He watched that truck come up the lane. I saw him work out what it meant. That I’d brought Dad’s truck instead of my own.
I pulled up beside him. I leaned across the seat and pushed the passenger door open.
“Get in.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Get in, Phil.”
He climbed up.
He had to move the seed corn cap to sit down. He held it on his knee. He didn’t know where to put it.
I took the envelope off the dash and handed it to him.
“That was under your side of the seat. It’s addressed to me. But half of it’s yours.”
He put his glasses on.
I looked out the windshield at the shop while he read. A sparrow was working on a nest above the big door. I counted the rungs on the grain bin ladder. Twenty-three.
I heard him get to the bottom of the page. Then I heard him go back to the top.
