Chapter Eight

Cal left work late. The rain had passed by mid-afternoon, but they were still dealing with the wreck victims and getting copies of both medical and police reports, and they already were aware that lawsuits that would be pending.

He was tired as he began the drive home, and he wished life was back the way it had been before he’d pulled that stunt with Bitsy’s car. Even as he approached the house, his stomach began to knot, wondering what mood she would be in. But then he walked into the scents of supper cooking, and if he wasn’t mistaken, they were having meatloaf.

“I’m home,”

he called out.

“So am I,”

she answered.

He walked into the kitchen and sighed. She was barefoot, and in her house dress. Maybe if he kept his damn mouth shut about her business, their world would get back on track sooner.

“Something smells good,” he said.

“Meatloaf, baked potatoes, squash casserole, and left-over bread pudding,”

she said, and checked the timer to see how many minutes were left on her baked potatoes.

“Sounds wonderful. I’m going to change clothes,”

he said, and when she didn’t have anything else to add, he left the room.

“Lord, give me strength,”

Bitsy muttered, and took a sip of her iced tea.

A few minutes later the timer went off and she took the meatloaf and the baked potatoes out at the same time, removed the casserole from the warming oven, and put everything on the table, then she went down the hall to tell Cal the meal was on the table.

The bedroom door was wide open, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the mirrored dresser with his back to the door and talking on the phone in a gruff whisper.

“I know, I know. I miss you, too, but I need to heal up a little more. I feel the same way. Yeah, can’t happen too soon for me. Gotta go. Talk to you later.”

He disconnected and looked up, saw himself in the mirror and then the woman standing in the doorway behind him, and came off that bed like he’d been ejected.

“Uh . . . Bitsy, I . . .”

“I came to tell you supper is ready,”

she said, and then turned around and walked away.

And just like that, his appetite was gone. He followed her, shoulders slumped, feet dragging, expecting the third degree. But it didn’t happen. The meal passed as they’d been passing for the last week. Eating to assuage their hunger, and in the coldest, quietest, imaginable silence on earth. She wouldn’t even look at him. And then he remembered he’d been going to set her straight about who was the boss around here and cleared his throat.

“Bitsy, I’m damn tired of this cold shoulder business. You seem to forget who’s putting the food on this table and paying the bills. You are not the head of this house, and I’m not going to—”

She slapped her hands on the table so hard the ice rattled in his glass, then she rose from her seat like the Kraken coming out of the sea, and in that moment, Calvin realized that Bitsy was the hidden trap in his sex game that he’d never seen coming.

“You don’t talk to me like that! You are head of nothing. This house, and all the one hundred acres with it, is mine, not yours. The food you buy and the utilities you pay are what it costs you to live here rent free. I cook for you because I choose to, not because I owe it to you. The last time you set foot in church was on the day we got married, so don’t throw bible verses at me. All these years, I thought I was the luckiest woman alive until you began showing me who you really are, and I don’t like it, and I don’t much like you, either. I don’t know you anymore. Maybe I never did.”

Then she started taking food off the table.

“I’m not done eating!”

he shouted.

“Actually, yes you are. You are done. In fact . . . you are so very done!”

she said, and turned her back on him, picked up a spoon and started scooping the squash casserole into a refrigerator container.

“Look . . . I don’t know what you think you heard, but it wasn’t—”

Bitsy threw her spoon across the room, splattering squash and cream sauce all over the wall, and then let out a scream that was somewhere between utter despair and pure rage.

Cal froze on the spot, too shocked to speak or move until she stopped as suddenly as she’d begun. She straightened up, then turned around, and the look on her face sent him running. He grabbed his car keys and his wallet and shot out the front door without looking back. He spun out of the driveway when he left.

Although there’d been no weapon in her hand, he felt like he’d been shot at and missed. He didn’t know where he was going, but it wasn’t back home. Not tonight. And then he thought of the Royal Motel and accelerated. He’d never been there on his own, but there was always a first time for everything.

He’d go back tomorrow in the bright light of day to get some clothes. Maybe a temporary separation would be the way to heal the rift between them.

**

For Bitsy, the moment Cal ran, it broke the last of their bond. She heard him leave, but she didn’t bother to look. She just locked the door behind him, cleaned up the kitchen, and threw the last of the bread pudding out into the yard by the chicken house.

