When I got sick, she took care of me too. Brought me water, handed me pills, sat by the bed until I fell asleep.
She was a good wife. The kind no one could find fault with.
But I understood now. She didn't do any of it because she loved me.
She did it because she felt she owed me.
So she paid me back.
Spent a lifetime paying me back.
My phone buzzed.
I picked it up. A message from Peter.
"Marlin, Kirsten and I are doing engagement photos next month. We need a best man."
"You're my closest buddy. You've gotta show up for this one, right?"
I stared at the screen for a long time. Then I said no.
After that, I called my boss.
"Mr. Lambert, that overseas aid project you mentioned before. Is the offer still open?"
He paused for a second, then laughed. "Of course it is. Why, what's going on?"
"Count me in."
"Great. I'll have someone get the paperwork started tomorrow. Dickerson, I gotta say, that's some real initiative."
I thanked him and hung up.
Outside the window, the sky was almost dark. I didn't turn on the lights. I sat in the darkness for a long time.
The doorbell rang.
I didn't move.
It rang again, then again, someone pressing it over and over like the building was on fire.