He opened the envelope with trembling fingers. He read for a long time. When he finished, he let the page fall into his lap and put both hands over his face, and his shoulders began to shake.
I sat and let him. Marlene had appeared silently in the doorway. She put a hand to her mouth.
After a while, Dwayne spoke, his voice muffled.
“He knew.”
“He knew.”
“He knew all those years.” His voice cracked. “And he never said, he never once said anything. I thought he looked down on me. I thought he thought I was a failure.”
“He thought you were his brother.”
“I took your hay,” Dwayne said. “I took it a week after the funeral. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Karen. I don’t know why I did it. I stood in your kitchen and told you it came out even, and I knew it was a lie, and I said it anyway. I could see your face, and I said it anyway.”
