The old, dusty calendar hung on the nail in the shed, its edges curled from humidity and neglect. Every day, Leo would shuffle out here, run a finger over the dates, and ask the same question.
Leo nodded, tears spilling down the furrows of his cheeks.
Now, the calendar still showed July. Seven years ago’s July. Leo never turned the page after the news came. when is summer months
Sam turned and wrapped his arms around the old man. “Right now, Gramps. Summer is right now.”
Leo had scooped him up, pointed to June, July, and August—the three fat blocks of red letters. “These three, buddy. Summer lives right here.” The old, dusty calendar hung on the nail
Sam walked past him, touched the yellowed paper. He tapped June 1st. Then July 4th. Then August 31st.
Leo blinked, mouth opening and closing. “The calendar… I was just…” Now, the calendar still showed July
“Gramps,” Sam said, voice thick. “You asked when is summer months?”