I married an older woman for her house — after she died, her lawyer gave me a box and said, ‘This is what you truly came for’
I married Evie because I needed a place to say. And yes, I know it sounds awful when I say it that way, so that’s why I usually don’t. People judge you too fast anyways.
Honestly, at the time, I didn’t feel like I was cruel for what I did, I was just tired, and that was it. I had been sleeping in the back of my truck at Food Lion off Route 8 for four months. It was not like the night manager did not know about it. He simply never did anything about it and did not even bother to call the police; but one day when it was extremely cold and I was brushing my teeth next to the shopping carts, he passed by me saying “Tow truck does not come until seven” without even looking at me. And those are things you don’t forget easily.
Evie lived three towns away in this blue house with twisted steps and a tacky sun on the porch. It’s funny how I noticed those kinds of things back then because I was constantly examining houses, trying to get a feel for what it was like living in them. Filled fridges and clean towels felt like a joke. Even having a drawer just for your socks sounded crazy.
At age seventy-one, she was the polar opposite of me, who at twenty-five was totally broke, maxed-out on my credit cards, with no insurance or anything else in the way of financial security. I was so behind on life at that point that I often felt like there was really a no way out.
We met when I was doing some yard work for her neighbor. Evie brought me some lemonade in a jar, and we got talking. I was ravenous, and I was desperately trying not to make any noise. She asked whether my family lived around there, and I instantly made myself out to be some local boy, that my family lived down the road and that everyone was fine. Family
It was a month later before she asked me to come to dinner. Three months from then, I was there, and out of nowhere, she casually asked me if I had ever thought about getting married. I laughed at first, but then I realized she was dead serious.
The very first person I told was Jesse, which proved to be a huge mistake on my part since Jesse loved cracking jokes and could turn anything ugly into something funny enough that you stopped objecting to it. We were at O’Malley’s Pub at the time.
“To the widow?” he blurted out too loudly.
“Shut up,” I said.
He laughed. “Damon, you managed to set up your retirement plan before even turning thirty.”
I told him to go to hell, but I was laughing too, and that is the thing that makes me sick when I think about it. You can feel yourself turning into a worse person in real time, but you just sit there and let it happen because it’s easier than being scared and broke.
“Do you love her?” he asked me.
I kept quiet for way too long, and that was my answer.
She had me sign the prenup at the kitchen table before we headed down to the courthouse. I can recall the sound of the paper rustling across the wood as the refrigerator hummed noisily in the background. Pears lay in a bowl nearby, and her reading glasses hung from a chain.
“I’m not an idiot, Damon,” she told me. And she wasn’t even angry about it.
My response? Naturally defensive. “Do you think I’m a thief?”
She was just tired. Not sad, just bored with how the conversation was unfolding. “I just think people do horrifying things when they are frightened.”
So I signed the paper. I needed the house. That’s the whole story.
But here’s the funny part: It all became routine really quickly. I got used to hearing her shoes clomping in the mornings and waking up to a freshly brewed cup of coffee. I also got used to being asked if I ate my lunch. Survival takes hold quickly enough – first you’re thankful and then it becomes background noise.
Anyway, she bought me boots at the start of winter and a new coat because my old one had duck tape all over the sleeves.
“I can buy what I need myself, you know?” I said.
“Well, when?” she responded.
And it was a question I didn’t know the answer to.
She noticed everything, but never made any scenes about it. In fact, Evie could give you one glance and you knew she could see right through whatever story you were spinning. One time at the diner downtown, she asked why I felt uneasy whenever her friends were around. She was talking about her girlfriends from the book club or something. I just shrugged, starred at my hash browns, and pretended I wasn’t even listening to what she was saying.
“You get nervous when people trust me,” she said, as she picked up her coffee. I just laughed and told her I still wasn’t used to the small-town gossip because I didn’t know what else to say.
For a while after that, I honestly believed I was turning things around. When you start doing normal things you trick yourself that you are a normal person.
I took her to her podiatrist appointments on Tuesday, which meant I would spend hours in a waiting room that smelled of rubbing alcohol, just browsing car magazines from when I was five years old. Then, I took care of a wobbly railing on the back porch by replacing it with deck screws that I found lying around in the garage. Life became predictable. Every evening, we used to sit on the green sofa and watch episodes of Law & Order until she would fall asleep halfway through the second one.
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Then one day Jesse texted me. I was sitting on the floor against the coffee table, waiting out an ad break. My phone vibrated on the wood floor.Communications Equipment
“How’s the retirement plan going?”
And I really should’ve just deleted it. Jesse was probably just out getting drunk at O’Malley’s, trying to get a rise out of me. But instead, not thinking at all, I typed: “Once she’s gone, I’m set.”
I sat staring at my phone for a moment. The blue glow seemed blindingly bright in the dark living room. I felt guilty for about five seconds—sharp little stab of it in my gut—before turning the phone over in my hand and going back to my show. As if somehow, feeling a little guilt made me less monstrous. As if having some sort of conscience about the whole thing meant that I was on the right side.
Three days later she collapsed.
She was merely standing beside the stove, trying to grab a spoon from to stir her tea. However, her hand missed, and then the next thing I knew, she was gripping the edge of the counter with her two hands as her knees seemed to give out on her. Her expression was one of confusion, and that was what scared me, since Evie was not someone who ever showed any confusion. She was always on top of the situation.
In the hospital, the doctor was discussing her heart, but I wasn’t paying attention. I couldn’t help but think about us fighting about freezing the bananas just an hour ago. Life is so incredibly fragile, and after all, it makes you feel like a moron.
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The funeral was brief. Her niece Claire couldn’t stand me at all, and quite frankly, who could blame her?
On the morning following the funeral, I met with her lawyer to talk about the house. Rather than providing me with paperwork, he gave me a shoe box with my name on it.
In it was the printout of the message I’d sent to Jesse. It lit up while I was sitting in the kitchen.
Beneath that piece of paper was a bunch of receipts for the things that she bought for me – my new boots, new coat, car repair, even the dentist!
She had written notes on almost every single one of them.
You lied about needing help here.
You almost told me the truth here.
You looked ashamed when I bought this.
The final note was attached to the receipt from the thick black wool coat that I had been wearing at her funeral the previous day. It hurt worse than if she’d screamed at me, because she didn’t leave me with nothing—she left the house to me anyway. She knew exactly what I was doing the entire time, and she still decided to save me.