After Pam hung up, I sat at my desk for several minutes.
The payroll figures on my computer hadn't changed.
The employees still needed to be paid, and the reports still needed checking.
But I couldn't concentrate.
I kept hearing Pam's voice.
"You went behind my back."
Maybe I had.
I had taken over the propane account without speaking to her first.
But what was I supposed to do?
Leave Mom in that house and hope the next delivery arrived before the furnace stopped completely?
I couldn't do that.
I also couldn't pretend the pink delivery ticket didn't exist.
That was the part I couldn't get past.
Two hundred gallons.
Seven hundred and fifty dollars.
And an eighty-two-year-old woman sleeping in a winter coat.
I called Mom that evening.
She sounded better.
The furnace was working, and the temperature inside the farmhouse had returned to normal.
She told me Duane had checked the monitor before leaving.
I asked whether she had eaten supper.
She said Pam had brought groceries on Sunday.
That answer made me pause.
"Did you see Pam?"
"Of course. She came by."
"Did she say anything about me?"
Mom became quiet.
Then she answered.
"No."
I didn't ask again.
I knew Mom loved both of us.
I also knew she didn't want to be caught between her daughters.
So I changed the subject.
We talked about the weather, her neighbor's dog, and the church ladies preparing for Easter.
Nothing important.
Nothing about the money.
Nothing about the cold.
When we finished, I sat beside Steve on the couch.
He had finally returned to his regular schedule after the storm.
He looked at me.
"How's your mom?"
"She's warm."
"Good."
I nodded.
But I wasn't thinking about the furnace anymore.
I was thinking about Pam.
The next few weeks passed without a conversation between us.
I called Mom every evening.
Sometimes she answered immediately.
Other times, she called me back after finishing her television program.
The automatic propane system worked as promised.
In February, Duane delivered another load.
I hadn't requested it.
The monitor had alerted the cooperative, and they had arranged the visit.
I received the bill and divided the amount according to the arrangement I had made with Rob and Dean.
For once, nobody had to guess how much fuel remained.
That part was working.
But everything else felt unfinished.
Mom continued telling me about Pam's Sunday visits.
She brought groceries.
She collected prescriptions.
She took Mom to church.
Sometimes she stayed for coffee.
I was glad she continued doing those things.
I didn't want my decision to take over the account to turn into a reason for Mom to lose the daughter who lived closest.
One evening in March, Steve found me sitting at the kitchen table.
I had the pink delivery ticket beside my phone.
I had brought it home from the farm without thinking much about it.
Now I kept looking at it.
Steve pulled out a chair.
"You're still thinking about that receipt?"
I nodded.
He studied the paper.
"Have you called Pam?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"She hung up on me."
He waited.
I knew he wasn't going to argue.
That was one thing I appreciated about Steve.
He usually let me finish before offering an opinion.
"Maybe she's embarrassed," he said.
I folded the receipt.
"She should have told us."
"Maybe."
"She knew we were sending money for Mom's propane."
"I know."
"She knew Mom needed heat."
Steve looked at me.
"Do you know what happened to the money?"
I started answering.
Then stopped.
I didn't know.
I knew the delivery had cost approximately $400.
I knew the three of us had sent $750.
I knew Mom had been cold.
But I didn't know where the remaining money had gone.
I didn't know whether Pam had contributed her own share.
I didn't know what had happened inside her household after Mark's surgery.
I had built an explanation from the few facts I possessed.
And I had been treating that explanation as the truth.
"No," I admitted.
Steve leaned back.
"Then perhaps you should find out."
I didn't like hearing that.
It made me feel as though he was defending Pam.
He wasn't.
He was asking me to be certain before deciding what kind of person my sister had become.
I looked down at the receipt.
For the first time, I wondered whether I had been so busy being angry that I had forgotten to ask a simple question.
What had happened to Pam?
I still didn't call her.
I told myself Easter was close enough.
We always gathered at the farmhouse for Easter.
It was one of the few traditions our family had never abandoned.
Even after Dad died, we continued coming together.
I decided we would talk there.
All four children.
Mom included.
No more telephone conversations that ended before anyone understood anything.
I wanted the truth.
I just wasn't prepared for how much of it there would be.
Source: kaylestore.net
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: When We Returned to the Farm for Easter, the Green Propane Monitor Was Working, but the Family Was Still Waiting for an Answer
I Thought My Mother Was Simply Sleeping Through Another North Dakota Winter, Until I Walked Into Her Living Room and Realized Something Was Terribly Wrong
Part 5 of 12
