She opened the top drawer of the table and stared at the necklace she had hastily thrown there. She lifted the chain and pendant, and then closed her fist around them. It was time, past time to give it away; she opened the front door and handed the water to Mr. Adams.

He chugged the water and handed the glass back to her. “I’m sure the Foundation appreciates all these donations. Thank you, ma’am.”

“There’s one more thing I want to give away.”

She opened her fist and reached her hand out to Mr. Adams. “Here, take this, too.”

“Diamonds?”

“Yes. Please take it.”

“Are you sure you want to give that away? Really sure?”

“Very sure.”

“Well, thank you. . . . Have a beautiful day.” Mr. Adams plucked the necklace from her fingers and walked down the front steps toward his truck.

She turned back to the house. Phil stared at her through the screen door; he’d watched her give away the necklace. She hadn’t even heard him come home. He wiped his face with his hand and turned away. She didn’t call his name, didn’t reach for him, as there were times when he couldn’t face her desperate need for forgiveness and reconciliation.

Carol Anne came out, hugged Amy goodbye. Amy sat back down on the swing and closed her eyes until the lowering sun slid behind the house and she shivered. She walked into the house to climb the stairs to her bedroom and grab a sweater.

She stopped short at the bedroom doorway: Phil’s things. His blessed and scattered things: his ashtray with coins, pen and gum wrappers on the dresser, his comb on the highboy, his dirty shirt in the laundry pile, his book open with reading glasses hanging crooked on the bedside table.

She sat on the edge of the bed and touched his book and glasses. A rustling noise came from the bathroom and she glanced up; Phil leaned against the door frame, stared at her.

She lifted his glasses. “Your stuff.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Phil.” She started to cry, reach out her hand for him. But he didn’t move and her fingers found only air. She closed her hand into a fist and dropped it onto her lap.

“You know—if you wanted me to listen, there were better ways to tell me than running off with Nick Lowry.”

“I tried.”

“You didn’t think I cared. You didn’t think I heard you.”

“Yes—but that’s no excuse.”

“You know, I’ve done everything I can to take care of you—to prove I love you. Why didn’t you just tell me?”