First cake. Now bread pudding. She didn’t know if sugar was bad for chickens, but it hadn’t hurt them yet, and it was the last dessert she’d ever cook for that man. But instead of going back in the house, she sat down on the porch swing, gazing out across the heavily wooded land behind the house and remembered the little creeks she’d played in, and the fishing hole where her daddy taught her how to catch crawdads.

She sat until the sky darkened and the stars came out. The ache in her heart wasn’t going away anytime soon, and when she was gone from this place, memories would be all she had left. But for the time she was here, she was reclaiming her space.

She went back inside and began carrying everything that belonged to Calvin to the spare room. She dumped his clothes on the bed and his toiletries in the smaller ensuite. Everything in the dresser that was his went onto the floor beside the shoes.

Back and forth, back and forth, until everything related to him was gone, and then she moved her things back into the primary bedroom and stripped the sheets off the bed. He’d slept with other women and then come to this bed for the last time, and if the sheets hadn’t been Egyptian cotton, she would have burned them. So, she settled for extra detergent in the washer and started it up.

When she went back up the hall to the linen closet to get a fresh set of sheets and pillowcases, she remembered that this had been her first hiding place of the clues she had gathered. When she’d finished making the bed, she locked her bedroom door and started filling up the Jacuzzi, tossing in a liberal amount of lavender scented bath salts. Lavender was supposed to be a calming scent, and she needed to not feel like murder was still an option.

**

Fisher was kicked back on his sofa in the middle of watching Hacksaw Ridge for the umpteenth time, when his laptop signaled movement from the tracker on Cal’s truck. He frowned, glanced at the clock, and then went to get his boots on. He grabbed his laptop and headed for his car, then sat watching the blip heading toward Lone Bridge and wondered which woman would get lucky tonight.

When Cal went through town without stopping anywhere, Fisher took to the highway and made sure to stay back within the traffic so he wouldn’t get made. When he realized Cal had just taken a turn into the driveway of the Royal Motel, he sped up, curious to see who Cal was meeting with, but to his surprise, Cal stopped out front and went into the office.

When he did, Fisher immediately went to the back lot and parked to wait and see how this played out.

A few minutes later, Cal drove into the parking lot, parked in front of the third door down instead of his usual at the far end of the building. He got out alone, walking like he was going to his own hanging, and went inside.

Fisher frowned. He knew what the three women drove, and none of their cars were here. In fact, from the looks of the parking area, it appeared to be a slow night all around.

And then he had a thought. What if Cal had been kicked out of the house already? Whatever was going on, Bitsy might be the reason he was looking for someplace else to sleep. He sat there for almost two hours until all the lights went out in the room, then he started up his car and drove home.

**

Cal couldn’t sleep. After Bitsy’s last meltdown, he couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom and wasn’t sure how much she’d heard of his phone conversation with Tansy. If it hadn’t been so late, he would have gone to the bar, but it was 4:00 a.m. and nothing was open in Lone Bridge at this time of the morning except the police station and the hospital.

He glanced at the clock again, reminding himself that he could go home. She was his wife, and he had just as much right to be there as she did, or at least he’d always felt that way until she’d thrown the ownership of the property in his face.

To be honest, he’d never given that a thought. Not even once. Even when he’d been cheating on her, he had never worried he’d be found out. His main concerns had been making sure the three women didn’t know about each other.

And then, to add insult to his situation, he heard a woman laugh in the room next to his, then a man’s gravelly voice, and a few seconds later, the beginnings of a steady thump, thump, thump against the wall behind Calvin’s bed. He sat up on the side of the bed and scrubbed his face with his hands, wondering if this is how his rendezvous sounded and rolled his eyes in disgust.

Seconds later, the woman began moaning and groaning, and yelling “Harder, baby, harder,”

and Cal was on his feet. He couldn’t take it anymore and stomped into his shoes, pocketed his wallet, threw the room key on the bed, and bolted out the door. Seconds later, he was in his truck and driving out of the parking lot as fast as he could go.

