Then I walked downstairs.
Outside, a bitter north wind swept across the street.
Theresa followed me to our pickup.
“Wade, you need another attorney.”
“No.”
“Someone independent. Someone who can review that will.”
“No, Theresa.”
She stared at me.
“You spent twenty-two years working that land.”
“I know how long I was there.”
“Then how can you just accept this?”
I looked toward the gray Nebraska sky.
“Because that’s Dad’s signature.”
“So?”
“He’s been dead three weeks. He can’t sit across a table and tell me what he meant. I’m not going to spend the next few years fighting a man who can’t answer me.”
Theresa looked at me for a long time.
Then she silently pulled my coat collar higher against the wind.
That was her way of telling me she disagreed but still loved me.
A moment later, Phil appeared outside.
He approached slowly, holding his reading glasses.
