‘Wait,’ Angela said. She looked at Steve but was surprised to see that Steve already was moving from behind the counter and toward the boy. ‘Jus... a minute,’ he said. ‘Did you mean ‘Smith’ with an i or ‘Smyth’ with a y?’ ‘With a y,’ the boy answered, turning back, a bit of hope in his eyes now. ‘Yes, Stan Smyth was a customer here. A common name but an unusual spelling for here, took me a minute to sort it out. A fine man, as I recall. Isn’t he . . . wasn’t he . . . married to a woman named. I have no reason to not believe him. Frequently, Paul takes walks around our neighborhood, and if he sees me outside he usually stops to talk with me for a while and sometimes offers up a prayer for me and members of my family that I may mention to him. Sometimes, on the days when our trash is picked up, he will wheel my trash cart, if it has been emptied, back up my driveway to my carport. He seems to be a good and helpful neighbor. Yesterday I was out near the end of my driveway when Paul. More

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