The wind had put Grace’s porch chair in Owen’s yard.
It lay against the fence, one arm in the grass, with a wet leaf pressed flat against the seat. Owen knew it was hers because he passed it every morning on his way to the car. He had never seen anybody sitting in it.
He lifted it over the low part of the fence and carried it around to her steps.
Grace opened the screen door before he knocked.
“Been looking for that,” she said.
“It got pretty far.”
“Always did want to travel.”
He laughed and set it down. One of the arms moved when he let go.
“I think it was loose already,” she said.
Owen tried it gently. The wood shifted around an old screw.
“I’ve got something that might hold it.”
Grace looked at his house.
“You don’t have to make a project out of it.”
“I’ll be right back.”
He had lived next door for nine months. Their conversations had mostly consisted of good morning, a comment about a delivery truck, and once a warning that his car window was open.
When he came back with the screwdriver, Grace had cleared a place beside the chair.
“Coffee?”
He glanced at his phone. There were messages he hadn’t answered and a thing he had promised himself he would finish before lunch.
“I can stay a minute.”
She went inside. He tightened the screw, tested the arm, then tightened another one that had started coming loose.
Grace returned with two cups.
“Which one?” he asked.
“Either. They’re both coffee.”
He chose the one with the chipped handle. She handed it to him without mentioning the chip.
“You want to try it?” he asked.
“You fixed it. You try it.”
The chair held. Owen sat with the cup between his hands while Grace brought a folding chair out through the screen door.
The morning smelled of wet leaves. A branch had come down farther along the street, and a man was dragging it toward the curb in pieces. Every few minutes he stopped to consider the piece he had chosen.
“That’s going to take him all day,” Owen said.
“He’ll stop when his brother gets here.”
“His brother have a truck?”
“His brother has opinions.”
Owen laughed again.
Grace asked what he did. He gave her the short answer, then the longer one after she asked a question that showed she had been listening.
He found out she used to work mornings at the school. She found out he had been parking on the street because his garage was full of things he kept meaning to sort.
“Thought maybe you didn’t have a garage,” she said.
“Some days I don’t.”
His phone lit up on the table. He turned it over.
When he finally stood, he said, “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Thanks for bringing my chair home.”
The next Sunday, he saw her out there again.
He had his own cup this time. He stopped at the bottom step and lifted it a little.
“You mind?”
“Come on up.”
Grace reached down and nudged the table a few inches toward the other chair.
“That better?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Owen said. He put his coffee down.