He had the new sign lying flat on the tailgate of his truck, the green paint still smelling of linseed oil. It read *Oakhaven Heirloom Nursery* in clean, white block letters.

“The old brackets are rusted through, Clara,” Frank said, lifting a heavy iron bolt. “We need to drill new holes in the cedar post.”

“Do we have the half-inch bit?” I asked.

Frank continue reading …