“He was trying to tuck his left foot behind his stool at lunch so I wouldn’t notice.”

“I saw them, Mom,” I said.

“Fifty dollars for diesel is a normal farm expense, Nora,” Grace said.

“Your father shouldn’t have to carry Mark’s share when you’re working these corn rows four hours every afternoon.”

I looked down at my worn work boots, where the leather seam over my left big toe was splitting wide open.

“I’ll handle it,” I said.

At four o’clock, I drove my truck into the high school parking lot to drop off the quarterly adult education bookkeeping folders.