PART 9 – Faron Finally Came to the House He Had Left Behind, but He Wasn’t There to Apologize

The knock came Wednesday evening.

I was washing the dinner plate when I heard it.

Three short knocks.

Then another.

I dried my hands and looked through the window.

Faron.

He was standing on the porch with his hands inside his jacket pockets.

For a moment, I considered pretending I wasn't home.

Then I remembered that I didn't have to hide from him anymore.

I opened the door but left the screen closed.

"What do you want?"

He looked past me into the house.

"Can we talk?"

"About what?"

"The cards."

I leaned against the doorframe.

"There's nothing to discuss."

He sighed.

"You're really going to keep doing this?"

I looked at him.

"I already did it."

He shifted his feet.

His truck was parked near the driveway.

I remembered when he used to pull into that same driveway after picking me up from work.

Back then, I used to look forward to hearing the engine.

Now I only wanted him to leave.

"I've got bills coming due," he said.

I didn't answer.

"My phone bill. Gas. Some other things."

I looked at his wallet.

It was still the same worn brown leather one he had carried for years.

"Those aren't my bills."

He rubbed his forehead.

"Ange, we were married for eleven years."

"And I paid for eleven years."

He looked annoyed.

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what are you talking about?"

He looked toward the road.

"I need you to help me get through this month."

I almost asked him how many months he had needed help.

But I already knew the answer.

Every month.

For years.

He had never reached the point where he thought he could stand on his own.

"I can't help you anymore, Faron."

He looked at me as though I had insulted him.

"You've changed."

I thought about the courthouse steps.

Earline laughing.

His threat about Peg.

The salesman returning the card at the sports show.

Maybe I had changed.

Maybe I had finally stopped making excuses for people who didn't respect me.

"Yes," I said. "I have."

He stood there for another moment.

Then he asked whether I still had the account statements.

I looked at him carefully.

"Why?"

"Just asking."

I didn't explain.

He nodded once.

"Fine."

Then he walked back to his truck.

I closed the door.

I didn't watch him drive away.

That night, I placed another message from him in the folder.

I wasn't collecting evidence to punish him.

I was collecting it because I was tired of doubting my own memory.

The next morning, I took the folder to work.

Peg noticed it on the counter.

"More paperwork?"

"Just keeping things organized."

She nodded.

"Good."

Then she handed me a list of supplies we needed for the weekend.

We talked about potatoes, onions, flour, and cheese.

Ordinary things.

Things I understood.

For the first time in months, I was beginning to feel that my life belonged to me again.

Click here to continue reading: PART 10: A Phone Call From Earline Made Me Realize That She Still Thought My Paycheck Was Part of Her Retirement Plan