I looked toward my driveway.
Earl sat there beneath the fading evening light.
Old.
Faded.
Scratched.
Ugly.
Thirty years of memories wrapped in green metal
For a moment, I could almost imagine Nancy standing beside it, shaking her head at me.
Finally, Frank.
I swallowed.
“Yeah,” I said.
“She would’ve.”
Part 6 — What Clark Never Understood
Clark hasn’t touched Earl since.
As far as I can tell, he doesn’t borrow things from anybody anymore either.
Actually, he barely speaks to most of the neighborhood.
That’s fine with me.
I didn’t expose him because I wanted everyone to hate him.
I didn’t want revenge.
I wanted him to understand something he should have understood from the beginning.
Kindness isn’t permission.
Generosity isn’t weakness.
And somebody having more than you think they need doesn’t make the extra yours.
Clark kept saying it was only gasoline.
Only a couple gallons.
Only a ladder.
Only an extension cord.
Only a pressure washer.
But people who say “it’s only” are usually talking about something that belongs to somebody else.
The amount wasn’t the point.
The choice was.
Had Clark knocked on my door and said, “Frank, money’s tight. Could you spare a few gallons until Friday?” I probably would’ve helped him.
That’s the part he never understood.
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.”
