The alert tone and announcement from my front door monitor that "a man is approaching your front door" was followed immediately by a determined rapping on the wood of the doorjamb. "The man is accompanied by a male child of seven to ten years in age."

I pushed away from my keyboard and stood. I studied my phone as I walked to the door. The camera view was on my screen. A nervous-looking White man of around 40 stood there trying to decide whether to knock again while a young boy practiced soccer moves with an imaginary ball. "Facial recognition identifies your visitor as John Rose, who resides on Jane Street in this development. His family has lived in their current residence for six years."

Intrigued, I opened the inner door and touched the button on the door monitor unit that would allow voice communication through the transparent security door. I gave my most inviting smile and said, "Hi, what can I do for you?"

"Hi, yeah, my name is John Rose and this is my boy Johnny. We live up the way there," he turned away and pointed down my driveway. I did not let on that my home network had already told me that and more. He tried to continue but clearly did not know how to say what he needed to say. He looked miserable, the way I had looked at several points in my life when I was failing abjectly at what I considered to be my primary roles in life. "I noticed your garden as we drove by. Real nice." He tried to meet my gaze but gave up.

"Yeah, nice to meet you, John. I'm Nick. Thanks." I smiled. "We've worked so hard on that dang garden. After four years we are finally getting some real food out of it."

"It looks great, yeah," he replied quickly, then ran his hand through his hair. Johnny's soccer moves had carried him across the porch. "Sorry, you must be wondering why I'm bothering you." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then forced himself to ask, "Do you have any food you can spare for us ... for me and Johnny and my wife and two daughters?" He fought back self-loathing. "We ran out last night and ... well ... the shelves at Foodway are empty and we don't have enough gas in the car to go anywhere else."

"Sorry to hear that, John. Before I get to whether we can help you, I have a question." He looked hopeful but suspicious and confused. "Who did you vote for in 2024?"

What the hell does that have to do with anything? flashed across his face, but he answered in a low voice. "Trump." I could see he didn't know if he had saved his family or damned it.

I wasn't sure either. I followed up. "Did you vote in 2028?" He had. "Who did you vote for?"

Still unsure of how his family's fate would turn, he raised his eyes and straightened his spine. He was going down with pride if he must. "I voted for Newsom," he declared. "I was a fool. Trump betrayed us. And now here we are."

"I'm going to help your family, John," I said and he almost collapsed with relief, "but I need you to do something for me first."

All the defenses went up, blood rushed to his face. "What?"

"Promise me that you will talk to everyone in the neighborhood you know who didn't vote Republican in 2028, and get them here Saturday morning at 8. And tell them to do the same. I don't need whole families here, just an adult representative of each household." Once again, the relief he felt was tangible.

He nodded. "Sure! Yes! I can do that!" Tears bubbled over his lower lids and he laughed.

"Wait here," I said, and turned away from the door. I went into my garage, found a large thermal shopping bag, and went down into the root cellar beneath my workshop. I loaded the bag with potatoes, carrots and turnips. Then I went into the cold storage off the rear of the root cellar and put a frozen chicken on top. On the way back to the house I took a loaf of sourdough from the bread pantry and shoved it down the side. When John saw the bag on my arm while I opened the security door, his eyes bulged. I waved off his gratitude, made it through the closing pleasantries and shut the door as he and Johnny scampered down the front steps.

Saturday would be interesting.