The Ledgers Behind The Grain Hauling Sale

When she is satisfied, I wire you the rest.”

“Minus whatever is not collectible,” he added. “I am not going to pay forty thousand dollars for an invoice a farmer already has a credit memo on.”

“Craig, there’s no need to hold that,” Troy said. “The deal’s the deal.”

“I did not make it a condition tonight,” said Craig. “You did, when you told Paulette your sister had all the records and then handed her a gift card.” He glanced at Paulette.

“How long will it take to go through nineteen years?”

Paulette looked down at the totes and then at me. She is a kind woman, forty-five years old, with reading glasses on a chain. “A month, Craig,” she said.

“If I have to do it blind.” She hesitated. “These are in a system. Her system. Color tabs, initials, notes in the margin. Without her, I would be guessing.”

“How long if she explains it?”

“A week,” Paulette said. “Maybe less.”

Craig turned to me. For the first time all night he smiled, though it was a small one. “Janine,” he said, “what does the bank pay you?”

“Forty-one thousand,” I said.

“I will pay fifty-two,” said Craig Danner. “With health insurance.

I will need somebody to run the office at the Holdrege yard, because I am not about to drive an hour each way to find a fuel tax report. Would you consider it?”

I had not planned for this. I looked at Curt, and his eyes were wet, and he gave me the smallest nod of his head. I looked down the table at Mama.

Her napkin was still at her lips, but she was looking at me over the top of it.

“I will have to give the bank two weeks,” I said.

“I would not hire you if you did not,” said Craig.

“Then yes,” I said.

Troy sat down. He sat down hard, the way a man sits when his knees give up on him. Shelly did not touch him.

The waitress came in with the dessert plates, saw the totes and the faces, and took the plates right back out again.

The parking lot

Dinner ended early. People gather their coats at a time like that without saying much.

Lamar Kaster came around the table and stood in front of me, a big, slow man with a bad hip, holding his cap in both hands.

“Sis,” he said. “Those advances in there. When my wife was in the hospital in 2019, and Troy told me to wait for the next settlement. You wrote me a check from your own checking account.”

“Lamar,” I said.

“I never paid you back,” he said.

“You did,” I said. “In March. It’s in the ledger. Fourth tab from the back.”

He laughed, the big wet laugh of a man who is trying not to cry in a steakhouse.

He put his cap on, then took it off again, and put his hand on the top of my head the way you would bless a child. Then he went out to his truck.

Curt carried the totes back out to the pickup, all seven, with Cliff Rader helping him on the last two.

When they were done, Craig took one tote from the truck bed and said, “I will have Paulette copy these tomorrow. You’ll have the originals back by Wednesday.”

“Take your time,” I said.