Chapter 22: Divorce Day

Mark came to the farmhouse on a Saturday in November, on foot, from the end of the lane.

I watched him through the kitchen window.

He had no car.

The company car was in a lot downtown with a tag on the keys.

Diane's SUV had not been seen at the motel where he was staying for three weeks.

He carried a manila envelope and wore the same grey sweater he had worn to the family meeting.

It looked loose on him now.

Sophie sat beside me at the kitchen table with the baby asleep on her chest.

She had come out to the farm every afternoon that week, and sometimes she stayed for supper.

We were not mended.

But she had stopped asking permission to be in a room with me.

I had stopped bracing when she walked in.

"Do you want me to stay?" she said.

"Yes."

"Do you want me to go?"

"No."

I opened the door before he knocked.

"Helen."

"Come in."

He wiped his shoes on the mat, an old habit.

In the kitchen he looked at the table, the stove and the clock on the wall.

He did not sit.

"Is Tom here?" he said.

"He's at the yard. It's Saturday."

"Of course."

He laid the envelope on the table and pushed it toward me with two fingers.

"It's all in there. My lawyer drew it up Thursday."

"The house, the barn and the equipment, in your name only," he said. "I keep nothing."