Chapter Nine

Fisher had put off shopping until he’d completely run out of necessities and was downtown running errands. He’d gone to the pharmacy first and was on his way up front to check out, when he overheard two women talking about Calvin Yarbrough getting beat up by his boss and fired from his job. Ah . . . the word is out, and Sullivan’s retribution got painful. Well hell, dude. What did you expect? he thought, and walked past the women to get in line.

His next stop was the supermarket, and it was the topic in every aisle he went down, and then the same thing again at the gas station when he stopped to refuel. He went home with a smile on his face and put up his purchases. It was always a good day when things came together.

Later in the evening, he checked the tracker he’d left on Cal’s truck, saw it was at a motel in Jackson, where he’d obviously holed up to stay out of the line of fire. He’d go to Jackson and remove it on the day they all went to court.

As he was locking up and going to bed, he thought of Bitsy, alone in that big house. He didn’t know if she was crying yet, but he would have put money on “No,”

being the answer. Then he pulled back the covers, got in bed, and turned out the lights. Even after he’d closed his eyes, he could see her face, looking up at him that first day in the Clothes Closet, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Her voice had been shaking, but there’d been a set to her jaw as she’d set up getting her revenge, and by God, she had done that in spades.

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of her in his arms, leaning back within his grasp, and looking up at him, her long hair hanging over his arms. She was laughing.

**

The For Sale sign in front of Bitsy’s house had turned her life into a holding pattern. Until the place was sold, she couldn’t move forward. Until the divorce was final, she couldn’t make plans for her future. The words, “Until,”

and “If,”

and “When,” and “Maybe,” had become her restraints.

When she went to town to get groceries, she was stared at. Nobody blamed her for being angry, but she’d set herself apart by her decisions and being different in a small town was a death sentence to acceptance.

For the first time in her life, she saw the shallowness of their thoughts and prayers and was beginning to understand what Fisher had meant when he’d said he would always been invisible here.

She didn’t realize until they no longer had contact, that he had earned a place of respect in her life. She didn’t go to the Clothes Closet anymore, so a random meeting was unlikely to happen.

The first Sunday after the big reveal, her pastor had begun preaching a sermon about wifely duties and honoring wedding vows. The second time he had looked directly at her, she’d stood up from her seat in the pew, lifted her chin, and had given Pastor Samuels a look he wasn’t likely to misunderstand, then she’d walked out. Straight up the aisle with purpose in every step, and she had never gone back.

He’d called her twice at home, but she hadn’t answered. Then he’d come to her house. When she’d opened the door to his knock, she’d just stood there in silence, forcing him to speak from the doorstep.

“Bitsy, may I come in? I’d like to talk to you.”

“You said what you needed to from your pulpit, so you can say what you have to say on my doorstep,”

she replied.

He sighed. “I’m afraid you misunderstood my—”

She interrupted. “I misunderstood nothing. You said nothing about denouncing unfaithful spouses or cheating women in your sermon. Only wifely duties and honoring wedding vows. I wasn’t the one who broke them. I wasn’t the one who dishonored a spouse. And after what my husband has put me through, do you actually think I am going to stand here and listen to another man begin mansplaining anything to me? I heard what you said aloud to the entire congregation, and you were looking straight at me. You judged me without being in my shoes. You aren’t supposed to judge people. You had the audacity to think you could say what you said just because of that white collar around your neck. When this house sells, I’ll be gone. But until then, do not expect to see my face in your church again. I am the victim. How dare you point a finger at me?”

And then she closed the door in his face and turned the lock.

It was the click of that lock that ended Samuels’ expectations of making peace. He dropped his head and went back to his car, a chastened man.

He had underestimated her. He’d seen her silence as a measure of guilt, when in fact, she’d been restraining herself from coming undone.

The next Sunday, he admitted to the congregation that he’d misjudged her and made an elaborate apology. But they were the only ones who heard it. Bitsy Yarbrough was done with the house of public opinion.

**

Then two months before they were due in court, Bitsy’s house sold. The realtor brought a family of five to view the house, and they fell in love with it. The wife wanted to keep the chickens as part of the sale, and the three children were enamored of all the places to play outside. They even used the wrap-around porch for a racetrack, just like she and her daddy had done.

It felt right.

Bitsy had no other feeling but relief when the contract was signed, and the earnest money received. After the closing, she would be five hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars to the good. Now she had to settle on what she was going to do to make a living, where she was going to live, and had less than two months to figure it out and move.

So much to do in not a lot of time.

**

Late October

Bitsy’s alarm went off just after seven a.m. She shut it off, then lingered a few moments more beneath the warm covers, staring up at the pale pink and gray coffered ceiling and the elegant little crystal candelabra hanging over her bed. It, and the big porch across the entire front of the house, were the reasons she’d bought this two-bedroom, one bath cottage in Jackson.

