Pop was standing in his kitchen silently debating whether he should eat soup or a sandwich for dinner when his cell phone rang. Uttering a curse, he pulled it out of his back pocket and answered without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello.”

“Pop.” He froze as his son’s voice came through the speaker. “I need your help.” Panic instantly assailed him.

“Fuck!” He cursed as he spun around in circles, looking around the kitchen for his truck keys. Where did I put the damn things? "What's wrong, Hendrix? Just tell me where you are and I'll be right there." His blood pressure rose, and his skin began to sweat.

Shit, shit, shit! Where are my damn keys?

“Nothing’s wrong,” his son replied, “I need a favor though.”

He stopped whirling around in circles. "Anything you need, kid. You know that." At least he hoped his son knew that. The truth was, he'd been a shit father all his life, and he’d never given Hendrix a reason to trust him, but he hoped like hell that the progress they’d made over the last few days was enough to make his only kid realize that he’d crawl through hell to help him.

“I’m at the hospital with Maddie. The doctor cleared her to eat, but I know she won't touch the food here." He couldn't blame her. The girl had grown up eating her Grandmama's cooking. Nothing would ever compare to that.

Except maybe her own cooking.

He could faintly remember the meals she'd cooked Hendrix while spending time at their house. It didn't often happen—at least not when he was around—but it happened enough for him to realize that the girl was one hell of a cook. "Do you mind picking her up some chicken noodle soup from Mabel's and bringing it by here? I would go get it, but I don't want to leave her alone."

Pop smiled. It looked like his kid was digging his heels in for the long haul.

Good, he mentally added.

“Not a problem.” He spotted his keys on top of the fridge. Grabbing them, he shoved them in his pocket. “I’m leaving the house now.”

"Don't leave yet. When I called and placed the order the girl who answered the phone said it would be about forty-five minutes. Mabel herself is cooking tonight, so they're packed."

Pop’s stomach growled.

Damn, if Mabel was cooking maybe he should get something for himself. The woman could rival Grandmama in the kitchen. She was that good. “Not a problem. That gives me just enough time to make a stop. You want me to bring you anything? Something to eat? Drink? Read?”

“Nah, Pop, I’m good.” Moments of silence ticked by. Then, “Room 417. Same as before.” Hendrix paused before lowering his voice. “Maddie will probably be sleeping when you get here so don’t knock too loud.”

“I won’t.” He headed for the front door. “See you in a bit, son.”

“See you.”

They both hung up.

Walking out the front door, Pop crossed the rickety front porch and hopped down the steps. Standing on the walkway, he looked from his pickup truck to the house next door.

Making a life-altering choice, he turned to the left and headed straight for the Davis’ house. Crossing the lawn, he climbed onto their porch and knocked on their stained-glass front door.

Knock… Knock… Knock…

He took a breath. “Time to confess your sins, James,” he whispered to himself.

The door swung open. “What the hell do you want?” Grandmama asked, tossing a dish towel over her shoulder.

“Keith here? If so, I need to speak to both of you.”

She raised her brow before hollering, “Keith get your ass down here. James is here. Says he needs to talk to us!” She waited a couple of seconds before continuing. “And bring my shotgun!”

Well, fuck…

Keith bounded down the stairs sans shotgun.

“What’s going on?” He asked, tapping his right hand against his leg. “Something wrong?”

Pop shook his head. “No, but I need to speak with the two of you.”

Keith looked at his mother before meeting Pop’s eyes again. “About what?”

"About my son." He took a steadying breath. "About the reason he walked away from Maddie.”

“Don’t see how it’s your place to tell us any of that, James. I appreciate you coming by but—”

Pop cut Keith off mid-sentence. “I’m not leaving until you hear what I have to say.” Both Grandmama and Keith looked at each other. “Something I learned during recovery is that to attain absolution, one must bring their sins into the light.” He slid his hands into his front pockets. “This is me doing that.”

Grandmama stepped back and gestured for him to come inside. “Come on in and take a seat at the supper table. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need a slice of apple pie and a shot or two of moonshine to deal with this.”

They walked through the house and into the kitchen. Pulling out a wooden stool from beneath the long farmhouse table, Pop sat down and placed his hands on his knees. Once Grandmama and Keith were both seated, and he had their full attention, he began. “I’m an alcoholic, a gambler, and a child abuser….”