“He took it about as well as you’d expect. Makes it even more important that we have some time together today. That’s why I’m making us a picnic,” she told me firmly.

“That bread I smell?” Dad called gruffly from the bedroom.

“Yes, Hank. Get yourself up and dressed. We’re going out.”

“I don’t feel—”

“Hank.”

I couldn’t even see Dad’s face, but I could sense the change in mood. There was a stretch of silence and then a heavy sigh before I heard him moving about in the bedroom. Mother and I shared a smile.

“One down,” she said under her breath. “One to go.”

There was no resisting Mother in that mood—Henry wouldn’t even try. I threw my arms around her, feeling a rush of affection.

“I love you, Mother,” I said. The words felt stiff and awkward on my tongue, and for the briefest moment, I wasn’t sure how she’d react. She loved me—of course she loved me—but did she want to hear me say it? Mother’s arms wrapped around me and she squeezed me back, hard.

“I love you too, honey. Now, boil me up some eggs. We’re having egg sandwiches.”

It was the perfect day for a picnic. After weeks of that constant wind that left us so tired, the day was completely still. The dust haze cleared and the heat felt promising instead of menacing, like the spring days of old.

A basket full of egg sandwiches and some bread and butter pickles didn’t fix a single thing, but it did give us an excuse to take the Hoover wagon into Dalhart, where we sat in the park beneath some trees. It had been some months since Daddy even made an attempt to leave the farm, and I couldn’t actually remember the last time we’d all been out together for fun. We sat on a rug as Mother poured sweet tea from a thermos into little metal mugs.

“No sadness today,” she announced. “I don’t want anyone talking about the drought or the wheat or the farm or what’s going to happen. Today, we’re just together.” She made eye contact with each of us, then added pointedly, “Got it?”

We all nodded obediently, and for the next few hours, it was like we didn’t have a care in the world.

Later that afternoon, Dad and Mother left me and Henry to do the Sunday chores while they went into Oakden to drop the eggs off at the grocer. As the cart rolled out the gate, I glanced up at them and saw that Dad had his arm around Mother, and she was resting her head on his shoulder as he drove.

The picnic had gone a long way to soothing the ache in my soul, and something about that brief glimpse of the affection between my parents settled the last of it.