“What is this?” he whispered.
I couldn’t answer.
My eyes were full of tears. I didn’t even know why yet. I just knew.
Who are all those beans for?
People.
I looked up at the deck.
Brent was still standing there. But he wasn’t holding his mug up anymore. He’d lowered it. He was gripping the railing with his other hand.
He was staring down at the garden. At all of those people. At the line of cars along the ditch, disappearing into the fog.
His face had gone very still.
The last car was a silver minivan.
It came slowly down the road, the way people drive when they’re not sure they’re in the right place. Or when they’re sure, but they wish they weren’t.
It parked at the very end of the line. Way down at the bottom of the hill, behind all the others.
