I could not even have told you the color of his front door without checking.That morning,"s" I saw him struggling with four grocery bags in the trunk of his car. One slipped, caught on his elbow, and nearly hit the pavement.
I walked over before I really thought about it.
“Let me grab those.”
“Oh, you don’t have to,” he said.
“I know. Come on.”
He didn’t argue after that.
I carried the bags up his porch and into a kitchen that smelled like old wood, instant coffee, and quiet mornings. Ezra moved carefully, the way people do when they have spent too many years doing everything alone.
“Sit down for a minute,” he said. “Least I can do is pour you a cup of coffee.”
I almost refused. I was not exactly the coffee-with-neighbors type.
But something in the way he asked made me pause. It was as if he expected me to say no.
So I pulled out a chair.
“One cup,” I said. “Then I have to check my gutters.”
Ezra laughed.
It was a small, surprised sound.
We ended up talking for almost an hour.
