She looked up at him and smiled, a fresh surge of tears moistening the crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes. “Thank you.”
A knock sounded, and the bedroom door creaked open. Kristen peeked around it. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone here to see you, Mitch.”
Nodding, he squeezed Emmy’s hand once more and made his way to the door. “Kristen and I will handle things today, Emmy. I want you to spend the day resting. No cleaning, no cooking, no worrying—just resting.”
She perked up, a sassy spark lighting her expression. “Ain’t he something, Kristen? Bossing me around like I’m some preschooler. Might go over better if he asked me nicely.”
Mitch paused on the threshold. “Please?”
“Only ’cuz I’m comfy and got coffee.”
“And you’ll have pancakes in a few minutes,” Kristen said. “The griddle’s heating now.”
Emmy settled back against her pillow, nose twitching. “I suppose y’all have talked me into it.”
Laughing, Mitch shook his head, then went to the front door. Dylan stood at the window, frowning toward the porch and rubbing his sleepy eyes.
“Who is it?” Mitch asked.
“Zach and his dad.” Dylan flashed him an angry look. “What’re they doing here?”
“Probably has to do with yesterday, and we’ll greet them politely, just as we would any guests.” He ruffled Dylan’s bed head and managed a smile, despite the knot tightening between his shoulder blades. “Where’s Sadie?”
“In the kitchen. We’re gonna help Ms. Kristen with bre
akfast.”
“Good. Why don’t you go on and help her out? I’ll handle this.”
Dylan’s frown deepened, but after one more look out the window, he trudged back to the kitchen.
Mitch rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, then opened the door and walked onto the porch. Charles stood on the top step, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his khakis, and Zach hovered behind him on the bottom step, head lowered, eyeing the ground.
“Morning, Charles.”
Charles stepped forward, held out his hand, and gave a strained smile. “Mitch. I’m sorry to show up so early, but I’ve got some errands to run today and wanted to speak to you first.”
Mitch shook his hand. “Not a problem. I’m guessing you heard about yesterday.”
Charles nodded.
“I’m sorry things happened the way they did. Emmy wasn’t hersel—”
Charles held up a hand. “Zach has something he wants to say.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Zach?” The boy started, then cringed as he looked up at his dad. “Come on up here.”
Zach did, moving slowly up to the porch and studying the worn floor. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hart.”
“For what?” Charles prompted, voice stern.
Zach licked his lips. “For being rude and calling Mrs. Hart a bad name.” He looked up, cheeks reddening. “I shouldn’t have done it. And I really didn’t mean it. She just grabbed me so hard and . . .” His shoulders fell as he searched for the words.
“She hurt you,” Mitch said, then smiled softly when the boy nodded. “I understand. We all say things we don’t mean when we’re hurting.”
“I’ve suggested to Zach that one way to make amends with Mrs. Emmy would be to offer his time,” Charles said. “I understand Dylan’s been working the fields with you, and I was hoping you’d consider letting Zach assist you on the weekends until school releases for the summer.”
“That’s not necessary, Charles.”
“I know, but it’d be a favor to me.” Charles patted Zach’s shoulder, then gripped it loosely. “Zach’s a good man, but he needs to learn that you own up to your mistakes and rectify them when you can. I’ve told him he needs to repay his debt in order to earn back his skateboard. He’s a hard worker, takes direction well, and if he’s any trouble, just say the word.”