“Professor Price told you that?”
“It’s in her lecture.”
“I'm going to sue her.”
He never did.
Dana retired.
At her farewell dinner she presented Luke with a framed unused screening strip.
Beneath it:
NOT EVIDENCE.
He hung it in his office.
Earl died at eighty-two.
Not suddenly.
Cancer.
Different from his wife’s.
Slow enough to know.
Fast enough to feel unfair.
During his final months, he remained obsessed with farm records.
Luke would find him at kitchen table sorting delivery tickets that no longer mattered.
“Grandpa.”
“What?”
“You don't need those.”
“Somebody might.”
“Case is over.”
“Cases end.”
“Records don't.”
Luke smiled.
“You're impossible.”
“Yes.”
One afternoon Earl asked to go to east field.
Luke drove him in the side-by-side.
Grass tall.
Late summer.
The old man wore a jacket despite warmth.
His body had become light.
Luke hated that.
They stopped near the place where the newest black pile once stood.
Earl looked around.
“Which sample was first?”
Luke knew immediately.
“B-1.”
“No.”
“The first one you personally took.”
Luke thought.
“New pile west edge.”
“Jar two.”
“Why?”
Earl smiled.
“I remember Mason’s face.”
Luke laughed.
“So do I.”
“He knew you were trouble.”
“Everyone does eventually.”
They sat.
Earl asked:
“You staying here?”
“The farm?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
Luke looked toward him.
“Why?”
“Because land isn't a promise.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your dad thought staying proved loyalty.”
“I thought keeping it proved something.”
“You don't owe dead men your whole life.”
Luke’s throat tightened.
“You trying to kick me out?”
“No.”
“I’m trying not to become Thomas Higgins.”
Luke frowned.
“Who?”
Earl smiled.
“Wrong story.”
Luke laughed.
The old man continued:
“If one day you want to sell, sell.”
“If you want to farm, farm.”
“If you want to test dirt for people wearing ties, do that.”
“Don't stay because you think my grave gets a vote.”
Luke’s eyes filled.
“Okay.”
“You lying?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Earl looked toward the grass.
“Your dad would stay.”
“I know.”
“You're not him.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
They remained until sunset.
Earl died three weeks later.
Luke buried him beside Mark and his grandmother.
The headstone was simple.
EARL HARPER
FARMER
HUSBAND
FATHER
GRANDFATHER
HE KEPT THE RECORDS
Marisol called it perfect.
Professor Price said it was nerdy.
Luke said both could be true.
After the funeral, Mason stood at the cemetery edge.
He did not approach until most people left.
Luke saw him.
Walked over.
Mason looked toward Earl’s grave.
“He hated me.”
Luke thought.
“No.”