After a while, Aaron said, “All those years, I thought he chose everybody else over us.”
Noah looked toward the field.
“Maybe he didn’t know how to come back.”
Aaron looked down at the glove.
“That’s not the same as trying.”
“No.”
Aaron seemed surprised by the answer.
Noah continued.
“But I think maybe this was him admitting it.”
Aaron nodded slowly.
“Yeah.”
The third Saturday belonged to Noah.
The note contained only four words.
My house. Porch chair.
Mr. Vance’s house felt strange without him.
The porch seemed emptier than the entire property.
Noah sat in the faded wooden chair.
Nothing happened.
He looked at me.
“This is awkward.”
“Check underneath.”
He leaned forward and ran his fingers along the wooden frame.
Something had been taped beneath the seat.
A small black notebook.
Noah opened it.
Almost every page contained a date.
Saturdays.
He began reading.
“Boy came at 8:10. Too hot today. Told him to quit early. He ignored me.”
Noah laughed.
He turned the page.
“Rain. Thought he wouldn’t come. He came.”
Another entry.
“Driving now. Parks too close to my mailbox.”