**

Bitsy’s sleep was fitful. She kept waking at every little sound, fearful of his return and desperately hoping he wouldn’t. She’d finally drifted off to sleep sometime after midnight, then woke again just before 4:00 a.m. and laid in her bed, motionless, but listening. Self-preservation had fine-tuned her senses to the slightest of sounds, and even though she was in a room on the backside of the home, she heard the rumble of his truck as it turned off the highway and moved toward the house.

The crunch of gravel beneath the wheels set her heart to pounding, and she flew out of bed and ran to the door to doublecheck that it was locked, then she got his old baseball bat out of the closet. She stood in the middle of the room with the bat, heart pounding in the shadows, in case he was mad enough, or drunk enough, to try and kick down the door.

She heard him come inside, but he wasn’t stomping. He was slinking, and when his footsteps paused in the hall outside the door, she held her breath, but nothing happened. Then she heard him go into the spare room across the hall and close the door. Thank you, Lord.

After she heard the shower come on in the other bathroom, she put the ball bat back in the kitchen and got dressed, then sat down in the easy chair by the window. Whatever happened next, she didn’t intend to be vulnerable or naked.

A short while later, she heard the water go off, then a few mumbled curses and guessed he was trying to sort out clean clothes from what she’d piled on the bed and dumped on the floor.

After bumping and thumping, she heard his footsteps in the hall again, moving toward the front of the house, and later, when she smelled coffee brewing, she decided to make an appearance. But instead of going into the kitchen, she went through it and out the back door without acknowledging his existence.

Cal heard her moving about and stilled, waiting to see what she was bringing to the war this morning, then she walked right past him, as if he wasn’t there. He didn’t know whether to be sad or relieved and decided to pour his coffee to go, and eat breakfast in town. He left the house while Bitsy was still messing with the chickens.

She heard him leave and didn’t care.

Two whole days had passed, with Cal and Bitsy playing dodgeball. The less they saw of each other, the better his day went.

**

It was mid-morning when Bitsy’s phone dinged a text. Her heart skipped when she saw it was from her lawyer, Charlie Cowan.

Batten down your hatches. Process server is on the way. I will notify you when all the papers have been served.

She sent him a thumbs up emoji then went to get suitcases and garbage bags and began packing everything Calvin owned and dragging it all to her car, then she headed into town. The closer she got, the faster she drove, readying herself to deliver a message of her own.

It was the fastest trip she’d ever made, and she had but one destination—the parking lot behind Sullivan Insurance. It was fenced in behind it and bordered with tall trees. She’d be in and out before anyone ever saw her.

Cal’s truck was parked nearest the back exit. She pulled up behind it, dumped every suitcase and every garbage bag filled with his things into the truck bed, and drove off, feeling a thousand pounds lighter than when she’d arrived.

She would never spend another night under the same roof with him. Never cook him another meal. Never wash any more of his clothing. She was going to have to make peace with what had happened, but it would take time.

She stopped at a drive-thru to get a cold drink, hoping it settled the panic she felt. Part of it was being uneasy about what might happen next, and part of it was just shock that it had come to this. As she drove home, she made a call to Earl Justice, the family lawyer.

“Morning Bitsy,”

Earl said. “How goes your day?”

“Bordering on chaos, as usual,”

she said. “I have a question. Cal and I never made a will. What might happen to my property if I died before we were divorced?”

“It would go to him, because there is no other proviso mentioned in your father’s will.”

“Okay . . . but just FYI . . . I’ve been told that the process server is going to deliver divorce papers and lawsuit papers to all parties involved in Cal’s adultery today. So, if anything happens to me, it’s likely murder.”

“Oh hell, Bitsy. That’s not okay. Do you really have that fear?”

Her voice was shaking. “It’s in the back of my mind.”

“Then I think the more people who know about this as soon as possible, the safer you’ll be. I’ll draw up a public notice for you to put in the local papers, stating that you are responsible for your debts only, and no one else’s, which is an immediate flag, letting people know there has been a separation or a divorce. And then get all the utilities transferred into your name alone. Start separating him from you.”

“The utilities have always been in my name. He just paid them. I’m going to sell the home when this is over. I can’t live there anymore. I don’t know who’s left in town that I could trust,” she said.

Earl sighed. “I’m sorry, honey, but that might turn out to be the best thing you ever do for yourself. I’ll email you the public notice today. You can get it in the local paper ASAP.”

