Chapter 7: Welfare Check

I had pressed record on my phone the moment I saw Mark's car turn in at the gate.

It was in my jacket pocket, and I left it there.

"Mrs. Wendt," the deputy said again. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Not at all."

He was young, with a neat haircut and a notepad that he did not seem to want to use.

Across the road, our neighbors had come out onto their porch.

A couple walking two dogs had stopped at the end of the drive.

Mark stood behind the deputy with his arms folded and the concerned face he wore at funerals.

"Can you tell me today's date?" the deputy asked.

"Thursday, the third of October."

"And who's the president?"

I told him.

"Do you know where you are?"

"In my barn, on my mother's farm, where I've worked for twenty-six years."

He glanced at Mark.

"She's very good at covering," Mark said. "It's the first thing the doctors warn you about."

"Which doctors?" I asked.

"Helen."

"Name one."

Mark's jaw moved.

The deputy cleared his throat.

"Mr. Wendt said you may be sleeping out here and living unsafely. May I look around?"

"Please."

I opened the barn door wide.

He walked slowly down the center of the shop, past the racks of walnut and the table of clamps and the cradle on the bench.

I watched him take in the cot, the folded coat and the hot plate.

He bent and checked the plug on the wall.

It was out.

The extension cords were coiled and hung.

The fire extinguisher by the door had a tag with that month's date.