His eyes filled again.
Then he reached for her hand.
"All right, Mama."
They ate purple-hull peas together that evening.
And for the first time in years, Rafe understood that caring for someone sometimes began by asking questions without assuming you already knew the answers.
The following morning, Rafe returned to the Combs farm alone.
Hazel was operating the small wooden sheller when she saw his pickup.
She stopped the machine and looked up.
"Morning."
Rafe approached carrying a wooden crate.
He placed it on the table.
Inside were freshly harvested purple-hull pods.
Hazel frowned.
"Another batch?"
He nodded.
"From the field near the creek."
She examined them.
Then looked up.
"How much do you need processed?"
Rafe took a breath.
"None of it for me."
She stared.
He continued.
"I want to contribute it to the winter-sharing program."
For a moment, Hazel couldn't speak.
Then she glanced toward the crate.
Rafe looked uncomfortable.
"I know a few baskets won't make much difference."
Hazel shook her head.
"Every contribution makes a difference."
He nodded slowly.
Then reached into his pocket.
He removed an envelope.
Hazel looked at it.
"What's that?"
Rafe swallowed.
"Money for fuel, packaging, and whatever else you need to get it done."
She stared.
He continued.
"I've been taking more out of this county than I realized. Thought maybe it was time I put something back."
Hazel felt tears gathering.
For a moment, she remembered the day he laughed beside the equipment shed.
The way he called the shellers junk.
And the certainty in his voice when he predicted she'd fail.
Now he stood before her offering produce and money without demanding recognition.
She took a slow breath.
"Thank you."
Rafe nodded.
Then hesitated.
"Hazel?"
She looked up.
"Yes?"
He removed his cap.
"I owe you an apology."
Her expression softened.
He continued.
"I treated you like a foolish little girl because you saw something useful in those machines and I didn't."
Hazel remained quiet.
Rafe looked toward the sheller.
"I didn't know what you were doing. And instead of asking, I laughed."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he looked directly at her.
"I'm sorry."
Hazel took a slow breath.
She could have reminded him of every cruel word.
She could have told him how embarrassed she'd been at the estate sale.
Or how many nights she spent wondering whether he might be right.
But she also understood that an apology didn't have to erase the past to matter.