There were times when my mom’s work ethic was tolerable, beneficial even. Sunday after the move was not one of those occasions. She was in full manic mode with a goal of being “out of boxes” by sundown.

I was relieved to have a shift at the store as a hall pass on another day of labor and even a little sorry for Stanley, who gave me a small help-me bulging of his eyes as I headed out the door.

I opened up as scheduled but was surprised when, a half hour later, a slightly listing Afi came through the door.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said.

“You’re not,” I replied. “You’re a day early, actually. You had today off. Remember?”

Afi scratched at his chin. “Nope.”

“You wanted to get the leaves raked up in your yard.”

“Damn things,” Afi said. “It’s like this every . . .”

“Fall,” I finished for him when he appeared to have lost his train of thought.

“Just a small one,” Afi said. “Someone moved my ottoman again.”

I blinked my eyes. At this rate, we’d need orange cones and a traffic cop for all the detours this conversation was taking.

“You fell?”

Afi backhanded the air in front of him. “Pshaw. And don’t go blabbing to that mother of yours. She’ll make a fuss, and I don’t want it or need it.” A hacking cough punctuated his spirited remarks.

I might have pursued the topic except a beat-up green truck rolled to a stop in one of the parking spots out front. Jack.

I bounced out the front door, meeting him as he planted his old work boots on the pavement. “This is a surprise,” I said. “I thought you had to work today.”

“I do. And am.” He pecked me on the cheek. Afi’s presence at the window was surely the reason for such a chaste greeting. “I’m out on deliveries.”

I followed him to the rear of his truck, where he lowered the back gate.

“That’s no fun,” I said. And judging by the load in the back of his cab, he’d be at it for a long time.

“It never is.” He grabbed a bushel by the handles and started for the store. I scurried ahead and opened the door.

“Good morning,” Jack said, dipping his head to Afi.

“Working on it,” Afi said, snatching an apple off the top of Jack’s delivery and cracking into it with a loud crunch. “Yep. Best darn apples in the county.”

The compliment made Jack smile, sparking the blue in his eyes and tautening the ropy muscles in his neck. “Thank you. My dad never tires of hearing it.”

“Tell you what I’m tired of,” Afi said. “That yappy dog next door barking all hours of the day.” He took off for the front of the store, muttering something about a muzzle.

“Afi’s in rare form today,” Jack said.

“Tell me about it. He wasn’t even scheduled to work. I think he has his days confused. And apparently he fell over that footstool in front of his chair. Should I be worried?”

“Nah,” Jack said. “It’s clear what his problem is.”

“What?”

“He hadn’t had his apple-a-day.”

I gave him a look. “Says the apple peddler.”

“True. And I’ll be peddling these things until at least three. What time do you get off?”

“Three, as it just so happens.”

“I have homework but could get away for an hour or two,” he said, closing the space between us.

“About two hours is all it should take,” Afi said, startling us both and reversing Jack’s course.

“What should take?” I asked.

“Raking up leaves at my place. I sure do appreciate the offer.” Afi clutched at the small of his back. “After that fall, I’m not sure I’m up to all that bending.” His eyes, I noticed, were particularly glassy at that moment.

“Of course,” Jack said. “You shouldn’t be out there. We’d be happy to help.” With his “we,” Jack gave me a small roll of his shoulders.

“Thank you kindly,” Afi said, taking another chomp of the apple and heading back up front.

Passing me, he lifted his eyebrows. Had Jack and I just been conned? If so, I had to hand it to the old codger; he’d managed to turn yesterday’s dupers into dupees. Or just maybe there was something to that old apple-a-day wives’ tale, after all. Either way, Afi looked a little more sure-footed as he walked off.

I wasn’t too put out. A couple hours in Jack’s company on a gorgeous fall day sure beat returning to the sweatshop my mom was currently running. The afternoon had potential. But I still didn’t know if I should worry about Afi, scold him, or thank him.