Chapter 20
“I know you can.”
He looked at the gate.
“I thought maybe I could help.”
Something moved inside my chest.
The old me
would have handed him the tools immediately.
The hurt part of me
wanted to tell him to leave.
Instead,
I opened the gate.
“Come on.”
We worked together
for most of the morning.
Dad held the post steady
while I replaced a worn hinge.
We checked the latch.
Tightened the bolts.
Adjusted the alignment.
It wasn't complicated work.
But it felt strangely important.
For years,
he had spoken about my farm
as though it were an endless series
of expensive emergencies.
Now he was standing inside it,
seeing the repairs I had made.
The fencing.
The irrigation system.
The equipment sheds.
The careful drainage channels.
The rows of trees.
We walked toward the greenhouse.
He stopped beneath the doorway.
“Did you build this?”
“I rebuilt it after the storm.”
He looked upward.
The roof panels shone in the sunlight.
“I remember that storm.”
“I called you about it.”
He nodded.
“I remember.”
Then he said,
“I thought you were going to ask for money.”
“I wanted to know
whether your old supplier
still sold those roof brackets.”
His eyes closed.
“I had a whole box of them.”
I looked away.
For a moment,
neither of us spoke.
Then Dad asked,
“Why didn't you call again?”
I turned toward him.
“Because you sounded tired
of hearing about my farm.”
His face changed.
“I was never tired of you.”
I wanted to believe him.
Perhaps it was even true.
But good intentions,
I had learned,
could coexist with years of neglect.
“You sounded tired,” I repeated.
Dad nodded slowly.
“Then that's what matters.”
We continued walking.
At the old oak tree,
he stopped.
Grandmother had loved that tree.
She used to bring a folding chair
and sit beneath its branches
while I worked nearby.
She called it her afternoon office.
When the sun was particularly warm,
she would fall asleep
with a newspaper across her lap.
Dad touched the bark.
“Mom loved this place.”
I smiled.
“She did.”
“She always said
you knew what you were doing.”
I looked at him.
“She said that to you?”
“All the time.”
“Funny.
She said the same thing about you.”
He laughed quietly.
Then his face grew serious.
“She told me once
that you didn't need rescuing.
You just needed someone
to believe you.”