I put the pawn ticket and the keycard back in the glovebox and slammed it shut. The latch caught properly this time. I started the truck, backed out of the driveway, and drove straight to the hardware store for the mulch anyway. My hands didn’t shake on the steering wheel until I pulled into the parking lot between two piles of cedar chips.
I sat there with the radio off. I thought about every Saturday since March. Every time he stayed out an extra hour. Every time he told me the line at the register was long or traffic on the bypass was backed up. It was so easy to believe him because I had no reason not to. Trust isn’t something you think about when you have it. It is just the air in the room.
When I got home, I unloaded the bags by myself. Marshall wasn’t there yet. He texted me around noon to say he stopped for lunch with a coworker. I looked at the little glowing screen on the kitchen counter and felt a cold weight settle behind my ribs.
I went upstairs to our bedroom. I opened his side of the closet and went through his jackets. In the pocket of his old canvas barn coat, I found the receipt from the pawn shop dated last October. It listed my name as the seller. He must have used my old driver license from my purse while I was asleep or out at the grocery store.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and waited. The house was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator downstairs. For thirty-four years, this room had been a safe place. We painted the walls together when we bought the place. We put cribs in here, then twin beds, and finally moved back into the room alone when the children grew up and moved away
