I liked looking at it.
Not because it looked perfect.
Because it told the truth.
The system had survived by being maintained.
Some parts were old.
Some were new.
And all of them depended on people understanding what they were doing.
Grandpa would have approved.
The trout farm was beginning to improve financially too.
We weren't wealthy.
We still had bills.
Aunt June still spent evenings reviewing accounts.
But the numbers were moving in a better direction.
Two additional restaurants had begun purchasing fish regularly.
Our revised stocking schedule reduced unnecessary costs.
The updated equipment improved the consistency of our monitoring.
And the maintenance agreement for the emergency relay helped cover expenses that had previously fallen entirely on the farm.
Aunt June no longer looked quite so exhausted when she opened the mail.
That was one of the first things I noticed.
She still worried.
Of course she did.
But sometimes, after dinner, she'd sit on the porch with a cup of tea and simply watch the mountains.
Not calculating.
Not sorting invoices.
Not wondering which bill could wait another week.
Just sitting.
I liked those evenings.
Sometimes I sat beside her.
We didn't always talk.
We didn't need to.
The water made its familiar sound.
The fish moved beneath the surface.
And the mountains stood quietly in the distance.
The farm was still here.
So were we.
Brent Sloane returned to the farm in October.
I saw his truck coming down the gravel road and immediately felt uncomfortable.
Of the three county officials, he was the one whose phone had made the confrontation public.
I hadn't forgotten how he laughed.
Or how he filmed me while Danner shouted.
Aunt June came outside when he parked.
Brent stepped out holding a sealed envelope.
He looked nervous.
“Ms. Hale?”
She nodded.
“Mr. Sloane.”
He glanced toward me.
Then back at her.
“I wanted to give you something.”
He held out the envelope.
Aunt June didn't take it immediately.
“What is it?”
“A letter. And confirmation that the original video files were preserved and provided through the review process.”
She studied him.
He continued.
“I also wanted to apologize.”
Aunt June remained quiet.
Brent swallowed.
“I was wrong to laugh at your nephew.”
He glanced toward me.
“I was wrong to record him like that.”
I didn't answer.
He continued.
“When the video got shared, I tried telling myself it was good because it showed what happened.”
He looked down.
“But I didn't start recording because I wanted to protect anybody.”