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Mr. Brown was in the backyard harvesting onions before the next frost.

Hollis’s ma was in the kitchen washing the dishes and watching him. She looked happy.

Things were always lighter on the weekends, warmer when his father was home.

Hollis sliced a thick piece of sweet potato bread for himself and spread it with fresh rosemary butter. He settled in at the kitchen table and rested his head on his elbow as he chewed.

“I’m going to roast a few onions when he’s finished,” Mrs. Brown said. “Mr. Allen gave us a chicken. Two of his got out and froze in the night.”

Hollis hummed. The weather got like this when fall was almost over—warm one day, freezing the next.

“I’ve gotta make some cheese before this milk sours,” she continued, scrubbing hard at the pan in the sink.

“I’ll do it,” Hollis murmured. He tried to pick up more chores when Mr. Brown was home so that his parents could spend time together. Forty-eight hours a week didn’t seem long enough to him.

Hollis’s ma wiped her hands on a dish towel, then crossed the kitchen to give Hollis a kiss on the top of his head.

“Sweet boy.”