The Sidewalk We Poured Twice

The check

We put the curing blankets on at one o’clock and came back the next morning to pull them. Ilse was waiting for us on the step with an envelope.

“This is for the first one,” she said.

Brody shook his head. “No, ma’am. I told you. You paid for one walk. You’re getting one walk.”

“I know what I am getting,” she said. “This is not for the walk. This is for the first pour. You did a beautiful job on that one too, and I watched you do it, and nobody should do a beautiful job and get nothing but ruts for it.”

He still would not take it. So she held it out to him and did not put it down, and an old woman’s arm does not stay up forever, and he was raised better than to let it drop. He took it.

It was a check for one thousand dollars. In the memo line, in shaky old handwriting, she had written: For the lesson.

“What lesson?” Brody asked her.

“You will figure it out,” Ilse said. “Your mother did.”