“I’d love to help load, Carl,” Mark said, his voice quick and ready.

“The high school principal called five minutes ago about an urgent school board budget revision for the fall term.”

He reached into his pocket, jingling his car keys against his leg in a quick rhythm.

“Administrative duties call,” he said, opening his car door.

“Nora knows how to handle thirty-pound crates just as well as any hired farmhand.”

Carl didn’t answer him, stepping past the rear bumper of the truck to lift another wooden box onto the iron runner.

I grabbed the wire handles of a heavy sweet corn basket and hoisted it onto the wooden ramp, feeling fresh corn silk stick to my denim work shirt as dust rose around my worn work boots.