Behind him came Benny.
The little dog rolled toward me, tongue out. Two tiny wheels held his back end steady while his front paws scrambled across the sidewalk. His ears flopped. His tail wagged so hard that the frame wobbled.
“Look!” Jeffrey cried. “He can move, Mom!”
“Mom! Mom, come outside!”
I dropped my purse on the porch.
Benny rolled straight toward me, bumped my shoe, and barked once like he’d found his voice again.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “Jeffrey, you did this, baby?”
Mrs. Bell from across the street clapped from her steps. A teenager lifted his phone to record it. Two kids from the corner cheered like Benny had won a race.
Mr. Walter rolled out of his garage behind them, wiping his eyes.
“That dog gave up three weeks ago,” he said. “Your boy didn’t.”
“Jeffrey, you did this, baby?”
Jeffrey knelt and scratched Benny’s head. “He just needed wheels.”
Mr. Walter looked at my son.
Then he said, “You passed the test, Jeffrey.”
My smile faded. “What test?”
Jeffrey stood. “Test?”
Mr. Walter nodded toward the oak tree in his yard. “Come see what I’ve got for you.”
I took Jeffrey’s shoulder. “Mr. Walter, what is this?”
“You passed the test, Jeffrey.”
“Nothing bad, Ivy. I promise.”
We followed him to the oak tree. The dirt beneath it had already been disturbed.
Mr. Walter handed Jeffrey a shovel.
“Right there,” he said.
I looked at Mr. Walter. “I don’t like surprises involving shovels.”
He almost smiled. “Fair enough. I buried it yesterday. Badly.”
Jeffrey blinked. “Badly?”
“I buried it yesterday. Badly.”
Mr. Walter tapped one wheel of his chair. “Mrs. Bell helped me loosen the dirt and shove the box in. The point wasn’t mystery. It was fun.”
