Friday was a long day.
I woke early and started preparing supper.
The chicken went into the pot.
I added celery, carrots, onions, and seasoning.
The kitchen slowly filled with the smell of broth.
I made the dumplings just before the afternoon.
I remembered my mother teaching me how to mix the dough.
She always said not to work it too much.
I followed her instructions.
I placed the blue-rimmed plates on the table.
I filled the water glasses.
I set out the butter.
Then I checked the front porch.
The light was working.
The chairs were in their usual places.
Everything looked ordinary.
Around four, Miriam came outside across the road.
She was sitting on her porch with a cup of tea.
She waved.
I waved back.
She knew Alden was coming home.
She also knew I had been collecting the paperwork.
But she didn't ask what I planned to say.
I appreciated that.
At five, I heard a vehicle on the highway.
It wasn't Alden.
At six, I checked the clock.
The food was ready.
I lowered the heat.
Then I heard the familiar rumble.
A big diesel engine.
The sound grew louder.
Headlights swept across the pasture.
The rig turned into the gravel driveway.
I stood by the window.
Alden had arrived.
He parked near the garage.
The engine shut down.
For a moment, everything was quiet.
Then the truck door opened.
He climbed down.
He looked tired.
He stretched his shoulders and picked up his travel bag.
Then he looked toward the Yoder property.
Miriam was still on her porch.
He shook his head.
I heard his boots on the wooden steps.
The door opened.
"Joanne! I'm home!"
I walked into the kitchen.
"Welcome home."
He put down his bag.
"What's for supper?"
"Chicken and dumplings."
He smiled.
"Now you're talking."
He washed his hands.
Then he sat at the table.
I brought the pot over.
He served himself.
For a few minutes, he talked about the road.
He complained about a delay outside Albuquerque.
He mentioned a truck stop where the coffee had tasted like old dishwater.
I listened.
He ate two servings.
Then he leaned back.
"That was good."
"Thank you."
He wiped his mouth.
Then he looked toward the window.
"Those goats are still here?"
I put down my cup.
"Yes."
He frowned.
"Joanne, I thought we discussed this."
"We did."
"And?"
"And the rental agreement is still in place."
He stared at me.
"You haven't changed your mind?"
"No."
He pushed his chair back.
"Unbelievable."
I stood up.
I went to the kitchen drawer.
I took out the folder.
Then I returned to the table.
Alden looked at it.
"What now?"
I placed the certified deed in front of him.
He stared at the county seal.
Then he looked at me.
"What is this?"
"The property deed."
He let out a short laugh.
"Again?"
I didn't answer.
He picked it up.
He looked at the first page.
Then he turned to the second.
I waited.
The kitchen clock ticked.
Outside, a goat bleated.
He looked at the property description.
Then he looked at the ownership information.
His face changed.
I placed the bank statements beside the deed.
"And these are the records from the bank."
He looked down.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm showing you the paperwork."
He picked up the statements.
His eyes moved across the dates.
Then he looked at the pension confirmation.
I watched him.
He didn't look pleased anymore.
He looked uncomfortable.
"Where did you get all this?"
"The bank and the pension office."
He put the papers down.
"Joanne, I told you I was handling things."
I sat across from him.
"And I told you I wanted to know where my pension went."
He rubbed his forehead.
"I've had enough of this."
I kept my voice calm.
"So have I."
He stood up.
"You're making a scene."
I looked toward the window.
Miriam was still sitting on her porch.
She wasn't interfering.
She was simply there.
I looked back at Alden.
"I'm not making a scene. I'm showing you what the records say."
He picked up the deed again.
Then he placed it down.
"That property belongs to both of us. We've lived here for forty-five years."
I answered carefully.
"We've lived here together. The deed is in my name."
He shook his head.
"That isn't how marriage works."
I looked at him.
"Then explain why you thought taking my name off the bank account was acceptable."
He didn't answer.
I continued.
"You wanted me to believe that whoever brought home the paycheck got to make every decision."
He stared at me.
I looked at the paycheck photograph on my phone.
I had kept it.
I turned the screen toward him.
There he was.
Smiling.
Holding his check.
Proud of himself.
He looked at the picture.
Then he looked away.
I spoke quietly.
"You asked me to remember that night, Alden. I did."
He lowered himself into the chair.
For the first time since he had arrived, he didn't have anything to say.
Click here to continue reading: PART 20: I Handed Him the Last Paper, and the Man Who Once Laughed at My Questions Finally Had to Listen to the Woman He Had Ignored for Forty-Five Years
My Pension Disappeared Before Breakfast, and the Woman at the Bank Told Me Something I Never Expected to Hear
Part 19 of 20
