Tomorrow morning would be very different.

Clark finished.

Replaced the cap.

Walked home.

I sent Katie one message.

Tonight.

From the guest room, she replied:

Showtime.

At 6:45, I carried the wrapped box across the lawn and placed it directly in the center of Clark’s welcome mat.

Then Katie and I sat on my front steps with coffee.

Slowly, the neighborhood woke up.

Mrs. Petrova came outside for her newspaper.

Walt happened to be taking an unusually convenient morning walk.

Someone loaded a car.

Another neighbor walked a dog.

At 7:10, Clark’s front door opened.

He stepped outside dressed for work.

Pressed shirt.

Nice trousers.

Travel mug.

Car keys.

Then he noticed the box.

He looked around.

Then smiled.

That was my favorite part.

He genuinely believed someone had left him a gift.

Maybe a client.

Maybe his wife.

Maybe even the foolish old neighbor finally apologizing.

He set his coffee on the railing.

Crouched.

Pulled the ribbon.

The lid opened.

The smell reached him first.

Clark jerked backward.

In the confusion, he knocked the box sideways.

Bright blue dye spilled across his hands.

His sleeves.

His white shirt.

His pants.

His shoes.

Then Clark screamed.

Not a dignified shout.

A full scream.

Doors opened.

Neighbors turned.

Denise came running outside wearing a bathrobe.

“Clark! What happened?”

There he stood.

Blue.

Reeking.

And directly in front of him lay my note.

Denise picked it up.

She looked at the photographs.

Her expression changed.

“Clark.”

He stopped moving.

“What is this?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Have you been stealing Frank’s gasoline?”

“Denise—”

“There are pictures!”

By then, the neighbors had moved closer.

Walt took the page and loudly examined one picture.

“Well, would you look at that.”

He shook his head.

“Stealing gas from Frank.”

Mrs. Petrova gasped.

“After losing his wife?”

Clark tried wiping the dye from his face.

That only made things worse.

Then he looked across the lawn.

At me.

I sat on my front step holding my coffee.

I raised the mug toward him.

Just slightly.

A neighborly toast.

Katie sat beside me trying so hard not to laugh that tears rolled down her face.

“Grandpa,” she whispered. “He’s completely blue.”

“I noticed.”

“Grandma would be losing her mind.”

I looked down at my coffee because suddenly my eyes were wet too.

Not from laughter.

From missing Ellen.

Denise and Clark argued loudly on their porch.

The part that upset her most wasn’t the stolen fuel.

It was that everyone knew.

Neighbors.

School parents.

Church people.

That mattered to Clark too.

Which had been the point.

For several days, he avoided me.

The blue coloring took time to disappear.

I saw him leave for work wearing long sleeves despite the warm weather.

A week later, someone knocked on my door.

Clark.

Alone.

He looked embarrassed.

“Frank.”

I waited.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“You got me pretty good.”

“I did.”

“My kids think it’s hilarious.”

I nearly smiled.

“My daughter drew a picture of me blue. Denise put it on the refrigerator.”

Then he became serious.

“I came to apologize.”

I said nothing.

“For taking the gas. For what I said. Calling you greedy.”

He looked toward the ground.

“You weren’t greedy. I knew that even when I said it.”

“Then why say it?”

“Because admitting what I was doing would’ve meant admitting what kind of person I was being.”

That answer surprised me.

I studied him.

“Why me, Clark?”

He looked up.

“You have a job. Money. A good vehicle. Why steal twenty dollars of gasoline from an old man?”

He stayed quiet for a long moment.

Finally, he answered.

“Because I thought you wouldn’t do anything.”