If it was nothing, Frank wouldn’t have mentioned it. “What changes?”

For a minute, Frank didn’t answer, and Mitch studied him, remembering what it had been like between them back before adulthood and families and church had gotten in the way. The hunting trips, the late-night talks about girls, the rescue missions to pick up friends too drunk to get themselves home. That would’ve been Mitch if not for Frank.

“There’s a handful of people calling for a pay cut,” Frank finally said. “When Seth leaves home. They figure Dorothy and I won’t need as much income once we’re empty nesters.”

Mitch grimaced. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s okay.” Frank suddenly looked very weary. “The church has always struggled to make ends meet. That’s just how it is. Decreasing my salary will help.”

“But they can’t do that.” Mitch could feel his blood warming. “It’s not fair. You aren’t getting paid that much as it is. How are you supposed to put two kids through college on less?”

“It’s not the church’s responsibility to put my kids through college. Why should they pay for that when most of them can’t send their own kids?”

“You’re not being reasonable.”

“I’m being realistic.” Frank looked at the floor. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Mitch struggled to keep his mouth shut. Frank had faithfully served the folks of Moose Creek Community Church for twenty years—twenty years!—without complaint. He’d married them, baptized them, taught them, prayed for them, and buried them. He’d helped them during harvest and made countless trips to Ponderosa, visiting them in the hospital. Or in jail. And this was how they would thank him?

“I can always pick up more hours at Take Your Best Shot.” Frank shook his head. “We all do what we have to do.”

Mitch crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I don’t like it.”

“I appreciate that.” Some of the spark returned to Frank’s eyes. “Now it’s your turn. How are you handling this thing with your mom? And having Bea back?”

“Just taking it one day at a time, I guess. Mom seemed much better yesterday.”

“And if she gets worse?”

Mitch hesitated. There’d been no official diagnosis yet, but from everything the doctors had said so far, there was no if. Only when. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Do you think your dad can manage her okay by himself?”

He didn’t answer, but Frank had always been exceptionally good at reading his face.

“You’re worried,” he said.

Mitch nodded. “We got lucky this time. With Bea finding her like that. But what if . . . ?”

“That wasn’t luck, and you know it.”