Gene got out and stood with his hands on his hips, looking over the stackyard. Twenty-three bales sat in neat rows. A fresh one was coming off Arlen’s flatbed every few minutes, thumping onto the ground.

“A hundred bales,” Gene said. “I’ve got the rest of ’em on my trailer. Figured I’d bring ’em back.”

“You didn’t have to come yourself.”

“I did.”

“Gene, you paid for that hay. It’s fair ”

“Karen.” He took off his cap and crushed it in both hands. “I’m going to say something, and I want you to let me finish. I paid your brother-in-law eight dollars a bale for hay that was worth seventy. I knew it. I knew it the second he named the price. And I told myself, ‘Well, the widow needs cash, and Dwayne’s family, and who am I to ask.’” He looked at the cap. “That’s what I told myself. What I actually thought was, ‘This is a hell of a deal.’”