The boy squints at her, briefly. He'd known she was coming--and was grateful for the care she took with the plants--but he was pretty sure he could get a few more weeds out before she arrived.

"Yes," he says gruffly, and then stops. He draws his hands back to properly kneel in the dirt, shoulders slumping. "Yeah."

He drops his head, revealing fresh tear tracks; pale lines cutting through the dirt smudges on his face. "What are you doing here?"