Chapter 4: Three Terms

I woke up Saturday to the smell of bacon and an empty side of the bed.

The quilt was warm where he had been.

Through the open window I could hear a tractor starting somewhere out in the trees.

I found his flannel shirt on the chair and put it on over nothing.

Then I went into the kitchen barefoot.

Jesse stood at the stove with his back to me, turning bacon in an iron skillet.

His grandmother's kitchen had a table with four mismatched chairs and a white refrigerator older than I was.

A window over the sink looked straight down the rows of pecan trees.

"Morning," he said without turning around.

"How did you know I was up?"

"The floor in the hall talks."

He set a plate in front of me with two eggs, bacon and a tall biscuit dripping butter.

I ate every bite.

When I put down my fork, I laid my hands flat on the table.

"We need terms."

He sat across from me with his coffee. "All right."

"Six months. Either of us can walk at the end, no questions asked."

"Six months," Jesse said.

"We keep our money separate. Whatever you have is yours, and whatever I have is mine, and neither of us asks."

He almost smiled.

"I have a truck, forty acres, and a roof that leaks over the back bedroom. You're welcome to ask."

"That's not an answer," I said.

"Yes. Separate money."

"And at your father's table," I said, "it's a show."

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