The rock was still there—and the house, but it had been renovated; a wraparound front porch added, and the old kitchen gone. Of course: they’d have wanted the kitchen gone. A sense of umbrage pricked him, then left. He slowed the car, peering carefully for any signs of children. He saw no bicycles, no swing set, no tree house, no basketball hoop—just a hanging pink impatiens plant by the front door.
