“People believe what they’re told.”
“People ought to check,” Arlen said. “That’s what I’m ashamed of.”
I came down off the porch. I’d planned a speech, I think, in the night, but what came out was only, “Thank you.”
“Don’t.” He held up a hand. “Don’t thank me. I’m not giving you anything. I’m returning what’s yours.” He gestured toward the bales. “Where do you want it?”
“The stackyard behind the barn.”
“I’ll find it.”
“Arlen, I’ll pay you back the eight dollars, all of it, ”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind.” He turned, and for the first time that morning he looked straight at me. His eyes were wet. “Tom pulled my wife’s truck out of the ditch the night she died. Did you know that? The ice storm, the night before she passed. I couldn’t get there from the hospital, and he went out at two in the morning with a chain. Never said a word to me about it. Dorothy told me herself.” He swallowed. “I’ve been looking for a way to pay that back for two years.”
