The Fiance Who Wanted My Brothers Gone

Garrett came into the shop one Thursday because Donna had quit cutting men but had not told the sign out front yet, and I took him. He was twenty-seven then, a tall, clean, good-looking man who worked as a loan officer at the Citizens Bank over in Cookeville, and he had the kind of manners that stand out in a place like ours. He pulled chairs out. He said ma’am. He had plans, he told me that first afternoon while I ran the clippers up the back of his neck, and I liked that about him. I was tired down to the bone and here was a man with plans who looked at me in the mirror like I was somebody worth planning around.

He courted me the right way, I will give him that, at least at first. He took me to the catfish place out on the lake. He fixed the hinge on my screen door without being asked. And he made a show, those first months, of being good to the boys. He bought Caleb a Titans jersey. He let Jesse ride on his shoulders at the Fourth of July thing on the square. He said, more than once, “Those boys need a man around,” and I drank that up like sweet tea in July, because I had been so scared, so tired, so sure I was doing all of it wrong by myself.

He asked me to marry him in June, out at the overlook on the mountain where you can see three counties. He got down on one knee in the gravel and he held up that little ring and he said he wanted to build a life with me. I said yes before he finished asking. The boys were in the truck with the windows down and they about tore the doors off hollering.

I thought I had been thrown a rope. I want you to understand that, because I think a lot of women my mama’s age who read this will understand it better than anybody. When you are drowning, you do not ask too many questions about the rope.

The cooling started so slow I told myself I was imagining it.

It was little things first. Garrett got a good review at the bank and started talking about a transfer to the big branch in Knoxville, which would be a promotion, more money, a step up. He started talking about Knoxville the way some men talk about heaven. He had it all drawn out: a townhouse in a new part of town, a certain kind of car, the restaurants. And every time he drew it out, I noticed the boys were not in the picture. He would catch himself and say “and we will figure out the boys’ schools,” quick, like you tack on a thing you forgot at the store.

Then Jesse had a seizure at the supper table one night while Garrett was over, and Garrett did not get down on the floor with us. He stood up and backed against the counter and watched, and when it was over and I was holding Jesse and Jesse was crying his sorry-sorry cry into my shirt, Garrett said, “Does the doctor know it is getting worse? Because that is the third one I have seen.” Like he was keeping count against me. Like it was a thing I was failing to manage.

It was not getting worse. It was about the same as it always was. But Garrett had started keeping a ledger on my brothers, and everything the boys did went in the debit column.