“I looked in the console of the truck we both use.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“It was paid for with our grocery card.”
He picked up the ticket. “It’s a bed and a chair, Earlene. It’s not like I bought a boat.”
I was angry, and I said something I regret. “You should’ve bought a second life with your own money.”
He set the ticket down hard. “I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“After I had things worked out.”
“What’s worked out? The furniture? The house? Christa?”
He didn’t answer me. He rubbed his knee and looked toward the window, as if the answer might be outside.
“She says you told her I knew.”
“I told her we were having problems.”
“We still share a bed.”
“We’ve been together a long time,” he said. “You know things haven’t been right.”
I couldn’t believe he was asking me to accept that as the same thing as agreement. I felt my face get hot.
“Did you tell her we were separating?”
He rubbed his forehead. “I said I was going to leave.”
“Did you tell her I knew?”
He stared at the floor. “I didn’t want to make it worse.”
“How did you think this was going to go?”
He looked up at me then, with a little smirk that made me angrier than the ticket had.
“You’d make a scene and turn the family against me over a bed?”
The sentence stayed there between us. For a second, I almost did what I’d done so many times before. I wanted to say, “You know I wouldn’t.” I wanted to make it easier for him to take back what he’d said.
Instead, I said, “You used our grocery card to buy furniture for the woman you kissed at the airport.”
His face changed when I said the word kissed. He glanced at the front window.
My daughter had arrived while we were talking. She stood just inside the doorway, still wearing her work badge. She had heard enough to know I wasn’t making it up.
“Dad,” she said, “you told Mom you were at the fishing camp.”
“I was with my brother part of the weekend.”
“That isn’t what she asked.”
He tried to turn toward her, but she stayed by the door. She didn’t move to comfort him.
“She was going to find out,” he said.
“That’s your answer?” I asked.
He lowered himself into a chair. “I needed time.”
“For what?”
“To get settled. To figure out what I could afford.”
The furniture ticket sat between us. I looked at the list again, especially the rocking chair with its tags still on. I had been expecting him to say he was leaving because he had finally fallen in love. Now he was saying he’d planned the move first and expected us both to wait while he arranged it.
“What did you tell Christa about me?” I asked.
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“It concerns me if you used my money to make your new place.”
He looked toward my daughter, then back to me. “I thought I could pay it back.”
“With what?”
He didn’t have an answer ready. For once, I watched him struggle to find a story that fit both women at the same time.
I picked up Christa’s number. “I’m calling her. She can tell us what you told her.”
“Don’t drag her into this.”
“She’s already in it.”
My daughter put her hand on my shoulder. I called Christa and asked if she would speak to us. I told her Bill was here and my daughter was with me. She paused long enough that I thought she might hang up.
Then she said, “All right.”
I put the phone on speaker. Bill sat back in the chair and folded his arms.
Christa’s voice came through clear. “Bill, you told me Earlene knew.”
He leaned toward the phone. “I said we were having problems.”
“No. You said she’d agreed you would move out.”
“That’s not exactly what I said.”
“You said she knew about us.”
He looked at me. “This is ridiculous.”
Christa kept going. “You said you were using your own card for the furniture. You said she knew you were moving.”
Bill reached for the phone, but I moved it closer to me.
“Did you tell her I agreed?” I asked.
He was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t think there was a point in getting into all of it.”
“You told her I knew.”
“I was trying to keep things calm.”
Christa let out a short breath. “You told me what I needed to hear so I’d let you set up a place.”
Bill’s arms came down. “That’s not fair.”
“Then tell us what was fair,” I said. “Tell us why you did it.”
He looked at his hands. “I didn’t want to leave with nowhere to go.”
“Your brother has a house,” my daughter said.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
He didn’t answer her. His jaw worked, and he rubbed his knee again. I used to think that meant he was in pain. Sometimes it did. That night, it looked like he wanted to get away from the questions.
