I held his gaze.
“We never asked you for money. We only wanted you to understand that being responsible doesn’t mean we never need support.”
Ron no respondió.
A few minutes later, he helped Opal into his truck.
Judy followed.
Then they drove away.
I felt terrible.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything,” I whispered.
Nate put his arm around me.
“You told him the truth.”
Then he picked up his tools.
“Come on. We’ve still got a porch to finish.”
The following Saturday, I arrived at the farmhouse shortly after seven.
Ron was already there.
His truck was filled with carpentry equipment.
Saws.
Jacks.
Wooden supports.
Levels.
He was lying beneath the damaged porch when I arrived.
Only his boots were visible.
He crawled out, brushed dirt from his jacket, and removed his cap.
“Emily,” he said, “I’d like another chance to explain myself.”
I nodded.
