PART 1
When a teenage boy knocked on my door asking if he could mow my lawn, I assumed he was simply looking for summer work. It wasn’t until I caught him inside my locked garage that I realized he’d been coming to my house for a reason he was too afraid to admit.
I signed the papers for my new house on a Thursday. By Saturday morning, I was already questioning why I’d ever thought owning a home would be relaxing. The grass reached my ankles, weeds had taken over the flower beds, and the previous owner clearly hadn’t touched the yard in weeks.
I had just carried another moving box inside when someone knocked.
A boy who looked about fifteen stood on my porch beside an old red push mower. His baseball cap was faded from the sun, his sneakers were patched, and the mower looked as though it had survived several generations.
“You the new owner?”
“I am.”
Instead of introducing himself, he looked past me at the house. His eyes moved slowly from the porch to the upstairs windows before settling on the detached garage in the backyard. He stared at it longer than anything else, and for just a second, a strange little smile crossed his face.
“Good.”
I frowned.
“Good?”
“I was hoping somebody would finally move in.”
“What do you mean?”
He seemed embarrassed.
“Nothing. Empty houses just make me sad sometimes.”
Then he nudged the mower with his shoe.
“Anyway, I’m Chase. I live with my mom over at Cedar Creek Trailer Park. I’m trying to make some money before school starts. Need your lawn done?”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five dollars.”
That was less than half what a landscaping company would’ve charged.
“I’ll give you fifty if you do a good job.”
His eyes widened.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
He grinned and immediately got to work.
For the next hour, I unpacked while the steady sound of the mower drifted through the windows. Every time I checked outside, Chase was still working—no phone, no earbuds, no disappearing for twenty-minute breaks. By the time he finished, my yard looked completely different.
I handed him fifty dollars.
“You don’t have to pay me this much. I said twenty-five.”
“And I said fifty.”
He stared at the bills for a moment.
“Thank you.”
As he pushed his mower away, something bothered me.
His face looked familiar.
I couldn’t figure out where I’d seen him before, but the feeling stayed with me long after he disappeared around the corner.
The following Saturday, Chase returned at exactly eight in the morning. He went straight to work. About an hour later, I brought him a bottle of water.
“You’ve earned a break.”
“Thanks, Mr. Rick.”
While he drank, his gaze drifted toward the garage.
“You ever been inside there?”
“Not yet.”
He seemed surprised.
“Really?”
“I’m still unpacking.”
He nodded, but something about his expression changed. The following week, I caught him standing beside the garage before he’d even started mowing, his fingertips resting lightly against the old wooden siding.
“Everything okay?”
He jerked his hand away.
