By the time he was done, he had a plan. It wasn’t perfect, and it might blow up in his face, but it was better than driving back to Chicago and spending the rest of his life wondering what might have been. He checked his mirrors, pulled back onto the road, and headed not north toward home, but south toward the county records office. There was work to do, and only ten days to do it.
Marcus stood in his driveway for a long time after Nathan’s rental car disappeared down the road, his arm still around Alicia’s shoulders. Neither of them spoke. There wasn’t much to say that wouldn’t make things worse. Finally, Alicia pulled away. “I need to go study.” “Baby girl—” “I’m fine, Dad. Really.” But her voice was thick, and she disappeared into the house before Marcus could see if she was crying.
Marcus walked out to the burned section of the field. The fire department had contained it before it spread beyond about eight acres, but eight acres of mature corn was roughly a third of what he’d been counting on for harvest. He ran the numbers in his head for the hundredth time. Even if the remaining field produced at the high end of projections, even if he sold it all at premium prices, he’d be short about six thousand dollars. Six thousand dollars might as well be six million for all the chance he had of coming up with it in ten days.
He thought about calling his brother in Missouri, but they hadn’t spoken in five years after an argument about money. He thought about asking the church for help, but they were already struggling to keep the lights on. He thought about taking out a payday loan, but the interest rates were predatory and would just dig him in deeper. Every path he considered led to the same place, losing the farm.
That night, Marcus lay in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the old house creak and settle around him. In the room down the hall, he could hear Alicia moving around, probably unable to sleep, either. Three years he’d managed to keep things together after Sarah died. Three years of working himself half to death, of careful budgeting and constant worry, and it was all going to fall apart, anyway.
He thought about Nathan’s offer to help and felt a fresh surge of anger at himself for refusing. Pride was expensive, apparently. Too expensive. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that taking Nathan’s money would have changed something fundamental about who Marcus was. He’d pulled that man from a burning car because it was right, not because he expected payment. The moment he accepted money for it, retroactively or otherwise, it became a transaction. And Marcus Hill didn’t sell his decency. Even if his decency cost him everything.
A week passed, then eight days, then nine. Marcus worked the remaining field like a man possessed, doing everything he could to maximize what was left. He called every buyer he knew, negotiating for the best prices. He sold off equipment he might need later, old tools and spare parts, anything that might bring in a few extra dollars. It wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough.
On the ninth night, Marcus sat at the kitchen table with all the bills spread out in front of him, the final accounting of his failure. Alicia was in her room with the door closed. He could hear her crying softly, trying to muffle the sound so he wouldn’t hear. That was the worst part. Not his own failure, but the fact that his daughter was in there trying not to cry because she didn’t want to make him feel worse.