Clark sighed.
“Fine. I’ll bring it over later.”
“No.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“We’re all standing here already. I want it now.”
Tom nodded toward the garage.
“I’ll take my ladder too.”
Clark looked around.
Nobody was shouting.
Nobody threatened him.
Nobody moved toward him.
We simply stood there.
Waiting.
And that was exactly what he wasn’t used to.
Clark had spent years surviving on the word later.
People asked for their things.
He delayed.
They got tired of the conversation.
He won.
But that afternoon, no one went home.
After an uncomfortable silence, he turned and disappeared into his garage.
A moment later, he emerged with Tom’s ladder.
Then Mrs. Delgado’s pressure washer.
Then my extension cord.
My socket set.
The hedge trimmer.
The folding table.
More tools.
Watching that garage slowly empty onto the driveway was one of the strangest things I’d ever witnessed.
When he finally brought out the last item, Clark threw his hands up.
“There. Everybody happy?”
I looked through the returned things.
Then at him.
“You still owe me for the gas.”
His mouth dropped open.
“You cannot be serious.”
I held up one of the photographs.
“I have the dates.”
