Medical bills after Thomas’s stroke.
The farm’s line of credit.
Numbers filled her mind.
Around midnight, Thomas said:
“Stop.”
“What?”
“You’re calculating bankruptcy with your face.”
Marin stared.
“I can tell.”
“I might have ruined it.”
“Maybe.”
She looked at him angrily.
“That’s helpful.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“You want me to lie?”
“No.”
“You made a decision with information.”
“Yes.”
“If it’s wrong, we deal with wrong.”
“And if we can’t?”
“Then we deal with that too.”
Marin looked toward the black window.
Thomas continued.
“What you don’t get to do is turn uncertainty into guilt before morning.”
She said nothing.
At 1:30, the rain eased slightly.
Then returned.
By four, it had weakened to a steady patter.
Marin did not sleep.
At 5:08, before sunrise, she pulled on boots.
Thomas was already awake.
“Wait for light.”
“No.”
“You’ll break your neck.”
“I have a flashlight.”
“Wait twenty minutes.”
She waited twelve.
Then walked.
Mud pulled at her boots.
The yard had standing water near the barn.
Branches covered the lane.
Ash Creek sounded louder than usual.
She approached the north forty.
Gray morning light slowly revealed the field.
Marin stopped.
Some wheat leaned.
A lot.
Her stomach dropped.
Then she walked closer.
Leaning was not flat.
Stalks bent twenty degrees.
Thirty in places.
Some lodged patches near the creek.
But most heads remained above ground.
Standing.
She moved deeper.
Water occupied the low corner.
Then she saw the drainage ditch.
Running.
Fast.
Brown water poured through the channel she had cleared and toward Ash Creek.
Without that ditch, the low ten acres might have sat under water.
Marin walked the outlet.
No blockage.
She returned to the field.
Broke a head.
Checked kernels.
Wet from rain.
Of course.
But intact.
No shattering.
No immediate sprouting.
She kept walking.
Thirty minutes.
An hour.
By the time Thomas reached the field edge in the pickup, Marin was nearly half a mile away.
He honked.
She came back.
Thomas lowered the window.
“Well?”
Marin did not smile yet.
“Standing.”
“How much?”
“Most.”
“Drain?”
“Working.”
He exhaled.
“Good.”
“Not done.”
Thomas nodded.
He understood.
Surviving the storm did not mean winning.
Now came waiting again.
The sun returned Sunday.
Warm.
Dry breeze.
Marin sampled twice.
Grain moisture jumped after rain.
Expected.
She watched heads carefully for sprouting.
None Monday.
None Tuesday.
Some discoloration at the field edges.
Test weight risk remained.