“That cough sounds heavier than it did on Tuesday,” Raymond said.
“It is only the damp air from the river, Raymond,” Helen said, keeping her voice light.
“You sure you don’t need to see Dr. Vance?” he asked.
He wiped a smudge of rust from his forehead with his sleeve.
“I am fine,” Helen said. “We just need a few things from the store.”
“I can drive you,” Raymond said, setting his wrench on the counter.
“My truck is already warm.”
The old truck engine rumbled hard as Raymond turned onto the county road.
The heater blew a thin stream of lukewarm air.
Helen looked out at the flat fields, where the grey sky hung low over the dark soil.
“The bank is calling about the tractor loan again,” Raymond said.
He stared straight ahead at the gravel road.
“The winter squash is just rotting out there in the south field, too wet to harvest.”
“Is there nothing to salvage?” Helen asked.
“Not enough to cover the diesel to haul it,” Raymond said.
“I don’t know how we’re going to make the December payment.”
Helen reached into her coat pocket, her fingers brushing the stiff edge of the blue estimate sheet.
She closed her hand around it, keeping her mouth shut.
“We’ll find a way,” Raymond said.
His voice lacked any real weight.
Helen looked at his profile, seeing the deep lines around his eyes.
She decided she could not tell him about the three weeks she had left.
“Let us just focus on today,” Helen said.
Raymond parked the truck near the entrance of the grocery store.
The tires splashed through a deep puddle.
The fluorescent lights of the grocery store hummed a low, monotonous note over the bakery aisle.
Helen picked up a single loaf of cheap white bread.
She checked the price tag printed on the plastic wrapper.
