Carolyn was lying small against the pillows, with a ginger ale sitting untouched on the tray. When she saw me, she said my name as though she had expected me. I admitted that I had hidden behind the bread aisle and that I owed her an apology for twenty-two years. She didn’t forgive me immediately. She studied my face for a long time before finally saying, “You hold a man like that for thirty years and you earn him. I was a girl. I was never going to keep him.”

I cried then, the way I hadn’t been able to cry in the parking lot. Carolyn let me. That night Dalton came home and found his dinner waiting, warm in the oven. I didn’t force him to explain. I only told him I had seen the license and that I would drive with him to Louisville the following Tuesday. He covered his face and admitted he had been afraid I would count everything as a debt.