I felt foolish for letting it go on so long. I also felt scared of what Faron might do with the story he’d threatened to tell.
Maybe I was the fool for paying, not them for spending. Maybe I should’ve kept paying until he found somebody else to pay for him. I thought that way for a while. Then I remembered Earline laughing on those steps, and I knew I couldn’t keep doing it.
Wednesday morning, Faron texted me. “Gas pump ate my card. Stupid machine.”
He had two of my cards in his wallet. I guess he figured the other one was fine. I didn’t answer. I wasn’t going to get pulled back into explaining a decision I’d already made.
On Thursday, Earline called the diner. Peg told her I was busy, which I was. I was carrying plates to a table and didn’t hear the call. I only heard about it later.
Saturday was the county sports show out at the fairgrounds. Peg’s diner ran the food stand every year, and I worked the pierogi table. My mama’s recipe was potato and cheese, a dollar fifty apiece. I kept turning them in the pan and sliding the finished ones into the tray.
They were going by the boat tent like they owned the place. He stopped beside a used bass boat, a sparkly red one, and patted its side like it was a horse.
“Fifteen hundred down holds it?” he asked the salesman.
“Done. Run it.”
He pulled out his wallet slowly, with his buddies watching. Then he handed over the other card, the one with his name on it. My card.
His friends slapped him on the back.
“Look at Mr. Moneybags,” one of them said.
The salesman walked to the little card machine on the folding table. He swiped the card, frowned, and swiped it again. Faron was still grinning and telling the guys where he planned to fish first.
I put down my spatula.
The salesman came back across the tent with the card held between two fingers.
“Sir, it came back declined,” he said, loud enough for all three buddies to hear. “Both times.”
Faron’s grin slid off his face. He turned around to find somebody to blame, and the first person he saw was me, standing at the pierogi table with my spatula in my hand.
“That card is mine,” I said. “I closed the account Tuesday.”
He stared at me. The salesman still held the card between his fingers, and Faron’s buddies stopped smiling.
“You can’t close my card,” Faron said.
“I can close my account,” I said. “It was always in my name.”
He glanced at his friends, then back at me. “You knew I was coming here?”
“I didn’t know you were buying a boat.”
His mouth tightened. The salesman lowered the card toward the table but didn’t set it down.
“Do you want me to try another payment?” he asked.
Faron looked at his wallet. He had another card in there, but it was one of the ones I’d closed. He didn’t hand it over.
“This is ridiculous,” he said. “You’re doing this in front of everybody.”
“You threatened to tell Peg I stole from her in front of everybody,” I said. “I’m only telling the truth.”
One of his buddies looked from Faron to me. “You said you were paying for the boat yourself.”
Faron looked at him. “I am.”
“With a card on her account?” I asked.
“Don’t start,” he said.
The salesman still had the card. He needed an answer about whether Faron was paying the deposit, and Faron kept looking at me as if I could make the machine change its mind.
I took my phone out of my apron pocket. I’d kept the bank app open since I closed the accounts, partly because I wanted to see the status for myself.
I brought up the account page and held it out where Faron and his friends could see.
My name was at the top. The card Faron had handed over was listed as an authorized-user card, and the account showed closed.
Faron’s eyes went to the screen, then to the salesman.
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