“The parking pictures aren’t the story,” she told me.
“They’re just another example.”
“Of what?”
“Character.”
She looked toward the section where the man had moved.
“People who treat others carelessly in small situations usually don’t become considerate when the stakes get bigger.”
Then I asked why she had come to the stadium.
Her expression changed.
“My grandson played football.”
“Played?”
“Knee injury. Three years ago.”
“He had to stop?”
“Yes.”
“He still loves it?”
“Very much.”
She looked toward the field.
“We come sometimes. He had to work today.”
“So you came alone?”
She smiled faintly.
“I stopped allowing the absence of people I love to stop me from doing things we loved together.”
Then she touched Harold’s lunchbox again.
“He used to bring this to football games when we were young.”
“What did he pack?”
“The same thing every time.”
She laughed softly.
“A ham sandwich. An apple. Coffee in a little thermos.”
