“I will, Mama. I promise.”
Greg stood behind me with his arms crossed. “Hannah. Come on. He’s got a whole toy box at home.”
“It’s two dollars, Greg.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
He gave me that smile I’d been seeing for eight years, the one that used to feel warm. “The point is you buy every piece of junk you see. My country girl can’t walk past a yard sale.”
“Boys don’t push strollers.”
Marla laughed politely. I didn’t.
I handed her the quarters and crouched down to Leo.
“It’s yours, buddy. Take care of it.”
His whole face lit up like Christmas. “I will, Mama. I promise.”
We walked home, Leo pushing his new treasure with the seriousness of a father walking a bride down the aisle.
He’d push a little, I’d hold still.
I grew up on a farm and learned early that things didn’t need to be new to be loved. A stitched seam holds just as well as a fresh one.
