passed, the tree grew stronger. Soon, it produced enough fruit for pies, cider, applesauce, neighbours and children who came knocking to ask if they could pick one.
I always said yes.
The tree became part of the neighbourhood, but to me, it remained one of the last living things Dean had touched.
Then Ryan moved into the house next door.
Within weeks, he replaced his mailbox, removed every flower from his front garden and covered the ground with white stones. One afternoon, he knocked on my door and immediately pointed
