Three weeks passed. Life settled into something that looked suspiciously like normal. Art went fishing. Emily stayed longer than she'd originally planned. The sisters had breakfast with him twice a week. Friday dinners became tradition. Hank belonged to everybody. Percival got a proper fishing pole. Gerald got moved to the porch because Lou said he “looked lonely in the kitchen.” Nobody argued.
Then one Tuesday morning, Art fell. It wasn't dramatic. There was no ambulance. No broken bones. No catastrophe. He simply stepped off the back porch, caught his foot on a loose board, and landed hard on one knee. Hank barked. Art sat there. “I'm fine.” Hank barked again. “I said I'm fine.” Hank ran across the street.
Art groaned. “Oh, Lord.”
Within minutes, the Bellamy sisters appeared. Vivian was wearing slippers. Martie had a first-aid kit. Lou had brought a broom for reasons nobody understood. Emily came running from the house. "Dad!”
Art looked embarrassed. “I'm all right.” Emily knelt beside him. “Can you stand?”
“Yes.” He tried. He couldn't.
Martie put a hand on his shoulder.
“Don't.” Art sighed. “I'm fine.”
Martie looked at him. “You're sitting on the ground.”
“I know.”
“Then you're not fine.”
Vivian crossed her arms. “Arthur.”
Art looked at her. “What?”
“Let us help.”
“I don't need help.”
Lou sat down beside him. “Yes, you do.”
Art stared at her.
Lou shrugged. “Everybody does sometimes.”
That silenced him. Emily helped him into the house. He sat in the kitchen while Martie examined his knee. “Nothing broken,” she diagnosed.
Art nodded. “See?”
“But you're bruised.”
“I'll live.”
Vivian brought him ice. Lou brought a pillow. Hank lay at his feet. Art looked around the room. Four people and a dog, all fussing over him. He should have been irritated. Instead, he felt something else. Safe. And that frightened him more.
That evening, after everyone left, Emily found him sitting on the porch. “You're quiet.” Art looked out at the yard. “I don't like needing people.” Emily sat beside him. “I know.”
“I don't want you worrying about me.”
“I'll worry anyway.”
He smiled. “I know.”
She leaned against him. “Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“You don't have to prove you're strong anymore.”
Art looked at her. “I've spent my whole life doing exactly that.”
“I know.”
He looked across the street. “Your mother used to say the same thing.”
“She was right.”
Art smiled. “She usually was.”
Emily took his hand. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you spent so long being afraid that if you needed somebody, you'd lose them.”
Art looked at her. “And now?”
“Now you've discovered something.”
“What?”
“Needing people doesn't make them leave.”
Art was quiet. Then he nodded. “No.” He squeezed her hand. “Sometimes it makes them stay.”
The next morning, Art did something that surprised everybody. He asked for help. He stood at the Bellamy sisters' door. Martie opened it. “Art?”
“I need a favor.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“My porch board needs replacing.”
Martie smiled. “Okay.”
Art looked uncomfortable. “And I don't know how to do it.”
Martie's smile widened. “You don't know?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Art frowned. “Why is that good?”
“Because now you have something to learn.” She grabbed her toolbox. Lou came running. "What are we doing?” “Fixing Art's porch,” replied Martie. Vivian appeared. “I'm coming.”
Art sighed. “Of course you are.” He looked at all three women. Then smiled. “Thank you.”
Martie stopped. She looked at him. “What?”
Art smiled. “I said thank you.”
Vivian smiled. "We heard you.”
Lou whispered, “He's getting better.”
Art heard her. “I can still hear you.”
Lou grinned. “Good.”