The Truck My Brother Sold For Scrap

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Lyle said, in a way that told me he knew a good deal about it.

I got the envelope out again. “Nine fifty.”

“I gave nine hundred.”

“The fifty is for the haul.”

“Tom.” He said it kindly. “Your dad hauled my hay for two weeks and wouldn’t take a tank of gas. I am not about to take fifty dollars for dragging his truck nine miles. I’d never hear the end of it from my mother, and she has been gone since 2009.”

“Then by that way of figuring, I can’t hardly give you the nine hundred either.”

“Sure you can. That’s my own money, and I’m only getting it back. I’m not making a nickel and I’m not losing one. That’s a fair trade between neighbors.” He held out his hand. “Count me out nine hundred, and keep your fifty, and buy that girl some lunch.”

I counted it into his palm. He didn’t count it after me.

In the office he took the title out of the desk drawer. Dad had put Rick’s name on it alongside his own some years back, the way he had on most things out there, so Rick’s signature was good. Lyle had never filled in his own half. He handed it across with the key, which was still on Dad’s ring with the church key and a little brass tag from the co-op.

“Now,” he said. “How are you getting it home? Because I’ll tell you, my rollback blew a hydraulic pump Wednesday afternoon, and it’s in the shop until Tuesday. I’ll bring the truck out to you then for nothing.”

“I’d as soon it was home tonight.”

“I figured as much, from the strap.” He scratched his neck. “You can’t pull it alone, though. Somebody has to sit in it and ride the brake, and with the engine dead that pedal is going to be like standing on a brick. The steering will fight him too. And she’s too young.” He nodded at Josie. “On the road, anyhow.”

“I know it.”

“I’d do it myself, but my man’s off today and there’s nobody to mind the counter.”

That was when Josie, who had drifted to the front window, said, “Dad. Uncle Rick’s out there.”

---

His pickup was sitting on the shoulder just outside Lyle’s gate with the engine running. I don’t know how long it had been there.

I walked out. He ran the window down.

I’d had the whole drive out to get madder at him, and I had used it. But he looked bad. He looked like a man who had been up since three in the morning, which, I found out later, he had.

“Is it gone?” he said.

“No.”

He shut his eyes for a second.

“Lyle pulled it out of the line Wednesday. He knew Dad.”

“Everybody knew Dad.” He looked through the windshield, not at me. “You bought it.”

“I did.”

He nodded slowly. He looked at the strap, which I still had over my shoulder. “You can’t strap that home by yourself.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Somebody has to ride the brake.”

“That’s right.”

It took him a while. The wind rocked his truck on its springs. I could have made it easier for him and I chose not to, and I will let the Lord decide whether that was wrong of me.

“I’ll steer it,” he said.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t.” He shut his engine off. “I’ll leave mine here. Lyle won’t care.”