he was saving for some new toy.
Then one afternoon, I noticed three crumpled dollar bills sitting on his dresser.
