“What was that scraping noise earlier?” I asked, taking a step down the first wooden riser. “It sounded like it was right against our porch.”
Jason did not answer. He turned his back to us and walked toward his side yard, his boots squelching in the wet grass.
After the yellow school bus pulled away with Emma, I walked down the driveway to where Jason was standing near his new garage.
He was inspecting a fresh patch of crushed limestone he had spread along the side of his new two-car structure. The gravel was gray and wet, smelling of lime and damp earth. It looked like it had been shoveled there recently to cover something.
“What is the gravel for, Jason?” I asked, stopping near the edge of our blacktop.
“Drainage,” he said, using the toe of his boot to smooth out a ridge near our property line. “Water runs off the roof. Need somewhere for it to go.”
“The water is supposed to stay on your side,” I said. “This looks like it is spilling over the boundary.”