“Thank you, Earl. For everything.”

“That’s what I’m here for,”

he said. “Chin up, lady. Chin up.”

**

Randy Arthur had been a process server for almost fifteen years. He’d been chased by dogs. Shot at. Punched in the face and cursed roundly. Over the years, he’d learned a few tricks to getting it done without bodily harm, and today, he was traveling to Lone Bridge with paperwork to be served, and three small bouquets of on-sale flowers in the seat beside him. At this point, all he was hoping for was that the petals stayed on the stems long enough for him to make an exit. As for the man he was serving, this was going to be an easy one. He’d catch him at work.

He had orders to serve the man first, then the two women who lived in the city limits of Lone Bridge, and then the last one, who lived three miles outside of town.

Randy had the address to the Sullivan Insurance office at the far end of Main Street and was fortunate enough to get a parking spot directly in front of the building. Without hesitation, he picked up the envelope with Calvin Lee Yarbrough’s name on it and got out.

**

Brenda, the secretary at the front door, looked up.

“Good morning, sir. How can I help you?”

Randy smiled. “I need to speak to Calvin Yarbrough, please.”

Brenda turned in her chair. “Cal, someone to see you.”

Cal had just taken a bite of a doughnut when he heard his name, looked up, and waved him back to his desk.

Randy reached the desk, still smiling. “Calvin Lee Yarbrough?”

“Yes,”

Cal said, nodding and still trying to swallow his bite.

“This is for you, sir,”

he said, and held out the envelope. The moment Cal reached for it; Randy laid it in his palm. “You have been served,”

he said loudly, then made a U-turn at the desk and walked out, leaving Cal in momentary shock.

Forgetting the bite he still needed to chew and swallow, he ripped open the envelope, saw the words “Petition for Divorce,”

and then saw the word “ADULTERY”

in bold font, and the names of three women, and “ALIENATION OF AFFECTION.” He gasped, sucked the chunk of doughnut down his throat like a sock going through a vacuum hose, and then it went no further.

The divorce papers went flying as Cal grabbed at his chest, choking and gagging. His face went from ashen to flushed, and he was slowly turning blue when Paul leaped to his feet and ran toward him.

Brenda grabbed the fallen papers as Paul began the Heimlich maneuver, applying it over and over, until finally dislodging the clog.

“Cal, buddy, are you okay?”

Paul asked, as he helped him back to his chair.

Cal nodded, breathing deeply as the panic began to subside, and then he took the bottle of water Paul gave him to drink.

Unfortunately for Cal, Brenda had taken it upon herself to read the papers she’d picked up and was already incensed on Paul’s behalf. She walked up behind her boss, tapped him on the shoulder, and handed him the papers.

Paul frowned, glanced down at what she’d handed him, realized what it was, and then read the rest of it in disbelief. It wasn’t until he saw his wife named as one of the cheating women that he spun the chair Cal was sitting in to face him, drew back, and punched him in the jaw.

Cal never saw it coming. One minute he was sitting upright, and when he came to again, he was still in the chair, but on his back, looking up at the ceiling, and Paul was pouring water in his face.

“You are a sorry, son-of-a-bitch, and you are fired,”

Paul said. “Get your shit out of the desk and get your truck off my property.”

Cal groaned, rolled out of the chair, spit the blood in his mouth into the wastebasket, and looked up. Brenda stood at his desk glaring at him. She held a box with his things in it, the divorce papers on top. He didn’t say anything because there was nothing he could say. It’s not like he’d just wrecked Paul’s car and could pay to have it fixed. He’d wrecked his boss’s marriage, and Bitsy had ended theirs.

His head pounded. His throat was raw. It hurt to draw breath, but he made it to his truck. Then he saw the suitcases and bags in the back and realized he not only had no job, but he also had nowhere to go.

What a mess. What a gawd-awful mess. And all the while, he wondered how Bitsy had ever found out. He needed a lawyer, but not until he took himself to the emergency room—again.

Cal’s steps were slow and unsteady as he walked into the ER. He couldn’t stand up straight for the pain in his ribs, his lower lip was puffy and bloody, and his jaw was already swelling.

“I need a doctor. Now. I can’t breathe right,”

he mumbled.

