My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
“He didn’t wait?” I asked.
“He had his bag packed before the sun was fully over the ridge,” Frank said. “He said he had some phone calls to make to his old landlord near the county line.”
Frank took a pair of scissors from the drawer and wiped the steel blades with his cloth, his movements slow and practiced.
“He’s going back to the mill district,” Frank said. “The old shop is still there, though the roof needs some tin.”
“Did he have enough for the lease?” I asked.
“David’s check was signed and cleared by nine,” Frank said, looking at me over the rims of his glasses. “The bank on Main Street didn’t even ask for a second ID.”
I looked at the shelf of blue bottles behind the mirror, where the hair tonic caught the light from the street.
“He looked different when he left,” Frank said. “He was wearing that wool sweater you bought him, but he had his shoulders back.”
“He wanted to get started,” I said.
“The small things are the ones that hold the truth,” Frank said, setting the scissors down on the counter. “He told me to tell you that.”
