Magdalena craned upward on her toes, stretching over the warm platter of rolls on the kitchen stove. She drew in a deep breath. “Let’s eat. I’ll put these on the table.” “Your father’s not here yet.” Lana frowned at her daughter as she stirred the gravy. “You know we don’t set the food out until we hear his truck.” Lana glanced out the kitchen window. The lane was empty. So was the whole of the outdoors. There was no sound of Cletus’ truck. Dusk was fast approaching. He was late. Cletus was never late. “Can I have just a little bite?” Harold stood in the doorway. At six, he was shooting up like a weed. Cletus trusted Harold with most of the chores, and the boy worked hard. He was wiry. He had good reason to be hungry. “Hold on just a minute or two longer. In fact, run outside and listen for your father’s truck. As soon as you hear him, hurry in and tell me. I’ll put the food out right away.” Harold eyed the rolls. “Okay.” He lolled his head the direction of the back door and dragged himself that way.
