Page 56 of Resilience on Canvas

“And yet you still did it,” Robert said, smiling to himself. It took real courage for Henry to betray him like that. “It was the right thing, Hen. Brave, too.” Closing his eyes, he paused to breathe in Henry’s scent one more time. “Now, I think we better head back in, little wolf.”

Robert opened his eyes and waited for Henry’s expression to sour from the nickname. But Henry’s smile broadened instead. Henry rubbed their noses together. Once. Twice. Three perfect times before finally pulling back. Robert released Henry’s rumpled shirt fabric from his hand.

Without exchanging another word, they went into the house. In the front room, the twins were playing with some Lincoln Logs, ones they had likely brought with them from their house—the set heavily used, some of the pieces missing—while May was nearby pretending to feed a well-loved baby doll. The moment they spotted Robert, every single one of them hopped up and barreled into him, and the force of all three kids at once pushed Robert back a step. By the time Robert managed to kneel, all three had started to cry.

While Thomas and Peter cried into his chest, May scrambled up onto his thigh. Clinging to him, she cried into the crook of his neck, wetting his skin with her tears. Robert’s chest twinged as he hugged them close. Raymond Davis may have been a mean bastard, but, hell, of course the loss had hit these little ones hard. He had been their pop, the man who had raised them, however poorly. And, Christ, these children had spent hours trapped in the house while their father had been putrefying only feet away.

“I’m sorry I left you for so long,” he said. “I made me some money, though.”

“Enough to bury Pop?” Thomas asked with a sniffle.

Dammit. Of course the kids had overheard him talking to Clara before he left that morning.

Robert sighed. It wasn’t enough for the funeral. Not even close. Enough for a couple of meals, maybe. Probably it was enough for some penny candy, too. Or popcorn. One tiny treat that the family could enjoy while they waited for the bank to take their farm. Son of a bitch!

Before Robert could reply, Henry’s hand settled atop his shoulder.

“Enough for the funeral, yup,” he lied, squeezing Robert’s shoulder. Gratitude swelled in Robert’s chest. “I hadn’t told you this yet, Robert, but Mr. Simmons said we could have the funeral tomorrow. Save on the embalming cost. He even had some pre-made caskets for sale and knew some men who have been waitin’ for work, too. Men who can shovel.”

Folks who needed money and were taking whatever work they could get.

Robert smiled sadly. “Thanks, Hen.”

Robert hugged the children for a little longer. After a while, once they seemed to have cried everything out, they were happy to return to their games. Robert pushed himself to stand, his muscles sore and bones cracking as he made it to his feet.

“Did you talk to Clara?” he asked Henry. “About the bank?”

Henry shook his head. “I couldn’t make myself tell her. Oh, Robert, it was too horrible.”

Clara had probably been on the verge of breaking, evenwithoutthe knowledge that they’d soon lose their home.

Robert nodded. “I know it was. I’m sorry I put you through that.”

“Should we tell her now? Together?”

“Yeah.”

Robert and Henry left to find Clara. Robert could hear her laughter rolling through the hall, the sound traveling from the back of the house. They found her chatting with Henry's parents in the kitchen. As soon as Robert walked through the threshold, Clara rushed over to hug him.

“Don’t be mad at Henry,” she whispered.

“Henry and me are fine. Don’t you worry.” He pulled back and smiled when he noticed the brightness in her eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her about the bank just yet. “Seems like yer feelin’ better than you were before.”

“I had a nap. Goodness, I slept so well. And, Robert, getting out of that house...”

“I shouldn’t have let you stay there with Pop still in the bedroom like that.”

Henry’s father chimed in from the kitchen table. “Everything’s taken care of now, Robert.”

Shame churned in Robert’s stomach.

Grimacing, he said, “Thank you, sir. I promise I’ll pay you back.”

“Appreciate it,” Henry’s father said. “But if you can’t—”

“I will.”

Henry’s father only responded with a curt nod. Henry’s mom walked over, her hands clasped in front of her chest.

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