“I also…”
His eyes moved toward Audra.
She felt body tense.
Boyd stepped inside.
“I owe her apology.”
Audra remained behind table.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
His face reddened.
“For what I said.”
She waited.
He struggled.
“For making your body a joke.”
Silence.
Audra studied him.
“Why are you apologizing?”
He glanced toward Reed.
“Don't look at him.”
Boyd looked back.
“Because I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“That you couldn't work?”
“No.”
He frowned.
Audra continued.
“My worth did not become greater because I proved I could feed you.”
Boyd stared.
She waited.
Finally:
“I was wrong to treat you like your size gave me permission to humiliate you.”
Better.
Audra nodded.
“Accepted.”
Boyd seemed surprised.
“That's it?”
“Did you expect absolution?”
“I don't know.”
“Apologies don't buy erasure.”
He swallowed.
“Fair.”
Reed spoke.
“I can give two weeks.”
“Temporary.”
“Camp votes after.”
Boyd looked shocked.
“Votes?”
“You left them short-handed.”
“They decide whether they trust you.”
The men exchanged looks.
Boyd nodded.
“Fair.”
He returned.
Slowly.
Nobody forgot.
But people can change under observation and consequence.
Boyd worked harder.
Spoke less.
One afternoon he carried a sack of flour into kitchen.
Audra said:
“Put there.”
He did.
Then:
“Need anything else?”
“No.”
He nodded.
Left.
No comment.
No forced friendliness.
Trust grew at speed of truth.
Spring arrived late.
Snow melted into mud.
Logging increased.
Blackwater made profit.
Reed announced bonuses.
Audra received one too.
She stared at envelope.
“Why?”
“You reduced food waste seventeen percent.”
“How do you know?”
“Jasper.”
“Traitor.”
“You also kept men.”
“I’m not responsible for their decisions.”
“Partly.”
Audra looked at amount.
Twenty dollars.
Huge.
“You don't have to—”
Reed raised eyebrow.
She stopped.
“I earned it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
That night she added it to savings.
Her dream had returned.
Boardinghouse.
Or bakery.