It was Dad’s old blue pickup.
For half a second, seeing that truck approach in the evening sunlight made my heart jump.
I expected Dad to step out.
Instead, Phil climbed down.
His boots were covered in mud.
He walked toward me carrying his cap.
Then he stopped beside the feed truck.
He looked through the windshield.
I knew he could see Dad’s gloves.
“Wade?”
I wiped my hands on a rag.
“What is it?”
Phil stared at the ground.
Then he looked at me.
“I need your help.”
Four months.
I’d waited four months to hear those words.
I’d imagined giving him a long speech.
I’d rehearsed everything I wanted to say about the farm, the will, and the strangers he’d hired.
But now he stood in front of me, holding his cap with both hands.
He looked tired.
Embarrassed.
And more like our father than I’d ever noticed before.
“I don’t know what I’m doing out there,” he admitted.
I remained silent.
“I know the fields are in trouble. I can see that much. But I don’t understand how bad things are or what to fix first.”
He swallowed.
“Would you come take a look?”
All the speeches I’d prepared disappeared.
“When?”
“Whenever you can.”
I glanced toward the barn.
“Saturday. I work until noon.”
He exhaled.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll inspect the fields. That’s all I’m promising.”
“Fair enough.”
Then I asked something I’d been wondering for weeks.
“Why did you hire a crew from Kansas?”
Phil turned his cap slowly.
“Because they didn’t know me.”
I frowned.
He continued.
“If I’d hired someone local, everybody would’ve asked why I hadn’t called my own brother. And I was too ashamed to admit I didn’t know how to run Dad’s farm.”
I looked at him.
It was the most honest thing he’d said to me since the funeral.
And I realized something uncomfortable.
We were both doing the same thing.
Phil was too proud to ask.
I was too proud to offer.
We’d spent months waiting for the other man to cross the distance between us.
“Saturday,” I repeated.
Phil nodded.
Then he drove away.
—
**PART 6: THE LETTER BENEATH THE SEAT**
Saturday afternoon, I returned home from work and grabbed a quick lunch.
Before visiting the farm, I needed Dad’s green notebook.
The center-pivot control panel had a history of problems.
Dad had recorded every issue and how he’d solved it.
