Chapter 9 - The Empty Chair
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant strokes of crimson and amber, Noah finished up the front lawn, wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, and walked up the steps to the porch.
He didn't go inside. Instead, he pulled up the second rocking chair right beside mine, sat down, and let out a long, satisfied sigh.
"Finished?" I asked, turning to look at him.
"Finished," Noah smiled, leaning his head back against the wooden slats.
For a long moment, neither of us said anything. We just sat there together in the fading twilight, listening to the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of the autumn wind through the trees.
It was the exact same view Mr. Vance had looked at for years while sitting alone on this very porch, waiting for a car to pass, waiting for someone to notice him, waiting for a connection that his own family had been too busy to provide.
"Do you ever think about him?" I asked softly.
Noah turned his head, looking out toward the road where he used to push our old rusty lawn mower across the street four years ago.
"Every Saturday," Noah answered quietly. "Whenever I start the engine, I still feel like he's sitting right here watching me to make sure I don't miss the corners."
"He'd be proud of you, Noah," I said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "More proud than you'll ever know."
Noah smiled, his fingers tightening around mine.
May you like
"I know he is, Mom," he whispered. "I know he is."
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