I had spent years helping people.
I liked helping people.
Still do.
But help is something you ask for.
Not something you sneak into someone’s driveway at one in the morning and steal.
A week after the whole neighborhood confrontation, Thursday came around again.
I climbed into Earl and drove over to Mrs. Patterson’s house.
She was waiting on the porch.
As she slowly settled into the passenger seat, she glanced at the fuel gauge.
“Enough gas?”
I smiled.
“Plenty.”
She buckled her seat belt.
“Good. I need groceries.”
“I know.”
“And the pharmacy.”
I looked at her.
She gave me an innocent smile.
“Since we’re already out.”
I laughed.
Then I put Earl into gear.
The old truck groaned exactly the way it always did.
For a second, the passenger window rattled.
Somewhere in my memory, I could hear Nancy complaining about it.
I pulled away from the curb.
Mrs. Patterson looked over.
“Hope I’m not asking too much.”
“No.”
I smiled and turned toward the pharmacy.
“Sure. I can do that.”
