“Vern…”
“Two acres is eight thousand, seven hundred and fifty,” he said. “You pay the survey. Should be aboutUse Calculators
twelve hundred, from Dale Wiese’s outfit in Creston. And the filing fees at the courthouse.” He slid the cashier’s check back across the table to me. “You keep the rest of that. You’ll need it.”
I couldn’t speak.
“And I’ll help with the dock,” Vern said.
“Why?” I finally managed.
Vern picked up his coffee cup again. He held it in both hands and looked into it.
“Earl and me used to fish that pond,” he said. “On Sunday afternoons. After church. For forty years. Before you girls were born, and after.” He paused. “He’d sit on one side and I’d sit on the other, and we wouldn’t say ten words between us. Best afternoons of my life.”
He looked up at me.
