He handed her a cup.
She accepted.
Ray looked toward the young tree.
“Need help?”
Clara stared.
He sighed.
“Fine.”
He picked up a shovel.
They planted twelve before noon.
At lunch, Ray sat beneath an older tree.
“You know what I remember?”
“What?”
“That stake.”
Clara smiled.
“I remember.”
“I really was an ass.”
“Yes.”
“You could soften it.”
“No.”
Ray laughed.
He looked toward the pigs in the distant paddock.
“Your father would've hated those pigs.”
“Probably.”
“Then stolen the idea.”
“Definitely.”
Ray grew serious.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“You saved this place.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“You did.”
“No.”
“The pigs—”
“Found drums.”
“Your records—”
“Helped.”
“Your stubbornness.”
“Annoyed people.”
Ray frowned.
“What would you call it?”
Clara looked across the orchard.
“Still here.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes, it is.”
The farm was still there.
That was enough.
At thirty, Clara paid off one equipment loan.
At thirty-two, she expanded direct pecan sales.
At thirty-four, she added a small processing kitchen for roasted pecans, pecan butter, and holiday boxes.
The business grew.
Not huge.
Stable.
Her mother stopped asking whether she intended to get a normal job.
Ray said agriculture had finally destroyed her sense of judgment.
Clara said his had been gone before she was born.
They became friends in the way rural neighbors often did.
Insults plus equipment borrowing.
Wade Mercer disappeared from Clara’s daily life.
Years passed before she saw him again.
Feed store.
He looked older.
Clara was thirty-six.
Wade seventy-five.
He stood near seed racks.
Their eyes met.
Neither could pretend.
“Clara.”
“Wade.”
“How's the orchard?”
“Better.”
“I heard.”
Silence.
He held a bag of birdseed.
Retirement suited him badly.
He looked lost without a sales folder.
“I'm glad.”
Clara nodded.
Then he said:
“I've thought about your father.”
Her face tightened.
“Okay.”
“A lot.”
She waited.
“I should've asked more questions.”
“Yes.”
Wade accepted it.
“I told myself not knowing protected me.”
Clara looked at him.
“That’s honest.”
“Late.”
“Yes.”
He smiled sadly.
“Also honest.”
She could have left.
Instead:
“Did you care about him?”
Wade’s eyes changed.
“Yes.”
“That’s the part I never understood.”
“What?”
“How you can care about somebody and still avoid something that might hurt them.”
Wade thought.
“Cowardice.”
No defense.