Chapter 2: Half of Nothing
Friday morning arrived beneath a low gray sky.
I was making scrambled eggs when Gary walked into the kitchen wearing his good blue shirt, the one he usually saved for church, funerals, and occasions when he wanted somebody to think highly of him.
He had shaved carefully. His hair was combed. His truck keys lay beside his plate.
I noticed everything.
“Sit down,” he said.
I turned off the stove.
“Why?””
He pulled a thick envelope from beneath the newspaper and pushed it across the table.
“Because we need to talk.””
I looked at the envelope.
My name was written on the front in block letters.
For a few seconds, I couldn't make myself touch it.
“What's this, Gary?””
“Open it.””
I slid a finger beneath the flap and pulled out a stack of papers. The first page carried the name of a law firm in the city. The words PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE appeared near the top.
I read them twice.
Then I looked up.
“You're filing for divorce?””
Gary buttered his toast.
“I've been unhappy a long time. I think you know that.””
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
Thirty-four years.
Thirty-four years of washing his clothes, raising our children, attending his family gatherings, nursing him through a bout of pneumonia, and sitting beside his hospital bed after he had surgery on his shoulder.
Thirty-four years of listening when he needed somebody to complain to, covering the bills when his hours were cut, and pretending not to notice when he flirted with women who were young enough to be our daughters.
And this was how he chose to end it.
Over breakfast.
Without even looking ashamed.
“Is that right?”” I asked.
He shrugged.
“People grow apart.””
“People talk before they throw away thirty-four years.””
“There's nothing left to talk about.””
I studied his face, searching for grief, uncertainty, or even a flicker of discomfort.
There was nothing.
Only impatience.
He took another bite of toast.
“The house is mortgaged to the roof. The truck's in my name. So I wouldn't expect much, Patty.””
His lips curved into a thin smile.
“Half of nothing is nothing.””
The words struck harder than I expected.
Not because I believed him, but because of the cruelty with which he delivered them.
He wanted me frightened.
He wanted me to understand that I had spent my life building something that he could now leave me struggling to keep.
And he wanted me to know that he believed he had arranged everything in his favor.
I lowered my eyes to the papers.
“When did you decide this?””
“A while ago.””
“Before or after you started acting so concerned about Gloria?””
His knife stopped moving.
Only for a moment.
Then he resumed cutting his toast.
“What does Gloria have to do with this?””
“Nothing, I suppose.””
“Then leave her out of it.””
I watched him carefully.
He was too quick with the answer.
Too irritated by a question that should have meant nothing.
I wanted to reach across the table and demand that he empty his pockets. I wanted to ask where my ticket was, why he had lied about seeing it, and whether he had already contacted a lawyer about the money.
But I said none of those things.
Not yet.
Gary pushed his plate away and stood.
“I've packed a few things. I'll get the rest later.””
“You're leaving today?””
“That's what the papers mean.””
He laughed at his own remark.
It was a small, ugly laugh, and it made me remember every time he'd dismissed something important to me as if my feelings were an inconvenience.
He carried two suitcases down the hallway. Then he returned for his fishing rods, his tackle box, and a duffel bag he kept in the closet.
I sat at the kitchen table with the divorce papers spread before me.
Through the open front door, I watched him load everything into his truck.
He moved quickly, as if he had rehearsed the departure in his mind a hundred times.
When he came back inside, he paused beside the table.
“You should probably start thinking about where you'll go.””
I looked up.
“Where I'll go?””
“Eventually. I mean, this house isn't exactly affordable.””
“It's been affordable enough for you.””
“Don't start.””
He pointed a finger at me.
“I'm trying to make this easy.””
I nearly laughed.
Easy for whom?
For the man who had decided to leave his wife of thirty-four years while secretly carrying a possible fortune in his wallet?
For the man who had made a lifetime of small promises and was now abandoning every one of them?
Or for the man who believed he could take the money and leave me with the mortgage?
I rose from my chair.
“You know what, Gary? You're right.””
He blinked.
“About what?””
“There's no reason to make this difficult.””
For the first time that morning, his expression changed. The tension around his mouth loosened. He seemed almost disappointed that I wasn't crying.
He had expected tears.
He had expected begging.
He had expected me to ask how we could save our marriage.
Instead, I picked up his dirty plate and carried it to the sink.
Gary watched me rinse it.
“That's it?”” he asked.
I turned off the water.
“What else is there?””
He looked as though he wanted to say something, but whatever it was, he swallowed it.
Then he walked toward the door.
“Take care of yourself, Patty.””
He patted his back pocket.
Once.
Then again.
The movement was so familiar now that I could hardly believe he thought I hadn't noticed it.
His wallet.
The ticket was in his wallet.
I knew it with a certainty that made my hands go cold.
He stepped outside, climbed into his truck, and started the engine.
I stood at the kitchen window, watching him back down the driveway.
He didn't wave.
He didn't look toward the house.
He turned onto the main road and headed toward the city.
Toward the State Lottery Claims Center.
I waited until his truck disappeared beyond the bend before I sat down.
My hands were shaking, but my mind had become strangely clear.
I picked up the newspaper and read the lottery announcement again. Then I gathered the divorce papers, placed them in the envelope, and set the envelope in a drawer.
I would need a lawyer.
I would need copies of our financial records.
And I would need to understand exactly what Gary had done.
But first, I needed to know whether he could actually claim the money.
The ticket had been purchased with our household money. The numbers were mine. The ticket had been kept in our kitchen, in the place where I had stored every ticket for nineteen years.
But I also knew that none of those facts would stop Gary from trying.
He had spent thirty-four years assuming that my silence meant agreement.
He had mistaken my patience for weakness.
He had mistaken my love for permission.
This time, I intended to let him make his mistake in front of people who could do something about it.
At noon, I called the gas station and asked whether anyone had turned in a missing lottery ticket.
The cashier couldn't help me.
I thanked her and hung up.
At one o'clock, I made a pot of iced tea and carried a glass onto the front porch.
The afternoon stretched slowly around me.
A neighbor's dog barked across the street. A delivery truck rumbled past. Somewhere down the block, children shouted as they rode their bicycles.
Ordinary life continued, completely unaware that my marriage was coming apart and that a fortune might be sitting in a government office downtown.
At 2:47 p.m., my cell phone rang.
The number displayed on the screen belonged to the state.
I answered.
“Hello?””
“Is this Patricia Dunn?””
“Yes.””
“My name is Linda. I'm calling from the State Lottery Claims Center.””
I sat straighter in my chair.
“All right.””
“Your husband is here attempting to claim a winning ticket.””
“I thought he might be.””
There was a pause.
I could hear voices in the background, the faint buzz of office equipment, and then a man's angry voice that I recognized immediately.
Gary.
Linda lowered her voice.
“Mrs. Dunn, we have a problem with the back of this ticket.””
My fingers tightened around the glass.
“What kind of problem?””
“It's already been signed. And the signature doesn't match your husband's identification.””
For the first time all day, I smiled.
Not because I was happy.
Because the moment I had been waiting nineteen years to prepare for had finally arrived.
“No, Linda,” I said quietly.
“I don't imagine it would.””
May you like
In the background, Gary began shouting.
And somewhere inside the claims office, a woman who had never met me was about to discover why my husband had been so confident that he could walk away with everything.
