Chapter 10: The Statement

Truus Wolters stepped off the Muskegon bus at four that afternoon in orthopedic shoes, with a rolling suitcase and an angry face.

I ran across the gravel and hugged her so hard her glasses fell off.

"Don't," she said. "I'm in a mood."

"I thought you were in Gary."

"I was in Gary for one night." She picked her glasses up off the ground.

"I told Pieter my sister in Kalamazoo has a hip. I get four days."

"You lied to Pieter for me."

"I lied to Pieter for me. I've wanted to for twenty years."

Greet came out onto the porch with the shotgun across her arm.

The two of them looked at each other.

"You're the secretary," Greet said.

"You're the one with the gun."

"Gun's for bikers. Are you a biker?"

"Honey, I do their taxes. It's worse."

Greet lowered the gun, and I watched the two of them decide, in about a second, that they would be friends.

We sat at the oilcloth table with a pot of tea and a plate of Greet's rye bread.

Truus told me about the last nine days.

"Joost isn't eating," she said.

"He goes to the clubhouse at six, sits at the table by himself and leaves at midnight."

"Has he asked about me?"

"Once. I said Chicago."

"Did he believe you?"

"He looked at me like he wanted to." She stirred sugar into her tea. "He didn't push, and that scares me."

"Why?"

"A man who loved you would have turned over every stone."

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