For Seven Years I Sent Forty Thousand Dollars Every January, Until Emma Finally Spoke

“Bring the money, or the trip is off.”

At three forty-five, I pulled into the gravel lot of Oak Creek Used Cars on State Route 4.

The lot manager, a man named Miller who was no relation to my family, was leaning against the fender of a red pickup truck near the office trailer.

I parked my 1978 blue Ford truck beside his front fence and cut the engine.

“Are you looking to buy, Arthur?” Miller asked.