I left Mrs. Hartmann standing in his yard. Dale went and brought her a folding chair from the shed.
I drove the half mile home.
I went into the kitchen. I reached up on top of the refrigerator and took down the coffee can.
That was the wood money.
Every fall, Jim sold a few cords of firewood to the cabin people on the lake. Ninety dollars a face cord. And every single dollar of it went into a Folgers can on top of the refrigerator.
I hadn’t touched that can since April.
I couldn’t even make myself take the lid off.
I drove back to Dale’s. And I took the lid off right there on my tailgate. With both of them watching.
There was six hundred and forty dollars inside.
Twenties, mostly. Soft and a little bit sawdusty.
I counted out six hundred dollars onto the tailgate. I squared up the stack.
And I held it out to him.
“I can’t take that,” Dale said.
“You can. And you will.”
I kept my arm out.
“It isn’t mine. It’s his. It’s the wood money. And he’d have brought it down to you himself the day the roads opened. You know he would.”
Dale didn’t move.
“Jim paid what he owed,” I said. “Every time. His whole life. I’m not going to let him be the one man on this road who didn’t.”
He took it.
His hand wasn’t steady.
He didn’t put it in his shirt pocket this time. He just held it.
Then he reached into that shirt pocket with his other hand.
And he took out two twenties. Folded once.
The same two.
“I never spent it,” he said. “I’ve been carrying it around all week. I couldn’t make myself break them.”
I looked at those two bills in his hand.
I could’ve told him to keep it. That it was rent, fair and square, and I had a receipt. A week before, I might have.
I took them.
I put them in the coffee can. And I pressed the lid back down.
“I’m sorry, Becky,” Dale said. “I’m sorry I took it out of your yard. I’m sorry about the forty dollars. Jim would’ve—”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know what Jim would’ve done.”
“He’d have called you a stubborn fool,” I said. “And then he’d have split your wood for you.”
I nodded at the shed.
“Hook it up for me.”
Specialty: Emotional Turning Points
Rachel Monroe writes character-driven stories about betrayal, second chances, and unexpected resilience. Her work highlights the emotional side of family conflict — the silences, the misunderstandings, and the moments when someone quietly decides they’ve had enough.