She’d been in residence almost three weeks now and was mostly unpacked. She’d brought the furniture from home that had meant the most to her and sold the rest at a one-day auction in the front yard of the farm and had pretended her heart wasn’t breaking.

She’d stayed inside the entire day, collected the profit from the auctioneer, less his fee, and kept telling herself not to cry, because it still didn’t compare to the day she’d lost her parents. What she’d had to give up was just stuff. It was people who could not be replaced.

Two weeks ago, she finally got a job with a company that staged homes for sale, and she’d also made a career decision and was studying for a realtor’s license. Now, she had a home and a plan for her future.

But today, she was off work and studying was on the back burner, because this was the day of the divorce hearing. She was to meet Charlie Cowan in front of the Hinds County Courthouse on Pascagoula Street East at ten a.m. They would go to a specific courtroom, and according to Charlie, her revenge would then be completed. The guilty parties would have suffered a sufficient amount of humiliation and disgrace, and she’d finally be free. It was everything she’d asked for. All she had to do now was figure out what to wear and be on time.

Retha Dubois, her book club buddy, was the only person from home who had sincerely empathized with what had happened and had stayed in touch. She had already warned Bitsy that the courtroom was likely to be full of people from home.

Bitsy didn’t know what they expected to see. But she had a few surprises of her own. She’d had her hair cut and restyled in what the stylist called an Italian bob that curved around her face and fell just below her chin. She had a few new outfits in the latest fashion, new makeup, and was going in like she was going to war.

Now it was time to get out of bed and face the enemies one last time, so she threw back the covers and headed for the shower.

**

Fisher had been parked in the parking lot for almost an hour before he saw Calvin Yarbrough drive up, park, and get out. He watched as Cal started walking toward the courthouse, met up with another man, probably his lawyer, and then watched as they went in together.

A couple of minutes later, the three women began arriving. It was amusing to watch them puff up their feathers as they glared at each other, then walk in single file, a good ten feet apart, as they, too, headed for the courthouse.

Fisher knew Charlie Cowan on sight and recognized him when he parked and got out, but instead of going inside, he stood on the sidewalk, obviously waiting for his client.

Less than five minutes later, a little red Camaro came speeding off the street and into the parking lot.

Fisher caught himself leaning forward, as if the need to get close to her was innate. When she parked and got out, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing—like watching a butterfly emerging from a cocoon.

She’d done something glorious to her hair and makeup and wore three-inch heels. The orange and turquoise pattern of her long-sleeved, knee-length dress made her bare legs look longer. The pang of regret that washed through him dissipated as quickly as it had pierced. She was beautiful and elegant and even farther out of his class than she’d been before.

He waited until they had gone into the courthouse, and then he went straight to Cal’s truck, removed the tracker, tossed it in the seat of his car, then went inside. He’d been part of documenting the downfall, but he needed to see this to the end. He slipped into the courtroom just before the doors closed and took an aisle seat at the back of the room.

He immediately spotted her and her lawyer sitting halfway down and could tell by the straight set of her shoulders that she was braced for discord.

Stay strong, darlin’. Don’t let them see you cry.

**

Charlie leaned over and whispered in Bitsy’s ear. “This isn’t going to take long. Stay focused on the questions the judge asks and feel free to elaborate on your answers at will. Remember, this isn’t a trial. You’re not being judged by a jury. You are just stating your truth as to why you want out of this marriage.”

“What about the women’s lawyers?”

she whispered.

He winked. “They’re about as worthless to this hearing as tits on a boar hog. You have not asked for damages. You have simply named these women as proof of adultery. They’re going to have to sit there as guilty as sin without any excuse for their illicit behavior, and if any of their fool lawyers try to argue any level of innocence, thanks to the photos and physical evidence, we’ve got that covered.”

Bitsy eyes welled, but she furiously blinked back the tears. Worthless as tits on a boar hog. I haven’t heard that since Daddy died. And then a couple of minutes later, the court clerk called out the next case on the docket.

“Elizabeth Yarbrough versus Calvin Yarbrough. Petition for divorce. Accompanying lawsuits for Alienation of Affection, Elizabeth Yarbrough versus Tansy Sullivan, Sue Ritter, and JoJo Walker. Come to the front.”

The judge frowned, glanced down at the docket, then remembered the files he’d read earlier, and sighed. This was out of the ordinary, but since it was pertinent to the charge of adultery, and that dang law was still on the books, he was going to have to deal with it.

Calvin got up with his lawyer and followed him to the front of the courtroom as they took a seat at one of the tables, followed by three red-faced women who were being seated beside him with their lawyers lined up in chairs behind their clients.

Cal gave his lawyer a nervous look, then heard a slight rumbling of voices, a few gasps of surprise, and turned to see what all the fuss was about.

His first thought was, who’s the woman, and then he recognized his wife coming down the aisle with a man he assumed was her lawyer.

