Frank set the last bale down and looked past the hay wagon toward the road.

A black sedan sat at my gate with its brake lights on and the engine idling, and it had been sitting there since noon.

“That’s the third time today,” Frank said.

I pushed the wagon pin through the clevis.

“He’s checking on Claire.”

Frank hooked his bale hook into the twine.

“He’s checking on something.”

He cleared his throat the way he did before he said the thing he had actually come to say.

“Back in September, Daniel asked me where your south line runs.

Wanted to know if that fence past the creek belonged to you or the Carters.”

The wagon creaked under the load.

I looked out at the gate.

“What did you tell him?”

“Told him the 1984 survey says it’s yours, and that I helped set those posts myself.” Frank laid the hook on the wagon bed.

“He wrote it on a card.

Little white card, like a shopping list.”

“You saw the card?”

“He showed it to me, Sam.