It was a foreclosure warning. Kyle had been laid off from the tractor plant in August, and they had fallen four months behind on the mortgage. He made Brooke promise not to tell me. Two hours meant one small meal. No food from me meant I wouldn’t notice their empty pantry. And fifteen dollars was all they had left for gifts. Brooke had written the rules so Kyle wouldn’t have to say any of it out loud.

I didn’t say a word about pride. I just handed Brooke the apron again, and this time she put it on. She served pie for two hours beside the auxiliary women, and Kyle washed roasters in the back. Near eight o’clock, Chief Wes came to the kitchen for coffee and asked Kyle what kind of work he did. When Kyle said diesel mechanic, the chief set his cup down slowly.