Even when we had a good harvest, he’d simply say the work had turned out all right.
When I worked through a blizzard to save newborn calves, he acted as though that was what any farmer should do.
I’d spent most of my adult life hoping he’d say he was proud of me.
And now those words were written on a sheet of yellow paper.
Hidden beneath the seat of an old truck.
A letter he’d been too uncomfortable to mail.
I bent forward and cried.
—
PART 7: WHAT MY BROTHER HAD BEEN HIDING
Theresa found me sitting on the running board.
She immediately knew something was wrong.
“Wade?”
I handed her the letter.
She read it slowly.
Then sat beside me.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Finally, she whispered, “He knew exactly what you would’ve done.”
I nodded.
“He could’ve told me.”
