“I had to buy dresses that suited the dining room.”

“You paid for his fancy dinners with my saw money,” I said.

“He had an image to keep up,” she said, her voice rising.

“He was building a firm.”

“He was hiding his car behind the oaks down the street,” I said.

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” she said.

By noon, a heavy diesel engine was rumbling in the gravel driveway out front.

I stepped out onto the front steps as a yellow flatbed tow truck backed slowly toward the shiny white car parked beside my work truck.