Now go on, Roshelle said, handing the package to Nia. straight there and straight back. The morning air was cool on Nia’s face as she walked down their street. Most houses were still dark, but she could see a few kitchen lights clicking on. Other families starting their days. Mr. Whitmore’s house was at the very end, set back from the others.
It was a big house, but it looked tired, like it needed someone to love it. As she approached the porch, Nia noticed Mr. Witmore was already in his usual spot, sitting in the old wooden rocking chair. He always seemed to be waiting, though she never told him exactly when she’d come. “Good morning, Mr. Whitmore,” she called out softly, climbing the creaky steps.
The old man’s face softened at the sight of her. “Good morning, Miss Nia.” His voice was quiet, like he wasn’t used to using it much. She handed him the breakfast bundle, and he accepted it with careful hands. But today was different. Instead of his usual quick thank you, he looked at her face for a long moment.
