I’d never told Chase the garage had ever been unlocked.
“What did you just say?”
His face went pale.
“I…”
“You asked if I keep it locked now. How would you know it wasn’t always locked?”
He lowered his eyes.
“I should go.”
“Chase.”
He stopped.
“If you don’t tell me what’s going on, don’t come back.”
For several seconds, he stood completely still.
Then he whispered:
“I’m sorry.”
He shut off the mower, lowered the handle, and pushed it down the driveway.
He didn’t even ask for his pay.
The next Saturday came.
No Chase.
Neither did he return the week after that.
Then, three days later, I spotted him outside a grocery store climbing into a brand-new black SUV.
At first, I thought I had the wrong kid.
The faded baseball cap was gone. So were the patched jeans and worn sneakers. Chase was wearing a designer polo shirt, spotless shoes, and an expensive-looking watch.
Then he looked directly at me.
It was definitely him.
The SUV drove away before I could call his name.
And suddenly, I wondered whether everything he’d told me had been a lie.
PART 2
The following Saturday, someone knocked on my door.
Chase stood there with the old red mower.
He looked exhausted.
“I know you told me not to come back.”
“I did.”
“I want to explain.”
I stepped aside.
“Then explain.”
He entered my living room but refused to sit. Instead, he twisted his baseball cap between his hands.
“The man driving the SUV was my dad.”
I waited.
“I live with my mom. The court says I have to stay with him every other weekend.”
“So the expensive clothes?”
“They stay at his house.”
He gave a tired little shrug.
“I call them my weekend clothes.”
I didn’t say anything.
“My dad likes people to think he takes care of me.”
“Does he?”
“He buys expensive things.”
Chase stared down at his cap.
“But I’d trade all of it for him showing up to one baseball game.”
The room went quiet.
Then I asked the question that had really been bothering me.
“Why were you mowing my lawn?”
Chase closed his eyes.
“Because I wanted to be here.”
When he opened them again, there were tears in them.
“My family used to own this house.”
Everything suddenly made sense.
“The garage.”
He nodded.
“My grandfather built the workbench inside. He taught me to fix bikes there. I learned how to ride on that concrete floor. When it rained, we’d sit inside and listen to the water hitting the roof.”
His voice cracked.
“After Grandpa died, everything fell apart. Mom couldn’t keep up with the mortgage. We lost the house.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
