Thirty-Nine Million Dollars and a Brown Folder on the Kitchen Table

“She showed me a spreadsheet about farm bankruptcies.”

Desmond kept his eyes on his shoes.

He moved the dry cleaning bag to his left hand.

“She’s just trying to look out for you,” he said.

“By telling Dad my equipment is falling apart?”

“She worries,” Desmond said.

“You always push people away when they try to help.”

He didn’t look up when he said it.