“Not safe from what?” I asked.

“He says you want to cut it up,” Henderson said.

“Says you want to subdivide the Kearney farm into half-acre town lots.”

I stared at the tray of sterile instruments.

“Did he use my name?”

“Well now, he called you a town girl,” Henderson said.

He leaned back in the green vinyl chair and crossed his arms over his chest, his lips pulling into a thin smile.

“Said a town girl doesn’t understand what eighty acres of prime dirt means to a family.”

I pressed the handle of the scaler against the paper bib on his chest.

“Open, please,” I said.

Henderson opened his mouth, his eyes fixed sharply on mine.

He was just an old farmer passing along harmless morning talk to fill the time, I told myself.

I scraped the edge of the scaler along his gum line.

The metal made an awful sound against the enamel, but he didn’t flinch.