So my son went to a high school full of children whose parents were doctors and engineers and contractors, in shoes from the previous year, and got called a name about it, and I sat in Ronald Buchwald’s office and could not explain any of that to him because I could not explain it to myself.

Part Twelve: The Lock

In the January of 2012 Douglas put a padlock on the refrigerator.

Not a chain.

A small combination padlock through the handle and a hasp he installed himself with a drill on a Saturday afternoon while I stood in the kitchen doorway.

The stated reason was that money was being wasted.

There had been a thing that week about groceries — a receipt, an argument that was not an argument, a long quiet correction about my judgement.

It was on for eleven days.