A rusted mailbox leaned toward the road.

The name TATE had been written across it in faded marker.

Before Wendell could speak, the front door opened.

A woman appeared on the porch.

She looked younger than Wendell expected.

Early thirties, perhaps.

But illness had made her seem older.

One hand gripped the doorframe.

The other rested against her chest.

She wore an old yellow robe and stared at Wendell’s SUV as though trouble itself had pulled into her yard.

Jaylen got out quickly.

“Mama, it’s okay. His car broke down. I fixed it.”

Her eyes moved from Jaylen to Wendell.

“Jaylen. Come here.”

He walked toward her and handed her the grocery bag.

She opened it and removed a prescription bottle.

Her fingers trembled.

Wendell didn’t stare, but he saw enough to understand that the medicine mattered.

A lot.

“Thank you for bringing him home,” she said.

The words were polite.

The tone wasn’t inviting.

Wendell respected that.

“Of course.”

Jaylen glanced back at him.

Wendell reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card.

The cream-colored card looked absurdly expensive against the dusty yard.

“Call that number,” he said. “Anytime. I’d like to see what you work on.”

Jaylen looked at his mother first.

Only after she gave the smallest nod did he reach for the card.

Then her expression changed.

“No.”

Jaylen froze.

Wendell lowered his hand slightly.

“I don’t mean any disrespect.”

“I said no.”

“Mama—”

“Inside, Jay.”

The boy’s jaw tightened.

But he obeyed.

The screen door shut behind him.

His mother remained on the porch.