“I appreciate your sharing the story, Noah,” he finally said. “I know how much it must mean to you. I hope you keep writing. Don’t ever let anyone stop you.”
When my parents returned at eleven, I was in bed, though Glenn had let me stay up till ten-thirty, playing cards and talking.
From then on, he was my life. A good day was seeing him. A better day was when he waved, and a fabulous day was when we spoke. I kept hoping my parents would go out again so he could babysit me, but my dad was away on business a lot so they usually stayed in when he was home.
Desperate to see Glenn, I one time purposely broke the toilet handle while my dad was at work, knowing Mom would call Glenn. She did and he came right over, toolbox in hand. I acted as his assistant on the repair job, even rode to the hardware store with him where he bought parts because, by then, he was driving.