That’s when I understood this wasn’t Caroline being upset on a Thursday. This was something planned. They’d talked about it. Maybe in the car, maybe over dinner, maybe in bed the night before.

They decided that if I said no, there would be a coordinated response.

The text. The reversal.

They thought it through.

I went into the bedroom and lay down on top of the quilt without taking my shoes off. The ceiling fan in there has a little wobble in it that Royce always meant to fix. I watched it go around for I don’t know how long.

The light started slanting differently across the dresser, the way it does in late spring around 6:00.

And at some point, I realized I wasn’t crying.

I’d been bracing for tears that just weren’t coming. What I felt was something flatter and stranger than tears.

I felt very, very tired. The kind of tired that’s been sitting there for years, and you only notice it when the noise stops.

I’d been the one who paid the deposit on their first apartment.

I’d been the one who covered the hospital bill when Hudson came two months early and their insurance fought them on the NICU charges.

I’d been the one who drove down to Macon at midnight when Caroline called crying about Wade’s drinking. And I’d been the one she made me promise I’d never bring up again once they made up the next morning.

I had been the one. I had been the one. I had been the one.

And now, apparently, I was the one who wasn’t being supportive.

I didn’t sleep. I lay there until the fan was just a darker shape against a darker ceiling. Around 2:00 in the morning, I got up and made myself a piece of toast.

I didn’t eat.

The next morning, I drove over to their house.

I don’t even know what I was hoping for. To talk it out, maybe. To stand on the porch and have Caroline come out and laugh and say it was a stupid fight, and let’s go get pancakes.

I parked at the end of their cul-de-sac and walked up the driveway.

Their Subaru was in the carport. Wade’s truck was there. Hudson’s tricycle was tipped over on the lawn the way he always leaves it.

I rang the bell. I waited.

I rang it again.

Nobody came.

I could hear the TV inside, that little chime PBS Kids does between shows. And I could hear Hudson talking to himself in that singsong way he does. Then I heard Caroline’s voice, low, telling him something.

And Hudson went quiet.

They knew I was there. They were just waiting for me to leave.

I stood on that porch for about a minute longer than I should have. Then I walked back to the car, drove to the Kroger on Claremont, and bought a half gallon of milk I didn’t need and a bag of frozen peas.