“Like Mom and Brent?”
I knelt beside him.
“No.”
“They had money. They just didn’t think my work was worth paying for.”
I pointed toward the road where the woman had driven away.
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“She didn’t have much money. But she knew the work had value.”
Noah thought about that.
Then he nodded.
“Okay.”
I smiled.
“Okay?”
He picked up his wrench.
“Rick says okay is like a plan.”
I laughed and lifted him onto my shoulders.
“Yeah, buddy.”
“Okay is like a plan.”
We stood beneath that old plywood sign watching traffic pass along Linden Avenue.
Years ago, Laura told me I was going nowhere in life.
She was wrong.
Every morning at 6:30, I know exactly where I’m going.
