He stayed at the window until they headed toward their car, a shiny black sedan parked where the gravel road ended. When the doors closed and the engine started, the hum carried easily across the valley. Walter waited until the sound faded before turning away.
He set the empty mug on the counter and moved to his easel by the window. The morning light hit the sketch he’d left half-finished the day before: the pond, the fence line, and the old oak tree that had weathered every storm since he’d moved here.