“You worked for the company.”
“Yes.”
“You sold products.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know waste was being buried on farms?”
Wade did not answer immediately.
Clara's stomach tightened.
“Wade.”
“I knew material disappeared.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“I heard stories.”
“What stories?”
“Employees dumping damaged inventory.”
“Where?”
“I didn't ask.”
Clara stared.
That was worse than ignorance.
Not knowing because you did not want to know.
Wade continued.
“I should have.”
“Yes.”
“I thought my father handled it.”
“Yes.”
“I was building sales.”
“Yes.”
Every yes became harder.
Wade looked toward the weak trees.
“When Daniel started having problems, I thought soil fatigue.”
“Did you know these drums might be here?”
“No.”
“Did it ever occur to you?”
“No.”
“Because you forgot the stories.”
His face tightened.
“Maybe.”
Clara laughed once.
“That's incredible.”
“I know.”
“You sold Dad treatments for years.”
“I believed they could help.”
“Did they?”
“Some.”
“Then every time they didn't, you sold another.”
Wade looked down.
Clara felt rage rising.
Her father writing checks.
Her father sick.
Her father blaming himself for the orchard.
Daniel had once told her:
“I don't know what I'm doing wrong.”
She remembered.
Kitchen table.
Late evening.
Medical appointment next morning.
He stared at production records and said:
“I used to know this farm.”
Clara had thought he meant age.
Disease.
Changing climate.
Now she wondered how many years he had tried solving something buried beneath his feet.
“You let him think he was failing.”
Wade looked up.
“I didn't know.”
“You knew your company had dumped material somewhere.”
“I knew rumors.”
“And you never connected it.”
“No.”
“Because connecting it would cost money.”
“That isn't fair.”
Clara stepped closer.
“No?”
Wade stopped.
She pointed toward the orchard.
“My father paid you to fix symptoms created by material your company may have put there.”
“My father's company.”
“The name on the truck was Mercer.”
“He was responsible.”
“And you inherited customers.”
“Yes.”
“Equipment.”
“Yes.”
“Reputation.”
“Yes.”
“Then suddenly history belongs only to him?”
Wade had no answer.
Clara turned away.
After a moment, he said:
“I’m sorry.”
She stopped.
Not enough.
Still something.
“Leave.”
He did.
Spring arrived.
The damaged section remained under remediation.
Several trees were removed.
Clara cried when the first one came down.
She had expected not to.
Trees were not people.
Still.
Some had been planted by her grandfather.
Others by Daniel.
Their rings contained seasons nobody remembered.
Equipment cut.
Lifted.