For one terrible minute she stood frozen, unable to decide whether to call anyone or begin scooping fish herself. Then she remembered Roy's voice telling her that panic was not a treatment. She called him before five in the morning, apologizing so quickly that he interrupted her. "Tell me the reading, Delaney. Then tell me what equipment is running. We'll deal with being sorry when the fish can breathe."
He talked her through the immediate response while driving to the site, and she followed the directions as carefully as her shaking hands allowed. A neighboring farmer brought a portable pump to help move and disturb the water under Roy's supervision. They avoided turning up deep, oxygen-poor bottom water indiscriminately, and they checked each pond separately rather than assuming all three had the same problem. By sunrise the survivors in pond two had stopped crowding the edge so desperately.
It did not undo the loss. They collected nearly two thousand dead fingerlings over the following hours, documenting the count and arranging safe disposal instead of leaving carcasses to decay in the pond. Delaney knelt beside the containers and felt the arithmetic of her mistake settle into her bones. A third of the original stocking had disappeared before she had made a single sale.
Roy arrived with a thermos and a face that gave her no opportunity to pretend it was not serious. He inspected the old aerator, the electrical connection, and her notebook. "This machine was never going to carry a full stocking on a muggy night," he said. She stared at the ground. "You told me to check the system."
Roy nodded. "I did. And I should have made the backup plan clearer before the fish arrived. We both get to learn from that."
The kindness almost undid her. She had expected an older expert to tell her that she had been arrogant, ignorant, and lucky to have done no worse. Instead he showed her how to recognize the warning signs, helped her prioritize a reliable paddlewheel aerator, and insisted that a backup power plan belonged in the budget even when the budget did not want it. Delaney spent almost everything she had left on equipment, wiring, and a generator that could keep the critical systems operating during outages.
When Roy asked how she would pay for feed afterward, she gave him an honest answer. "I don't know yet." He sat on the tailgate beside her and opened the thermos. "Then that's the next problem. Don't confuse it with this one."
That evening she called her mother, who had been trying not to sound alarmed about the ponds since the first delivery. Delaney described the loss in plain numbers and waited for the inevitable suggestion that she sell the land. Her mother was quiet, then said, "I hate that you're out there doing all this alone." Delaney pressed her thumb against the edge of the telephone.
"I'm not alone. Roy came. A neighbor helped. I just don't know whether help is enough."