Mrs. Tate noticed him looking and turned the bottle inward.
“Thank you for bringing him home,” she said.
There was no invitation in her voice.
Wendell respected it.
“Of course.”
Jaylen looked back toward him, torn between pride and embarrassment.
Wendell reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card. It seemed absurdly formal here, beside the dust and the leaning mailbox, but it was all he had.
He held it out to Jaylen.
The boy did not take it until his mother gave the smallest nod.
“Call this number,” Wendell said. “Any time. I’d like to see your workshop.”
Mrs. Tate’s expression changed immediately.
“No.”
The word was soft, but final.
Jaylen froze.
Wendell turned to her. “I don’t mean any disrespect.”
“I said no.”
“Mama—”
“Inside, Jay.”
The boy’s jaw tightened, but he obeyed.
Wendell stood in the yard while the screen door creaked shut.
