Mitch braced himself as the front porch steps groaned under his weight. His dad had been calling him every few days, asking him to stop by. Dropping hints that something was wrong with his mom. Wondering if Mitch had talked to her lately. But Mitch wasn’t exactly sure what to expect on this visit. He’d asked Dad if his mom was sick, and he’d said, “Mebbe.” But that’s what he always said. About everything. Mebbe.

His mom hadn’t answered any of his calls, and he hadn’t seen her or Dad in a few weeks. They hadn’t left the house as far as he knew. Hadn’t even been to church, from what he’d heard, which was a sure sign of debilitating illness. They never missed church.

The heavy oak door was propped open, but he banged a fist on the screen frame before letting himself in. “Mom? Dad?”

June poked her head around the corner from the kitchen. “Mitch? I didn’t know you were coming by.”

He wiped his boots on the rug and joined her in the kitchen, where he found her rolling out a piecrust. “I’ve left you a couple messages.”

“Oh, that. Bah.” She waved his words away like a pesky fly. “I’ve been busy.”

“I can see that.” Three pies already sat on the counter. He gave them a sniff. “You picked your apples already?”

“Stand back.” She shooed him to the side so she could open the oven door and pull out a fourth pie.

He peered out the kitchen window. “Where’s Dad?”

“Picking more apples. I reckon he saw your truck. Should be in any minute.”

Mitch helped himself to a glass of water and covertly studied her as he waited for his father to appear. She looked healthy enough, scurrying around the kitchen same as always. Her cheeks had good color. Her movements appeared as smooth and confident at sixty-three as they’d been at forty. Unless there was something wrong on the inside . . .

Oh no. Cancer. Was that what this was about? No, he couldn’t go through that again. Couldn’t face it. His chest constricted.

The screen door creaked open and slapped shut.

“Mitch?”

“In here, Dad.”

His heart beat faster as his father’s footsteps approached. Maybe this was why he’d felt a foreboding when he pulled up here. His parents were hiding a horrible diagnosis from him. He should’ve made the drive out to see them sooner.

Rand carried a bucketful of apples to the table and set it down. “Howdy.”

“Hey.” Mitch shifted on his feet. “I got off work early and thought I’d stop in.”

June snorted. “He’s hovering is what he’s doing.”

His dad lifted his baseball cap to scratch his head. “Well, it’s good to see ya.”