A pause.
"I can't confirm that."
Claire looked toward the road.
She had watched it all morning.
No service truck had passed.
She closed her eyes.
"Please tell your manager I want to speak with him today."
The dispatcher promised to leave a message.
Nobody called.
On the fifth day, Claire drove to the AgriTech branch office.
The building stood beside the highway outside Red Willow Junction.
Several new combines were displayed along the frontage.
Large banners advertised dependable service and harvest support.
Claire parked beside the workshop.
Then entered the reception area carrying copies of her maintenance records.
A young employee greeted her.
"Can I help you?"
"I need to speak with your service manager."
"Do you have an appointment?"
Claire looked toward the workshop.
"I have a combine that's been down for five days."
The employee's smile faded.
"Name?"
"Claire Whitaker."
The young man typed.
Then looked uncomfortable.
"Your ticket is under regional review."
"I know."
"Then the manager will contact you."
Claire took a slow breath.
"I've been told that every day."
He glanced toward the office.
For a moment, Claire thought he might finally call someone.
Instead, he said, "I'm sorry. There's nothing else I can do."
She left.
Outside, she stood beside her truck looking at the dealership's enormous service building.
Technicians moved between machines.
Parts were delivered.
Phones rang.
Work continued.
The company was operating.
Her combine was not.
For the first time, Claire felt that the problem was not simply delay.
Somebody had decided her ticket could wait.
She did not know why.
But she intended to find out.
By the sixth day, neighboring farmers had begun harvesting.
Claire could hear their combines moving across the fields at night.
The sound carried over the Kansas plains.
A steady mechanical growl beneath the stars.
Usually, it comforted her.
Harvest was the sound of a year's work finally becoming grain.
Now it felt like a reminder of everything she was losing.
She stood outside the farmhouse after sunset watching distant headlights move through the wheat.
Her mother came onto the porch.
Ruth handed her a glass of water.
"Any news?"
Claire shook her head.
"No."
"Is Maya still helping?"
"She's tracking down the harness. One supplier has it listed, but they need to verify the configuration."
Ruth nodded.
"Good."
Claire looked toward the fields.
"Everybody else is cutting."
Her mother was silent.
Claire continued.