Fifty-seven

Once I started talking I couldn’t stop.

She dabbed her eyes with a crumpled paper napkin as I told her about Melanie’s last days, how Buddy was gifted to me, and how I couldn’t leave her after seeing how much she needed a friend.

“Poor family.”

“I wanted to come back, I really did but…”

“I understand.” Our cups are half full most likely lukewarm, with the dog at my feet we conversed. I told her about my friends back in the little town. How Connie had taken me in and about my job and the kids. How much I loved my independence and how much I dreaded their hate.

“But I could never hate you.”

“Lacey,” I started licking my lips, tasting the salt of my tears. “She came and she definitely hates me.”

“You had your reasons.”

“He doesn’t want me.” There it is, telling one person doesn’t give me peace but lifts a little weight off my shoulders. “He just wanted the land.”

“No, Rebecca, you can’t say that.”

“He never touched me or treated me like his wife. We pretended for his sake and then the m