I said no.
Then three cafés called.
Then a regional food magazine wrote about Walter’s Pies.
The headline read.
RETIRED GROCER FINDS SECOND ACT IN APPLE PIE.
Ethan framed it.
Put it in my kitchen.
Vanessa said.
“Now people know you’re not lazy.”
I looked at her.
She winced.
“Too soon?”
“Yes.”
“Fair.”
I left it there anyway.
Two years later, I turned sixty-two.
My knees were worse.
The house across the street remained perfect because I paid a teenager to mow.
That teenager was Noah.
He demanded market rate.
I told him six dollars.
He threatened a strike.
The union apparently survived.
We settled at twenty-five.
Emma inspected his work.
She was management.
The children spent as much time at my house as theirs.
Vanessa eventually gave them keys.
She asked me first.
That mattered.
One afternoon, she stood in my kitchen.
“Walter.”
“Yes?”
“I need advice.”
