"Hey, sweetie. Nothing urgent, but could you swing by this morning if you have time? I just... well, I'd love to see you. Let me know."
I frown. Mom doesn't do "stop-bys." She is the queen of self-sufficiency, the woman who'd taught me how to change a tire, balance a budget, and bake a pie.
If she is asking me to come over, it isn't casual.
I glance at the clock. Six-fifteen. I could shower, throw on something that didn't scream "I just wrestled a fire alarm," and still make it to her place by seven-thirty. No problem.
The feed store doesn't open until eight anyway.
I grab my keys, my list, and what was left of my dignity, hoping nobody would notice I’d barely pulled myself together, and head out the door.
Now I was pulling into Williams Ranch, the place I’d grown up, still smelling like home, with my mental to-do list rearranging itself like doomed Tetris blocks.
The porch light is on even though it is mid-morning. Dad's truck sits crooked in the gravel, one tire nudged up against the flower bed Mom had been threatening to expand for three years. I smile despite myself. Some things never change.
I grab my keys and head up the steps, the boards creaking in all the familiar places. Before I can knock, the door swings open.
"Oh, good, you're here." Mom stands in her apron, flour dusting one shoulder, hair pulled back in a clip that was doing its best but losing the battle. She looks...frazzled. That is new. Mom doesn't do frazzled.
"What's wrong?" I ask, stepping inside.
"Nothing's wrong." She waves me toward the kitchen, already moving. "I just thought you might want to pick up a few things in town, and I didn't want to bother you, but since you're here?—"
"Mom."
She pauses, fixing me with the look she uses before downplaying something important.
I cross my arms. "What's going on?"
"Your father tried to hobble out to the barn this morning."
My stomach drops. "Mom. He's on crutches. He's not supposed to?—"
"I know," she says, her voice tight. "I told him. He said the cast was 'just a precaution,' that he was 'perfectly capable,' and that I was 'fussing for no reason.' He's resting now. But Falon, he can’t keep doing this. The doctor said six weeks, but it’s only been three."
"I know what the doctor said." I soften my tone, stepping closer. "Is he okay?"
"He's fine. Stubborn, but fine." She manages a small smile. "I just... I hate asking you to do more. You're already doing so much with the Anderson place, and I don't want you to feel like?—"
"Mom. Stop." I reach for her hand. "Give me the list."
"There's no list."
"There's always a list."
She laughs, a little breathless, and pulls a folded piece of paper from her apron. "Just a few things. Feed store, garden center, and the library?—"
Her phone buzzes on the counter. She glances at it, and she gets a worried smile on her face.
"Who is it?" I ask.
"Tyler." She picks up the phone, already stepping toward the hallway. "I should take this."
My chest tightens. Tyler. My brother, halfway across the world, is checking in with texts that came in bursts and then go silent for days. He'd been deployed for months now,and every call feels like holding my breath until I know he is okay.
Mom presses the phone to her ear. "Hey, sweetie. Yes, I'm—" She glances at me, then moves a few steps farther down the hall. Not far enough.
I turn toward the pantry, pretending to inventory what they have. Pasta. Canned tomatoes. A half-empty bag of rice that probably should've been tossed a month ago.
