I marked the nights he stayed at my house with Xs on the calendar. I made him keys so he could stop by when he wanted. After the baby the times he showed grew apart—Mondays and Tuesdays went to every other Friday and then one Sunday a month. When I didn’t have a day to X on, I started to X on myself. Little lines down the length of my nose, crosshatches on my cheekbones. I tried to see how I looked in the shine of the toaster, then tiptoed over to Rick’s crib and peeped in. He slept with his arms covering his head. He always seemed to be ducking.

Rick’s dad left Farmland and decided he wanted to work his way across the country. He took the keys I’d made, and late at night I listened for the sound of them sliding into my locks. He sent me one letter, five postcards, and a melon from California. Then three years of boo. Then Slim.

I was in my bedroom when I heard the thump. It was a heavy, solid thump with a clang at the end, and I thought, Now, that’s something. I always know when it’s something. I heard Rick running down the stairs past my room and out the back door. I went to the closet and put on a yellow sweater. Yellow is my favorite color. Sunny-side up, I say.

I raised the shade. Rick had his shirt off and was covering something with it on the ground by the lawn mower. A sleeve was caught on one of the blades. I watched Rick unhook it with his fingertips, wipe it on one of the big rubber wheels, and tuck it underneath the pile. The sun was bright on his little white shoulders. I opened the window and stuck my head out.

“Hey!” I said. “I just washed that, you know! So don’t go throwing it on the ground. Pick it up. Pick it up,” I said. “I’m not your trash lady!” I have to remind Rick so he doesn’t forget these things. I say, I’m not your washerwoman, I’m not your wife, I’m not your fairy godmother.

Rick stood when he heard my voice and put his arms out straight in the air. He looked like Frankenstein. Frankenstein kid. His shirt was still on the ground, tucked in front of the lawn mower blades. There was a lump there underneath it. I could tell he was trying to keep me from seeing something.

“Move!” I said. “You’re not fooling anyone standing there like an idiot. There’s nothing wrong with you.” Rick didn’t even blink. He looked frozen. His mouth was open, and I could see his little tongue in there. I took a breath down deep in my chest and screamed, half ’cause I was getting mad, half ’cause I thought I might scare him out of it.