Within moments, a nurse emerged with a wheelchair, rolled him into the examining area, and got him settled on a bed. They were taking his blood pressure and pulse when a doctor rushed in and started asking questions about chest and arm pain.

“Not heart attack,”

Cal mumbled. “I nearly choked to death, and my boss did the Heimlich thing. Now it hurts to breathe.”

“Ah . . . you might have a cracked rib. It can happen. I’ll get you into x-ray. In the meantime, what happened to your face?”

the doctor asked.

Cal started to answer, then danced around the truth. “I think it happened after I fell . . . maybe . . . I’m not sure.”

The doctor began examining Cal’s jaw, with Cal wincing and groaning at every touch. “We’ll get some shots of your jaw, as well, just to make sure you didn’t crack a bone. Hang tough, Calvin. Someone will come get you and take you to x-ray, and then we’ll talk.”

**

By the time Cal was released two hours later, news of his personal life had become a gossip epidemic. His diagnosis was a bruised rib, a bruised jaw, and a shredded reputation.

“I recommend over the counter pain meds and ice packs,”

the doctor said. “You need rest to heal.”

“Yes, sir,”

Cal said, and sat up on the side of the bed as an orderly came in with a wheelchair and gave him a ride to the exit.

Cal got in his truck and drove out of the parking lot, then out of Lone Bridge and never looked back. He didn’t notice he’d already passed JoJo’s house. He was watching for the sight of their home, and when he passed the driveway, he took a good, long look, knowing it would also be his last.

**

Tansy Sullivan sat on her front porch with a glass of iced tea, wearing one of her favorite floral day dresses, admiring the perfectly manicured lawn and the butterflies flitting about the blooming bushes, when a car pulled into their drive and drove up to the house.

A clean-cut, thirty-something man got out carrying a bouquet of flowers and came up her steps, smiling.

“Flowers for Tansy Sullivan,” he said.

“That’s me! I’m Tansy Sullivan,”

she said, and stood as he came toward her.

As she held out her hand to accept the flowers, he placed an envelope in one hand and the flowers in the other.

“Tansy Sullivan, you have been served,”

he said, and turned and jogged down the steps, then drove away, leaving Tansy in shock.

She was still standing, watching the petals of a white daisy falling onto the porch as the reality of what had happened began to sink in. She laid the flowers on a side table and sat back down to open the envelope. She saw the words, and then the world began to spin. This can’t be happening. How? Who? What the hell am I going to do?

And then she heard the roar of another car engine and saw her husband skid to a halt and get out running.

She leaped to her feet, clutching the court summons against her breasts, and began backing up as he came up the steps. She could tell by the look on his face that he knew.

“What’s that in your hand?”

he shouted.

“Um, I just—”

He snatched the papers away, read, and then rolled his eyes. “Perfect! Just perfect! Not only will everyone know what a slut you are, but you’re dragging my name through court for this bullshit lawsuit. Alienation of Affection! My God. Oh, my God!”

he shouted.

“I don’t even know what that means,”

she whined.

“Then you’re not only a slut, but you’re also a stupid slut. It means you’ve been named in a divorce based on adultery.”

“Paul, I’m so sorry! It was just a fling, and—”

“Get out!” he said.

“No! Wait! What do you mean, get out? This is my house, too.”

“Not for long,”

he said. “Pack your shit and get. I’ve already fired your lover boy. You go cry in your beer with the two other women also named. What a disaster. An adultery scandal. I can’t stay in this town and have any level of decorum about myself or my business.”

Tansy froze. “What other women?”

He paused and then threw back his head and laughed. “You thought you were special? You really thought it was just you? That’s rich!”

“Shut up! Shut up! Stop laughing at me!”

she screamed. “What other women?”

“Sue Ritter and JoJo Walker are also named. I wonder if they believed they were exclusive, too? The joke is on all of you, and it’s no more than you deserve. Now pack your clothes and get out. Go ask your daddy for a lawyer, then tell him why you’re going to need one. And your chances of getting any kind of alimony from me are slim to none,”

Paul said, then opened the front door and stood, waiting for her to go inside.

Tansy’s oh-so-perfect world had just come down around her ears, while Randy Arthur had moved on to the Lone Bridge library and was entering the building. He walked up to the man at the front desk, carrying yet another bouquet of flowers.

