I looked out through the windshield while he read.
A sparrow was building a nest near the workshop.
The yard looked exactly as it had when Dad was alive.
I heard Phil reach the bottom of the page.
Then he started reading again.
Finally, he whispered:
“Dad trusted me to do the right thing.”
I nodded.
“He did.”
Phil removed his glasses.
His eyes filled.
Then he reached into his shirt pocket.
He pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
It looked as though he’d carried it for months.
“Wade, there’s something I need to show you.”
He handed it over.
It was dated March first.
Only days after the will had been read.
On the page, Phil had calculated the estimated sale value of the farm.
Below that, he’d subtracted the bank debt.
Then he’d drawn a line.
The remaining amount was divided equally.
One half labeled Phil.
