That night, I asked him to sleep in the den.
He looked at me for a second like he was going to argue.
“It’s the room you gave away,” I said. “You might as well find out what it’s like.”
He slept in the den for eleven nights.
I’m not proud of all of them. Some nights I lay awake upstairs and listened to him moving around down there, and I was glad. Some nights I wanted to go down and get him. I didn’t.
On the twelfth night, he knocked on our bedroom door at nine o’clock. He had a folder in his hand.
“Can I show you something?” he asked. “You don’t have to say anything.”
I let him in.
He sat on the edge of the bed and opened the folder. The first page was a printout from the bank. A new automatic transfer. From his checking account to SOMEDAY. One thousand dollars on the first of every month.
