Rolene blinked.
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
“Yes.”
Buffford sat four feet away.
He said nothing.
That silence hurt more than the divorce.
Afterward, Marcel caught me in the parking lot.
He was wearing his green school fleece and carrying leftover cake.
“Aunt Shanda, am I still going to school Monday?”
“You are.”
“Mom said maybe not.”
I crouched beside him.
“Whatever happens with school is not because of you. Any adult who tells you otherwise isn’t being straight with you.”
He nodded.
Then he told me he liked my truck and walked away.
By late October, the school sent collections notices.
Marcel was eventually withdrawn during the week.
Rolene was later served with a small-claims case for $13,833.
Her version of the story spread through the family.
I had thrown her son out of school.
I had gotten her sued.
Then Willadine went to the public library.
She had no computer.
But she had a library card and the patience to read things carefully.
A librarian showed her how to find the county court file.
Attached to the school’s complaint were the enrollment agreements.
Page two.
Line nine.
Responsible party.
Shanda Kirkpatrick.
My handwriting.
My signature.
All three years.
She printed them.
Then she went home and put them in front of Buffford.