Page 25 of Resilience on Canvas

For the next few seconds, Henry didn’t dare breathe. No one else moved, neither.

Finally, with a huff, Robert raked his foot over one of the fallen dandelions, mangling it, and Henry’s stomach turned in on itself. All of this, it was his fault.

“Robert...” He shuffled closer. “Gosh, I can’t even tell you how sorry I am.”

“Leave it, Hen,” Robert said, his voice sharp.

“I can’t leave it. I—”

“Goddammit, Henry! I saidleave it!” Robert screamed. He closed his eyes and took a breath as Henry crumpled in on himself.In a measured voice, without yet having reopened his eyes, Robert said to Henry, “Actually, you can leavehere, too. Go home. I’ll handle the rest of the chores myself.”

“But—”

“Hen,” Robert repeated, his tone irritated but pleading.

Henry swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I’ll... I’ll walk back. Uhm...” He looked over at Clara. And the hurt in her eyes broke his heart. Damn, he had made such a mess of everything. “Thanks for the scones. I’ll see you in town soon?”

Clara nodded. “Of course. I’ll come to the store sometime.”

Henry wasn’t sure if he was supposed to check with Robert to see if he still wanted some of Henry’s shifts. Probably now wasn’t the time.

Nodding, Henry simply said, “Bye, Clara. Bye, kids.” He tried to catch Robert’s eye next, but Robert’s gaze was fixed on the broken flower at his feet. It was like he couldn’t even stomach looking at Henry now. “Bye, Robert.”

Henry walked the entire way home with tears in his eyes, the sting of Robert’s harsh tone burning more badly than topsoil filling his lungs.

Chapter Seven

Robert

OnceRobertwasfinishedwith his chores, he collapsed onto his favorite porch rocking chair in a heap. Probably he should head back into the house so that he could breathe better. Give his lungs a break. Dirt was still blowing every which way on occasion, making it hard to see the horizon. Or, hell, even the neighboring farmhouses. But Robert wasn’t feeling like talking to no one yet. Clara was in the house with May and the twins. Hopefully the kids were keeping themselves busy somehow and not fighting with each other too much. Clara needed a rest. And Robert wanted her to have one. But he was still too tired to take over. Normally, the children would have been in school, but they had kept the kids home. More than likely, the school wasn’t even open. Not with everyone still recovering from that storm.

What a week it had been so far. And it was only Monday.

Robert sighed. Well, if there was one positive thing, it was that Raymond Davis was still snoozing. Thank the Lord. Hopefully he’d wander back into town later. Because everything was easier when Pop wasn’t around causing a ruckus.

Planting his heels on the floor, Robert pushed himself backward, making the chair rock. Back and forth. Back and forth. Aftera while, he stopped rocking and fished around in his pocket for the tin of cigarettes. Good thing he had remembered to take them with him earlier. Because, holy hell, he needed a smoke right now.

Robert lit one.

On the first inhale, everything seemed so much better, the warm burn helping him relax.

But on the second, Robert found himself traveling back to the night he’d spent with Henry and the time they’d been together out on the porch. He found himself thinking about how nice Henry had been. And what a fine man he was. If Robert shut his eyes, he could lose himself in the memory of their night together. He could still see the way Henry had looked in the orange light of the lamp, the way his eyes had seemed so calm and peaceful and kind. Brown like Robert’s own eyes, but softer. Two murky pools of water, like puddles that had formed from a rainstorm.

And rain meant hope. It meant the promise of a better tomorrow.

“I want to help you, Robert.”

Guilt coiled in Robert’s stomach. Dammit, he had really gummed everything up by letting his shame take over his mind, making him lash out at the one man who had only ever tried to help him.

“Goddammit, Henry! I said leave it!”

Robert winced, the memory of his hurtful words slicing through him, and then he leaned forward to bury his head in his hands, taking care not to burn himself on the end of the cigarette. Shame was still simmering beneath his skin, making his heart pound. Every beat had his blood running hotter. Because shame had never not become anger for Robert Davis.

And there wasso muchfor him to be ashamed of.

He was ashamed of his father. And the fact that the bastard had stumbled back home reeking of booze, hurling those nasty insults and threatening to hurt his own flesh and blood.

He was ashamed of the way he had reacted to his pop’s behavior. And the way he had nearly lost himself to fury, coming close to beating his father senseless.

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