Page 102 of The Fire Line

Harris’s thumb rested below the words.

For years, Nell had treated his availability as a fact. Whatever needed deciding, fixing, carrying, or surviving, Harris would be there. She had trusted that without asking whether the weight of it ever frightened him.

Maybe because she had carried the other half.

“She wrote that about everything,” he said.

His voice sounded ordinary enough to fool nobody at the table.

Della nodded. “Usually because it was true.”

Harris closed the notebook carefully and stood. “Need to finish that feeder.”

Della glanced toward the darkening windows. “It can wait.”

“Nope.”

“Harris—”

“I’ll look through the rest tomorrow.”

He picked up the twine and left without looking at Jay.

The door closed quietly behind him.

For a moment, nobody moved. Della gathered the loose photographs into a single stack, keeping her eyes on the table.

Jay looked toward the door. “Should I—”

“No.”

He looked back at her.

“Give him a little while,” Della said.

That was all.

Priya closed her legal pad. “We can stop for today.”

Della nodded, and they returned the materials to their boxes. The field notebook stayed on top.

* * *

The mineral feeder took twenty minutes to repair. Harris spent another forty finding reasons it required improvement.

By dinner, it stood straighter than it had when new.

Harris washed his hands, ate with his family, and answered three questions from Walt about the north pasture without hearing most of them. Della did not mention the notebook. Jay did not look at Harris more than necessary.

That should have helped.

It did not.

After dinner, Harris returned to the cabin. Tried to scroll on his phone. Tried to read.

He lasted twelve minutes. Then he took his cigarettes and walked toward the western fence.

Rain was already there, her pale coat nearly silver beneath the moon. Every few minutes she tore another mouthful of grass and lifted her head to make sure Harris remained where she had left him.