“Your husband came by the machine shed yesterday morning,” Carl said, wiping sweat off his forehead with his glove.

I snapped two heavy ears off the stalk next to me, feeling the fresh corn silk cling to my damp denim shirt.

“What did Mark want?” I asked.

“I asked him for fifty dollars toward the shared bulk tractor diesel delivery,” Carl said.

He paused, taking an empty wooden crate from the stack by the rear truck tire.

“He told me your household was on strict spending limits right now,” Carl said.

“He said you couldn’t spare fifty dollars for fuel until the harvest contract settled next month.”