Jamie let the door in from the back porch slam as she came in, drawing a glare from her mother as she did. 

Her mother didn't have much to say, most days. She worked in quiet, cutting fruit, canning jams and jellies, or wearing a bandana and jeans, she'd be out on a ladder, pruning trees.

Jamie could still hear the fights between her parents, her father alternately egging her on and yelling when her mother got mad.

Her mother had finally gotten mad enough, over an empty bank account and some particularly nasty accusations from her father that she'd thrown a chair at her father. She'd missed, but nearly hit Jamie as she did, sitting and playing on the floor -- and watching the fight with big eyes.

She left the next day, and Jamie had stayed with her dad. She wrote, now and then, making sure she was okay. She never asked for custody, and Jamie had begun to suspect that she blamed herself entirely for what had happened. 

There was a knock at the door, and Jamie and her mother startled. It swung open, and her mother got up to say hello.

"Howard! What brings you here?"

"Oh, I finished smoking a dozen hams last night, and I figured Mary Davis might want one. Turns out she's right hard to find with the name Franks on her mailbox."

Howard was their next-door neighbor, living just a mile down the road. He raised pigs, and fixed cars.

"Howard, you're fool. You'd know where I lived if you ever moved enough junk out of that heap you've got to see off your own property."

"I reckon you're right, but those cars aren't ripe yet, so I don't think they'll get picked."

Jamie's mother's eyes twinkled, and she even smiled a little. It was a rare sight. She usually didn't say this much either.