The first ripe tomato appeared in August.
Ethan picked it on a Thursday afternoon and carried it into the kitchen with both hands.
Glenn y yo estábamos sentados a la mesa.
The tomato was bright red, perfectly ripe, and warm from the sun.
Ethan sliced it using Mom’s old paring knife, added a little salt, and divided it between three plates.
We ate the slices standing at the counter.
Nobody spoke.
Then Glenn set down his plate and went to his truck.
He returned carrying a framed photograph.
It showed
