Dad thanked him.
But Tyler shook his head.
“My grandmother depended on food deliveries when I was little. I know what something like this can mean.”
Brent rose slowly to his feet.
“I want to withdraw my complaint,” he said. “Immediately.”
Tyler promised to bring the paperwork Monday.
Then Brent faced my father.
“I’m sorry, Arne. I can’t believe what I’ve done.”
Dad held out his hand.
“Help me stand up, would you? These old knees aren’t what they used to be.”
Brent carefully helped him off the gravel.
Then he asked whether there was anything he could do to make things right.
Dad picked up his old metal bucket and handed it to him.
“Beans are on the left. Your mother needs some. Start near the bottom of the plants.”
Brent hesitated.
For thirty years, he had avoided touching a bean plant.
Now he stood holding the bucket, his mother watching quietly beside him.
