Mom came out of the wash house, wiping her hands over and over on her canvas apron before taking the printed audit sheet I pulled from the envelope.

Dad set his grease gun down on a wooden crate and wiped his thumb on a shop rag before squinting at the row of dates.

“He put his mother and sister on your line back in September?” Dad asked.

“September second,” I said.

“Three days after he told me we had to cut back on milk and fresh fruit for the kids.”

Mom laid her palm flat against the tractor tire, her eyes fixed on the timestamp column.