“Delivery for Sue Ritter,” he said.

“Wait here,”

the man said quietly, then got up and disappeared between the stacks. A few moments later, he returned, followed by a tall blonde in her mid-thirties.

“I’m Sue Ritter. How can I help you?” she said.

“These are for you,”

he said, smiling.

“How nice!”

she said, and held out her hands. As she did, he laid the summons in one hand and the flowers in the other.

“Sue Ritter, you have been served,”

he said, and walked out.

Sue gasped, gave the clerk a wild look, and then dashed into her office. A few moments later, a scream came out of the office, and then the sound of crashing furniture.

Workers ran toward her office, found an overturned chair, and Sue passed out on the floor with the papers still clutched in her hand.

“Call an ambulance!”

one of the workers cried, while the man from the desk took the papers and read them.

“She doesn’t need a doctor. She needs a lawyer,” he said.

**

Randy was three deliveries down and one to go, as he headed home. He had JoJo Walker’s address in his GPS, and as he came upon the house, realized he had passed it on his way into town. He took the turn up into the driveway, then got out with the last envelope and the last wilting bouquet, ran up the steps, and knocked on the door.

Moments later, the door opened. He smiled. “Delivery for JoJo Walker?”

“I’m JoJo Walker,”

she said, and held out her hands.

Like before, he put the envelope in one of her outstretched hands and the flowers in the other.

“JoJo Walker, you have been served,”

he said, and then went back down the steps and drove away before JoJo could blink. She stared down at the wilted flowers and the envelope, then backed up and closed the door. She knew it wasn’t good news. Summonses never were. She tossed the flowers in the trash and sat down on the sofa to open the envelope. The moment she took out the summons and saw the words on the paper, her face went numb.

“Oh my God,”

she muttered. What a mess this was going to be. And then it dawned on her that this might be her lucky day. If Cal was getting divorced, then that would mean he would finally be free. They could be together without having to sneak around. She didn’t mind the gossip if she got Cal for the consolation prize. She was about to congratulate herself when her cell phone rang. She glanced at Caller ID and frowned, then answered.

“Hello?”

“JoJo, it’s me, Tansy Sullivan. Have you heard yet?”

“Heard what?”

she asked.

“That Cal and Bitsy are getting divorced. She filed adultery charges as her grounds and named all of us.”

JoJo’s stomach rolled. “What do you mean . . . all of us?”

“You, me, and Sue Ritter. He was seeing all three of us behind Bitsy’s back, and she found out. We’re all being sued for Alienation of Affection and named as part of the adultery he’s accused of. We’re her proof that he was cheating, and she’s dragging us into court at the divorce proceedings.”

“I don’t believe it,”

JoJo said.

“What? That she’s naming us, or that we were all so stupid we didn’t see his game?”

Tansy said.

“I have to go now,”

JoJo said, then hung up and ran.

The last time JoJo had been sick enough to puke had been one New Year’s Eve when she was still married to her second husband. That time, she’d over-indulged in champagne. This time, it had been because of an overabundance of sex with someone else’s man.

She needed a lawyer.

**

At Paul Sullivan’s orders, Brenda closed the agency early.

Paul was gone, and she was on her way out the back door, talking on the phone to her mother as she went.

“Momma, you will not believe what just happened!”

And then she unloaded, spreading the news even further.

**

Sue Ritter regained consciousness to the news that she was being fired, and to add insult to injury, that she wasn’t the only woman Cal had been seeing behind his wife’s back. She hadn’t felt this stupid since she’d given an old man a lap dance and a heart attack when she’d still been working in Vegas and had had to go home in disgrace. She was already on the phone with a lawyer, trying to find out if the city of Lone Bridge had to pay off the remainder of her contract to fire her, or if she was going to go over the falls of shit’s creek, homeless and broke.

**

It was almost noon when Bitsy got Charlie Cowan’s text.

They’ve all been served. Change the locks on your door.

She had already been warned to do this, so she pulled up the locksmith’s number in her contact list and made the call. Three rings later, a man answered.

“Elmer’s Lock Shop.”

“My name is Bitsy Yarbrough. I need to change the locks on my house. It’s kind of an emergency. Front door and back, and as soon as possible.”

