Ethan respected the honesty but disliked the possibilities it created. A contractor later estimated the structural repairs at more than twenty-eight thousand dollars, with additional costs if the electrical damage proved worse than it looked. The likely insurance payment, after deductibles and exclusions, would cover a portion of that. The lost harvest represented the money Ethan had counted on to meet the winter loan payment and purchase spring seed.
He put the numbers into his spreadsheet at midnight. Then he entered them again on a piece of paper because the screen made the totals look too easy to ignore. He had savings sufficient for a few weeks of essentials, not months. Selling the farm would pay the secured debts, perhaps with something left for a down payment on a small house in town. It would also mean saying goodbye to the place Claire had planted her roses and where Lily had learned to ride a bicycle.
At breakfast, Lily found him looking through property listings on his phone. She recognized the pictures of houses and apartment buildings at once. "Are we moving?" she asked.
Ethan put down the phone. He knew better than to lie. "I don't know, sweetheart. I'm trying to understand our choices."
"But this is our house."
"I know."
"Mommy's tree is here."
He followed her gaze toward the young maple Claire had planted near the porch. Its leaves were nearly gone, and the rain had left dark streaks down the bark. "We aren't making any decisions today," he said. "And whatever happens, you're not losing the things you remember about your mom."
Lily nodded, though the worry remained in her eyes. That night she asked to sleep with the little photograph of Claire that usually stood beside her bed. Ethan found a soft cloth sleeve for it so the glass wouldn't break if it fell. He lay awake afterward, hearing the wind make gentle sounds in the surviving branches, and felt something close to despair for the first time since the funeral.
It was Richard Hayes who arrived next, driving an old blue pickup that surprised Ethan almost as much as Victoria's SUV had. Richard was seventy-one, broad-shouldered despite his age, with silver hair and hands that still showed scars from the packing house he had worked in as a young man. He got out near the gate carrying a paper bag from the bakery.
"Ethan Brooks?"
"Yes."
"Richard Hayes. I believe I owe you an apology. And possibly a pair of donuts."
Ethan looked at the bag. "I'd say the apology matters more."
"Fair." Richard set the bag on the porch rail. "I sent my daughter here because I thought meeting you might do her good. That was presumptuous. I treated your life like a problem I could solve with a clever suggestion. You had every right to be annoyed."
Ethan folded his arms. "Does this come with a business proposal?"
"No. Today I'm trying to do something I've always been bad at. Speak as a person without expecting the world to rearrange itself around the conversation."
Ethan studied him, then opened the porch door. "Coffee?"
"If it's strong."