Chapter 23: A Bag of Groceries

"No," I said. "I'm not satisfied, Joan. I'm finished."

She waited for more.

"Satisfied would mean I wanted something from you. I don't."

Joan picked up her purse.

She stood, and she looked at her son, who was staring at the table.

She opened her mouth, and then she walked out without saying anything.

I heard her heels all the way down the hall.

On Saturday evening I let myself into my own house with a new key.

The locksmith had come that morning.

My father had stood in the driveway with his arms folded the entire time.

The house was empty.

Dorothy's boxes were gone, and so was the rented furniture.

The subfloor in the kitchen was bare, and the sawhorses still stood where they had stood for a month.

I put my bag down on the plywood and stood there.

The doorbell rang.

I looked through the glass.

Dean stood on the porch in a wrinkled shirt, holding a brown paper grocery bag against his chest.

He had not shaved.

I opened the door a hand's width and kept my foot against the bottom.

"Rosalind."

"What do you want, Dean?"

"I brought food." He lifted the bag a few inches.

"Eggs, bread, that tomato soup you like. I thought you wouldn't have anything in the house."

"I've been eating at my mother's."

"I know. I know you have."

He looked past me into the hall, at the bare floor and the stairs.

Keep reading free with an account. Start After He Gave Her My Kitchen, I Left Him with Nothing from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.