He stays in Detroit. After they fix up the house he and Angel move into together. Angel stays for two years. Bobby spends the rest of his life there. He grows flowers in the front flowerbeds, because he knows his mother would have liked it. He mows the lawn three times a week and washes the windows every two months, rain or shine.
The neighborhood changes ever so slightly, getting better, worse, then better again.
He eventually marries. She's a nice enough woman. Gives him two children, Jack and Sara. Bobby knows he favors Jack but can't help it.
When he's fifty-five, his wife wants to do the gardening. Bobby agrees…his back's been giving him trouble anyhow. He follows her to the garage to help take out the tools she'll need.
"Don't touch that spot." He says suddenly almost causally.
His wife stops dead, she turns her head and stares at the spot under the telephone poll. She's always wondered but never worked up the courage to actually ask.
It's the only ugly piece of land they have. Weeds grow in place of perfect grass, dirt clumps sit there year after year.
"Are you sure?" she asks slowly. "We do have some grass seed and it's the only area of the lawn that's unkempt."
Bobby's hand freezes on a rake; he turns to look at her over his shoulder.
"Don't touch it, ever."
His tone makes her shiver. She drops her head in a nod.
When she talks to Angel days later, she finally understands.
She always knew he never completely loved her, she always knew there was someone before, someone still. She just never realized that ugly spot of ground was a symbol of her husbands' lost love.