They were arranged in careful stacks, held together with rubber bands. Each bundle had a small note attached with a date.
August.
September.
October.
Every month was there.
I looked up at him.
“You kept them?”
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“Yes.”
“Why?”
He pulled out the chair across from me and lowered himself into it.
“You paid on time.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t.”
My hands began to shake.
For three years, I had lived with the fear that he might cash every check at once.
I had counted that money over and over.
I had worried about one mistake destroying the little stability Trixie and I had built.
I pushed the box toward him.
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