Chapter 16: The Receipt

The owner's box smelled like peppermint and old carpet, and the good news took him under a minute.

Delmar Turf and Irrigation had called at 9:20 to cancel its contract.

The sign in left-center would come down after the next homestand.

"Don't thank me," he told Dani, who hadn't said anything. "A man in a suit did it to himself in front of five thousand people."

Then he looked at me.

"Mrs. Carroway, go home tomorrow and get your things. People do better in their own clothes."

So on Saturday at nine, Dad parked his truck at the curb of the house on the south side.

I had lived there eight years.

The grass needed cutting.

Todd's car wasn't in the drive.

My key still worked.

That surprised me, and it shouldn't have.

I had expected to walk into a crime scene.

It was just my kitchen, with a cold coffee ring on the counter and a smell of Todd's cologne in the air.

He had left the radio on low.

Dad stood in the doorway with his cap in his hands.

"I'll start with the closet," he said. "You do what you came to do."

I washed my hands at the sink, because it was something to do.

My wedding band caught the light under the tap.

I had worn it so long that I'd stopped seeing it.

I worked it off, which took a second, because my knuckle had learned its shape.

I put it in the soap dish by the faucet, next to a dried-out sponge.

I didn't feel what I'd thought I would feel.

I felt lighter by about one gram.

"Bethie," Dad called from the hall. "Come look at this."

He was standing at the open closet with a black roller bag at his feet.

It was zipped and dusty, with a gray airline tag from a March trip still looped on the handle.