Page 100 of The Fire Line

Harris arrived in the conference room carrying a coil of baling twine and the growing suspicion that his mother had omitted important information when she texted him to “come right now”.

Della followed with two banker’s boxes stacked in her arms. Harris took them from her immediately.

“Could’ve called me.”

“I did.”

“Phone was in the truck.”

“That sounds like a personal failure.”

Jay sat at the long table looking professionally harmless, which might have been more convincing if Harris had not had his mouth on him in the tack room yesterday. Priya waited beside him with a legal pad. Neither acknowledged anything outside the stated purpose of the meeting.

That was becoming its own kind of intimacy.

Harris set the boxes down. “What’re we looking for?”

“Nell’s original notes for the water project,” Jay said. “The proposal tells us what she decided. I want to see how she got there.”

Harris looked at the boxes. Half the time Nell had written as though she were leaving instructions for herself and Harris was the only other person expected to understand them. Della had been right to call him.

He disliked that this did not make leaving any easier.

The first box held binders, printed emails, county maps, and folders divided by subject. Nell’s handwriting crossed most of the labels in thick black marker, the letters slanting forward as though they had somewhere else to be. The second contained photographs, old ranch brochures, newspaper clippings, and several notebooks in varying stages of collapse.

Della opened the first binder. “Start with the proposal material. The photographs can wait.”

For nearly an hour, the work stayed practical. Nell had documented the ranch history, changes in water access, possible interviews, and the questions she thought mattered. Her notes were sharp, impatient, and frequently more accurate than anybody living would have preferred.

Beside Walt’s name, she had written: Do not ask him about legacy unless you have forty-five minutes and a spare battery.

Jay turned the page toward Harris. “Accurate?”

“Generous estimate.”

Della sorted photographs at the end of the table. “He can make an hour out of it.”

Another note appeared beside Evan’s proposed interview: Knows how everything actually works. Will try to give Harris credit for half of it. Don’t let him.

Harris read that one twice. “She got that backward.”

“No,” Della said without looking up.

Harris gave his mother a murderous look. She continued sorting, apparently protected by the dead and therefore unconcerned with consequences.

Jay returned to the binder before Harris could decide whether to argue. Beside Della’s name, Nell had written: She will feed you before she trusts you. This is not optional.

Jay held it up.

Della read the line and nodded once. “Still true.”

“I gathered.”

Harris found a photograph tucked into the rear pocket. Two children stood beside a muddy pony. Nell grinned directly at the camera, one front tooth missing and both hands around the reins. Harris wore a hat too large for his head and looked furious with the entire photographic process.

Jay leaned closer. “Harris?”

“Nope.”