Every morning at five-thirty, I climbed up into that cab in the dark. And the gloves were there on the dash.
And I said good morning to them. Like a fool.
Then I waited for planting.
I should explain that part. Because Theresa asked me about it more than once.
“Call him,” she said, around the tenth of April. We were at supper. “Tell him you’ll put the crop in. He’d pay you. He’d be glad to.”
“He knows my number.”
“That’s pride.”
“Some of it is.”
“What’s the rest?”
I set down my fork.
“If I call him and offer, then I’m the hired man asking for work on my own father’s place. I planted that pivot twenty-two springs in a row. I’m not going to beg to plant it the twenty-third. If he wants me, all he has to do is ask. One sentence. I’d be in the field by dark.”