“I have time this afternoon if that’s good for you. All I need is directions to your house,”

Elmer said.

Bitsy gave him the address.

He read it back to her, and she confirmed. “Yes, that’s right, and thank you.”

Now all she had to do was wait.

About an hour later, her phone rang again. Her heart thumped when she saw the caller’s name pop up on the screen. She’d been expecting it, but she put the call on Speaker, for the simple fact she didn’t want the sound of his voice so close to her ear, and then answered.

“What!?”

Calvin winced. “Bitsy, I . . . I just . . .”

“The day of our anniversary, I was doing laundry and found lipstick on the collar of your work shirt. Even as I was using up the last of my stain remover to get it out, I knew it wasn’t any color I’d ever used. When I went to write down ‘stain remover’ on my grocery list, I noticed the pen you’d left on the notepad was from Rogers’ Motel, and I told myself it was a gimme pen. You could have gotten it anywhere. But when I went back to sort more laundry, I found a blue pop-off nail caught on the elastic waistband of your underwear, and that was impossible to ignore, so I went looking for more evidence and found a half-dozen ballpoint pens from other motels. I saved them all with the fake blue nail.”

Cal groaned. “So that’s—”

“Shut up, Calvin, I’m still talking. After that revelation, my yet-to-be-repaired-car began to make sense. When we were on the way to town to shop for my new car, and you stopped to help Art put up his bull, I was picking up the receipts that had fallen from behind the visor. That’s when I saw a pair of black lace panties and yet a different color of lipstick under the seat where I was sitting. And then a pink hairbrush and another tube of lipstick in the glove box. None of which were mine!!! I put them in my purse for safekeeping. More evidence to hang you. The giant hickey on the back of your neck the next morning after you came home from the bar was the last straw. That was when I hired a private detective. There are lots of them in Jackson, and he’s been following you around ever since. I have pictures of you with all three women, going in and coming out of motels, and passionate kisses in the back parking lot of the library, and in the front yard of their homes, and on their porches, and you are dead meat as far as guilt goes. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,”

Cal said. He hurt in a thousand places, but the worst one right now was his heart.

“You completely disgust me. I thought about killing you, as in completely ending your life just like you had just ended mine, but I opted to divorce you instead. I have two lawyers. One for my personal self, and a divorce attorney with a shark-bite reputation for destroying cheating spouses and abused spouses. You have no grounds to fight this. Try it, and I will bankrupt you. Are you still listening?”

Now his voice was down to a whisper. “Yes.”

“I don’t want alimony, because after our divorce is final, I don’t want contact with you in any way, ever again. But you will give me fifteen thousand dollars in cash on the day we sign the divorce decree. That’s one thousand dollars for every year we were married, and for the birthday gift, and the Christmas gift, and the anniversary gift that you always ignored, and for all the flowers you never gave me. There is no bargaining over this, and whatever your lawyer tells you, mine will destroy you and him. Understand?”

Bitsy could hear him crying, and she didn’t care.

“Bawl your head off, buddy, and know that I have yet to shed a tear. You are lucky you’re still breathing. When Southern women get mad, they get even and cry later. This is all on you. Don’t call me again. I’ve changed the locks on the house. You set foot on this property, and I will shoot you. The next time and last time I see your face, it will be in court.”

At that point, she ended the call, and as she looked up, she saw a white van, with an Elmer’s Lock Shop logo, coming toward the house.

One more thing to do before this day was over.

**

Cal was still crying and waiting for another blast of recriminations when he realized she’d hung up on him. He had a cracked rib from the choking incident, a bruise on his jaw the size of an orange from being punched in the face, and he was still not completely healed from the barbed wire.

He was homeless, jobless, and laying low in a motel in Jackson. He had enough money in the bank to tide him over, and the savings for his retirement, which was about to be fifteen thousand dollars less than it was right now, and as soon as he healed and this divorce thing was over, he was heading to Colorado where his family lived now. He’d look for work there.

Insurance adjusters didn’t have to be sinless in their private lives. They just had to be reliable and good at their jobs. He’d made a mistake. A huge mistake. But everybody made mistakes. Surely, he could be forgiven for being human. At least that’s the story he was running with.