“Good night, everyone.” He shuffled off toward his room. His shoulders were hunched, but I could still tell he was extra worn out, probably from helping with trees.
“Pops is tired,” Addie said as she leaned her head on Luke’s chest. He brushed his fingers through her hair repeatedly in a slow, mesmerizing rhythm.
“He worked too hard tonight,” Luke said.
“He loved being a part of it though,” I said.
“Yeah.” Luke frowned.
I was starting to understand the dynamics between them. His dad wasn’t allowed to do the things he’d always done, and that had to be hard for the older man, but it was also difficult for Luke to watch. I felt for both of them.
A few minutes later, Luke stirred. I realized Addie was sound asleep.
“I’m going to put her to bed,” he whispered, then picked her up and carried her off to her room.
I pulled my knees up and hugged them into my chest as I gazed at the tree. It was homey and beautiful in a very different way than the James household trees used to be. They’d been designer trees, with color schemes and themes and perfection.
This one was a hodgepodge of colors, Durham family milestones, love, and hundreds of lights. I stood to look more closely at the ornaments. Addie had mentioned one from Luke’s childhood, something he’d made in preschool. I found it and grinned at the photo of Luke as a little kid. He’d written Ho, ho, ho on the laminated construction paper and drawn a candy cane on each side of his pic.
“Hey,” Luke said as he came back into the room. When he saw what I was looking at, he shook his head with an embarrassed smile. “Don’t look at that.”
“You drew a mean candy cane back in the day.”
He came up behind me and wound his arms around me, peering at the ornament over my shoulder. “I was so proud to give that to my parents.”
“I’m sure they loved it.”
I didn’t remember whether I’d had a similar project. If so, the ornament definitely had not been preserved and kept through the years. I knew now that was a reflection of my parents, not me. Their loss.
“So what was up with your dad tonight?” I asked.
Luke let out a slow, frustrated breath. “Pretty sure he’s mad about Mrs. Haines cooking.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“Because he’s a stubborn old man who’s still upset about his back.”
“Which is why he can’t work the farm anymore, right?”
“Right. He’s in constant pain. Doesn’t complain about it. I’ve wondered how many years he was uncomfortable before it got so bad he couldn’t ignore it anymore.”
“He’s a tough guy,” I said.
“He is. Typical farmer. He’d rather work the land until he keels over.”
“So you’re paying your neighbor to cook for your family?”
“Mrs. Haines is an old-school farm wife who cooks like a dream. She’s actually the one who suggested the agreement. I had to argue with her just to get her to accept money to cover the ingredients. She wouldn’t hear of me paying her extra for her labor.”
“She sounds like a gem.”
“She is.”
I hesitated before asking, “Do you want my opinion?”
“Sure,” he said, sounding anything but sure.
I turned around to face him, weaving our fingers together between us. “Your dad’s whole purpose was taken from him when he had to quit farming. He still needs to feel useful though, and cooking might serve that purpose for him.”
