Marlene stared.
"You're helping?"
He sounded offended.
"I'm your brother."
She swallowed.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then she whispered, "I know."
Daryl arranged for a technician he trusted to examine the pump. The repair cost less than the initial estimate, and Marlene was able to keep the ranch operating without missing the scheduled payment. Daryl didn't contribute money, and he made no promise that cactus would succeed.
But he had helped solve a problem.
For Marlene, that mattered.
In September 2004, Rosa brought the first serious buyers to the Caldwell ranch.
They were two restaurant owners from a larger town several hours away, interested in purchasing locally grown nopal for their kitchens. Rosa had explained that Marlene was still building the operation and couldn't promise large volumes, but she believed some of the mature plants could eventually support small, regular sales.
The visitors arrived in a dusty van.
Marlene met them beside the barn.
One was a chef named Miguel Salazar, a cheerful man with a neatly trimmed beard and an enthusiasm for fresh ingredients. The other was his business partner, a quiet woman named Clara Mendoza who handled purchasing and delivery schedules.
They walked the planting rows.
Miguel examined the pads.
Then asked about how they were grown, harvested, and handled.
Marlene answered carefully.
She didn't pretend the entire ranch was ready for commercial production.
She explained the test plot, the ongoing selection of suitable varieties, and the limitations of her harvest schedule.
Clara reviewed the expected quantities.
Then looked toward Marlene.
"Could you supply a small order every two weeks during the season?"
Marlene considered the question.
She looked toward the plants.
Then nodded.
"If we agree on a realistic amount and allow for weather."
Clara smiled.
"That's what we need."
The first sale was modest.
Almost embarrassingly modest compared with the enormous size of the ranch.
But when Marlene received payment, she stood beside the pickup holding the receipt for several minutes.
For the first time since Curtis died, the new business had produced income directly from the cactus.
She drove home with the receipt tucked into her notebook.
Then placed it beneath a photograph of her father.
"Dad," she whispered, "we sold some."
She began laughing.
Then crying.
Then laughing again.
It wasn't enough money to change her financial situation.
But it was proof that the plants were more than an experiment.
They could become something people wanted to buy.
The following winter, Marlene worked through every expense associated with that first sale.
Fuel.
Packaging.