Page 56 of Omega’s Fold

I sit, putting the folder on my lap. I put the hat on the folder.

“Thank you for coming in,” she says. “I know it’s a long way.”

“It’s not so far.”

“It is for the people we deal with. We’d see you locally if we could. As you know.”

“I know.”

“Can I get you anything before we start? Water, coffee?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Okay. Mr. Briggs. Wyatt. May I call you Wyatt.”

“Yes.”

“Wyatt. I’d like to start by saying that I appreciate that this is difficult and I want you to know that whatever we discuss in this room is between you and me. We’re not in the business of catching anybody out. We’re in the business of finding a way through. So I’d like, if you don’t mind, to start by hearing from you. In your own words. About where things stand.”

I look at the hat. The hat is not going to help me either.

I make myself look at her. Her eyes are a soft brown behind the reading glasses. She waits.

“The south well went dry in April,” I say.

The words come out smaller than I want them to. I clear my throat. I try again.

“South well went dry. I’ve been trucking water in since. The house well is down to about eight feet and dropping. I’d guess it’s gone by spring. Maybe before.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t run the herd on hauled water. I’ve been selling animals. I sold ten in June. Sold another fifteen at the August sale. That’s about a third of the herd. The price was fine for August. It won’t be fine in November, because the rest of the valley’s selling at the same time for the same reason.”

“Yes. We’ve seen that.”

“I missed the July payment. I missed the August one. Then September. October.”

“Wyatt.” She takes her glasses off. She folds them and lays them on the open folder. “I don’t need you to apologise to me for the missed payments. I need you to walk me through where you’re at, so that I can help you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“What about Linden? We know they’ve made offers. Is there a reason you haven’t accepted?”

I work my jaw once. The folder on my lap is heavy.

“They made an offer on the land in May but it’s not enough.” I name the figure.

She nods and writes it down.

“And the outstanding on the mortgage is —” she names the figure, which is the figure on the September letter, which is the figure I have already done the arithmetic, “—roughly. With the arrears.”

“Yes.”

“I see,” she says, slowly. “And have you spoken to a realtor.”

“Yes.”

“And?”