Wade did not look at me. He set his envelope on the table in front of Dad, his hand shaking, and the café went completely silent except for the hiss of the coffee machine. Gus put down his mug. Harold stopped stirring. Clyde, who never stopped talking, stared at his plate. I had not breathed since the bell above the door rang.

“Dad,” Wade said, his voice cracking, “I need to tell you something, and I want Marissa to hear it too.” My heart pounded. Wade’s face had turned the color of ash. Then he drew out a single sheet of paper, unfolded it, and read the first line aloud. “There never was a tractor.” Dad slowly lifted his eyes, and across the table, Gus whispered, “I figured as much.”