“We could come get it tomorrow or wait till spring,” Susan said, fearing suddenly that Albert would forget the conversation and someone else would take the stone away. The people who brought the milk, or the ones who took him to the hospital—if those were, in fact, different people. “Whatever’s best for you.”

“Tomorrow?” Clay said, looking at their station wagon in the driveway. “I don’t know how we’ll ever get that stuff out of here.”

“Clay’s building the house, so we’re not on any schedule,” Susan said from the porch stairs. She said it lightly, to cover her misstep. Of course they weren’t ready to get it tomorrow.

“With me building,” Clay said, “we might never be ready.”

“I’ll think some more about it,” Albert said. “I won’t sell it to anyone else, let’s say that. Other people have asked for it over the years, but I always thought I’d get around to using it.” He pointed out in the yard. “Look, quail,” he said.

A covey of eight birds ran out in a line from behind one of the peach trees.

“The ones with quotation marks on their heads,” Susan said. The birds marched toward the tamarisk, seeking cover. “I don’t remember what they’re called.”

“They live out there. I hear them all the time, their call is like this,” Albert said. He looked hard at the planks of the porch for a few seconds, then whistled a three-note call. “It sounds like, ‘How are you, how are you,’” he said. “And the answer is like this—” He paused again and whistled.

Susan laughed. “‘I’m just fine, I’m just fine,’” she said.

Albert smiled at her. Clay shook his hand. Susan walked down and leaned over one of the stones in the yard, hands on her knees. Other people had asked for it; they were not the first. But they were the most current. They had the first yes.

“You can see the chisel marks,” she called up. “It’s not enough for a house, but maybe a wall.”

“A foundation,” Albert said to Clay on the porch.

“Oh, we don’t want to hide it,” Clay said. “We want to see it.”

“Always thought I’d do something with it.”

“You could put some more peach trees in where the rock pile is. I’d help you plant them.”

Albert turned from the stone to look at Clay for a moment, his hand across the white brace on his chest.

“You still taking pictures?” Albert asked.

“Yep,” Clay said.

Susan said, “You come out to our place when you get more mobile. And don’t fall down anymore.”

Albert smiled. “Don’t plan to.” He took off his glasses to clean them on his shirt.