Arthur, our next-door neighbor, was standing by the open trunk of his silver sedan, wrapping a set of jumper cables. He wore his faded blue baseball cap low over his eyes, shading his face from the glare.
“Heading back?” Arthur asked, pausing to clear his throat.
“Yes,” I said, stopping by the driver’s side of my car. “I just wanted to make sure Gary had everything he needed for the week. He told me he’s been spending a lot of money keeping up with the maintenance here.”
Arthur stopped winding the black cable. He looked toward our porch, then back at me, his eyes hidden under the brim of his cap.
“Gary didn’t pay for those porch repairs, Jenna,” Arthur said.
The silence between us stretched until a truck passed on the main road, its tires whining against the pavement.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The lumber company came by twice looking for him last summer,” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I saw the invoices left on the door. He told the delivery man the owner had passed away and there was no money in the estate.”
