“The bank called about the tractor loan before I left the house,” Raymond said, his Texas drawl even slower than usual. “They aren’t going to extend the deadline past Friday.”
Helen adjusted her thin wool shawl around her shoulders, pulling the faded blue fabric tight to hide the sudden, sharp ache in her chest. “How much do they need to keep the equipment, son?”
“Four hundred and eighty dollars,” Raymond said, staring down at the grain of the wood. “And I don’t have forty.”
Helen looked toward the pantry shelf, where a loaf of cheap white bread costing two dollars sat next to three cans of beans. Her checking account held exactly ninety-two dollars, a sum that would not even cover the interest on Raymond’s farm debt, let alone her own mounting medical co-pays.
She would have to ask Michael.
The thought settled in her stomach like cold lead, but she kept her voice smooth and even, wanting to shield Raymond from her own panic. “I am going to take a walk up toward the hills after we finish our tea.”
