“No, Walter,” I said. “You already did that.”
“I don’t want you struggling, hon.”
I laughed once. It sounded older and sadder than I felt.
“You should have thought of that before you traded me in for her.”
At the door, he patted his pockets, searching.
“Your blood pressure pills, Walter,” I said.
“I don’t want you struggling, hon.”
He turned.
“They’re on the counter.”
For a second, shame crossed his face. Then he tucked the bottle into his pocket and left.
I waited until Marcy’s car pulled away before I took the bank card and put it in the cookie tin above the stove.
Then I washed my teacup by hand because once I started crying, I was afraid I wouldn’t stop.
Shame crossed his face.
For five years, I learned how to stretch grocery money, fix a running toilet with a video on my phone, and smile when people at church asked if I was “adjusting.”
Adjusting sounded so polite.
My children called often.
Adele always listened too closely.
“Mama, you sound tired.”
“I’m seventy-four,” I told her. “Tired comes with the receipt.”
Jeremiah tried and failed.
My children called often.
“Need me this weekend?”
“For what?”
“Nothing. Just to check the gutters. I heard we’re expecting some rain.”
“My gutters are fine.”
“Mom, last time you said that, a squirrel had moved into one.”
Chanel called every Wednesday night while making dinner.
“Did you eat today, Mama?”
“Of course.”
“Toast is not dinner.”
“Did you eat today, Mama?”
“I never said toast.”
“You didn’t have to.”
They knew me too well. I loved it and hid from it too.
***
Last month, Dr. Evans held my chart in both hands and stopped smiling.
“Say it plainly,” I told him. “Please.”
He sat down. “Your heart valve has gotten worse, Sylvie.”
“How much worse?”
“We need to schedule surgery.”
I loved it and hid from it too.
I gripped my purse. “Can it wait?”
“Sylvie.”
“I’m asking because I have things to arrange, Dr. Evans. I know the risk, and I know my age, so I have to tie my affairs together.”
“I understand,” he said. “But we’re talking weeks here, not months.”
***
In the parking lot, I didn’t start the car. A woman my age walked past with her husband. He held her elbow as she stepped off the curb.
“I have to tie my affairs together.”
I looked away and pulled Walter’s bank card from my purse. Recently, I had begun to carry it around with me.
“Not yet,” I whispered, and tucked it back inside.
***
That Sunday, I went to the church potluck with lipstick on and a casserole I’d almost burned.
Adele found me near the coffee table. “Mama, you’re sweating.”
“Doris made the coffee strong enough to give me heart palpitations, sweetie.”
Jeremiah appeared beside her. “You’re out of breath.”
“I walked from the parking lot.”
“Mama, you’re sweating.”
“You parked by the door.”
“Son, I’m old,” I said with a smile.
Chanel came up behind them, holding a paper plate. “Why are we surrounding Mama like it’s an intervention?”
“Because she looks pale,” Adele said.
Chanel looked at me properly. “Mama.”
I hated that tone. It sounded like she had already guessed too much.
“You would tell us if something was wrong, right?” Adele asked.
I hated that tone.
“Of course.”
Jeremiah watched my face. “Are you sick?”
The word hung there.
I patted his cheek. “I’m stubborn. That’s not the same thing.”
Before they could push harder, Mrs. Bell from choir leaned in with a paper plate.
“Did you hear about Walter?”
My stomach tightened. “No.”
“Are you sick?”
“The senior golf club is honoring him Friday,” Mrs. Bell said. “Some family award.”
Jeremiah’s face changed. “For Dad?”
“Fundraisers, committees, all that,” Mrs. Bell said.
Adele’s mouth went flat. “How nice for him.”
Chanel said, “Family award. That’s rich.”
I grabbed my purse. “I need air.”
“How nice for him.”
I couldn’t put the surgery off anymore.
Dr. Evans had said my insurance would cover part of it, but not enough. There would be deductibles, hospital fees, medication, and whatever help I needed afterward.
So Thursday, I put on my best church shoes, tucked Walter’s card into my purse, and took the bus to the bank.
My hands shook. Driving felt foolish.
The young teller smiled. “How can I help you?”
I couldn’t put the surgery off anymore.
I slid the card across the counter. “I’d like to withdraw the balance.”
“Of course.”
“It should be $2,000,” I said. “I need it for medical expenses.”
Her smile softened. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. I’m still upright.”
She typed, then held out her hand. “Can I see your ID?”
I gave it to her.
Her smile faded.
“I need it for medical expenses.”
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“Can you confirm your name?”
“Sylvie.”
“And Walter is…?”
“My husband on paper. My ex-husband in every way that mattered.”
She checked the screen. “Please wait here.”
“Did he cancel it?”
“No, ma’am. I need my branch manager.”
“Can you confirm your name?”
“For a two-thousand-dollar withdrawal?”
“I understand,” she said softly. “But we should have contacted you sooner.”
My fingers tightened around my purse strap. “About what?”
A few minutes later, the manager, Mr. Cooper, came out holding a sealed envelope.
“Sylvie?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at my ID. “Your name is the authorized cardholder on this account. That’s why we can speak with you about it.”
“But we should have contacted you sooner.”
“Then why do you look so worried?”
“Walter left instructions. We were to give you this the first time you used the card.”
I stared at Walter’s crooked handwriting on the envelope.
“He told me it was emergency money.”
“It was, at first.”
“At first?”
Mr. Cooper led me into his office and printed a page. “Please look at the current balance.”
