Below the amount, the text showed one status word in clear capital letters: DECLINED.

I slid the phone back into my pocket without opening the message.

Carl lifted a thirty-pound crate from the truck bed and set it on the wooden loading block.

“Your mother’s making soup tonight, Nora.

You and the kids come in when you finish sorting.”

“We’ll be right in, Dad,” I said.

I picked up an empty wooden basket, carried it over to the sweet corn pile, and started filling it for the morning market.

By eight fifteen the next morning, I was sitting in a narrow, wood-paneled office behind the Oakhaven County Courthouse.