I looked at the photocopy of the hand-drawn map I had brought with me, tracing the soft, cloud-like curve that bypassed the pump house completely.
The physical landmarks on the ground did not fit a simple grid of squares.
I wound the tape back into its casing, my fingers cold against the metal.
There was a gap of twelve feet that simply didn’t make sense if the land was meant to be divided into equal pieces.
The wind blew a gust of cold air through the open barn doors, carrying the smell of old hay and dry rot.
I stood in the silence of the orchard, realizing that Arthur’s simple grid would destroy the water loop completely.
At six, the kitchen was dark except for the single bulb over the stove.
Arthur stood by the sink, his large frame blocking the window as he drank a glass of tap water in rapid, noisy gulps.
He set the glass down with a sharp click and checked his gold watch, the metal catching the light.
