“He’ll say no.”
“I’m doing his yard.”
“You could ask first.”
“He’ll say no.”
“Probably.”
Noah disappeared into the garage.
Five minutes later, he pushed our mower across the street.
I stood at the kitchen window expecting Mr. Vance to tell him to go home.
Then he pointed toward the side yard.
Instead, Mr. Vance watched Noah for several seconds.
Then he pointed toward the side yard.
Noah nodded.
That was it.
For the next four years, from spring through fall, every Saturday morning, Noah mowed Mr. Vance’s lawn.
He never got paid.