“If you need in here after dark, the shed’s side door latch is freshly oiled.”

“Thank you, Dad,” I said.

“You look tired, Nora,” Carl said, stepping back toward his truck.

“Did you eat any lunch today?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“Your mother made chicken soup,” Carl said, picking up his maintenance log again.

“Go up to the farmhouse kitchen before you head across town.”

I drove across town instead, skipping our local branch to stop at First Farmers Bank on the far edge of the commercial strip.