traits, nobody paid fourteen thousand five hundred dollars for forty acres of corn seed in northeastern Iowa. And nobody paid for coop seed with a cashier’s check written out from a personal savings account without leaving an invoice in the farm tax folder.
I reached into my sweater pocket and pulled out the yellow slip of paper.
The blue ink of Travis’s signature was dry and neat, written with the heavy ballpoint pen he kept in the glove box of his Chevrolet pickup.
The house was so quiet I could hear the rhythmic clacking of the grandfather clock in the hall and the distant idle of the diesel engine out by the grain leg.
Kaylee’s volleyball schedule was pinned to the refrigerator with a red apple magnet. Senior night was listed at six o’clock Thursday evening, twenty-eight hours away.
I stood up and went to the window that faced the