His first emotion was shock. She gone from one of the chickens in the hen house to a peacock. And even as he sat there telling himself that analogy didn’t work, because the glamorous peacocks were male, she sailed past where them and took a seat at the table on the other side of the aisle, leaving her lawyer to take the chair between them.

Charlie stood. “Your honor, this divorce is not being contested, but there are extenuating circumstances that have brought this divorce to court, and it is important to my client to make those known. And to do so, I would ask for Elizabeth Yarbrough to take the stand.”

Bitsy stood, calmly walked toward the judge, and took her seat in the witness stand. As she scanned the faces in the courtroom, she saw Fisher. She hadn’t expected him to be here, but seeing his calm, steady gaze gave her courage. Then she shifted her focus as the judge spoke.

“Mrs. Yarbrough, you have filed a petition to divorce your husband and have brought it before this court. Is it still your desire to dissolve this marriage, and if so, on what grounds?”

“On the grounds of adultery, and yes, I want it over. My husband has broken every vow he made to me on the day of our wedding. He has deceived me and lied to me, and he has had illicit assignations with three different women, who I have known and considered to be friends.”

“And how did you come by this knowledge?”

the judge asked.

“It was a series of events, beginning on the day of our fifteenth wedding anniversary. There was lipstick on the collar of one of his good shirts. It was not my color. Then there was a blue pop-off nail caught in the elastic of his underwear. After the shock came anger as more clues began to appear. I had to decide if I was willing to go to jail for murder or just file for divorce. You are witnessing my choice.”

“At that point, did you confront him?”

the judge asked.

“No, sir. What I did was hire a private investigator to get all the proof I needed on him and his ‘other woman.’ What I didn’t expect was to find out there were three of them . . . all being played by my husband, the Lone Bridge lothario. Once I found out, I did see the irony of cheaters being cheated on.”

There was a twitter of laughter in the courtroom that the judge instantly hushed with a bang of his gavel.

“And what, exactly, did you learn from his investigations?”

the judge asked.

“That he’d been at it for years. My lawyer, Charlie Cowan, has all the information I gathered. Affidavits from motel clerks with copies of room registrations going back five years. The clerks knew all his women by their first names. They are who he partied with. I was his leftovers. The hardest part after that was knowing there are people from our hometown who knew it was happening and chose to protect him and his reputation, while he was blighting mine. He has destroyed my life, broken my trust and my heart, and those women who sit there beside him today are equally to blame. They are as selfish and heartless as he is, and they share in his guilt.”

“Are you requesting monetary compensation from any of these people?”

the judge asked.

“No! I do not want their money. I want the world to see their truth. Look at them. There they sit with their fancy lawyers, frowning at me with all their indignation and guilt. I don’t know how they expect to be exonerated. My private investigator got both photographic and physical evidence on all of them. Coming out of motels with my husband. Passionate kisses and embraces with him on their porches, in the doorways of their homes, and in parking lots behind their places of business. My daddy would have called them tramps. I know they have no self-respect. As for my husband, I have nothing to say about him that’s fit for polite company. I don’t want alimony. I don’t want anything from him, except out of my life. He will, however, be repaying a debt he owes to me. Fifteen thousand dollars upon the finalization of this divorce. One thousand dollars for each year we were married, in repayment for every birthday, anniversary, and Christmas gift he never gave me, and then I never want to see his face again.”

Tansy Sullivan’s lawyer stood abruptly. “Your honor, are we not allowed to speak on behalf of our clients? How can we be certain those photographs weren’t manipulated? AI and photoshop are common practices now and . . .”

Charlie stood up and pointed toward the lawyer. “You want to challenge her veracity? Then I will demand DNA samples from all three women and compare them with the black lace panties found under the seat of Calvin Yarbrough’s truck, and the blonde hairs from the pink hairbrush found in the console of his truck, and the DNA from three different colors of lipstick found in his truck, and a blue pop-off nail found on Mr. Yarbrough’s underwear. If your clients are so certain they are innocent, then you can pay for the costs of those tests to clear their names.”

Three women glared at their lawyers, whispering in hisses and gasps, then the lawyer who’d spoken shook his head.

“I withdraw the challenge,”

he said, and sat down.

From the back of the room, another man stood. “Your honor, my name is Fisher Means. I am the bonded and licensed private investigator Mrs. Yarbrough hired to get the evidence she needed to take her husband and his women to task, and I will submit my original photos for testing to prove none of them are doctored.”

At that point, the room went silent.

Bitsy’s heart was pounding. Calvin wouldn’t even look at her or the three women sitting beside him. The lawyer who’d spoken was already sorry he’d ever opened his mouth. Charlie hadn’t moved a muscle, and Fisher was still standing. Waiting.

The judge pounded his gavel. “Mrs. Yarbrough, is there anything else you wish to say?”

She shook her head. “No, sir.”

“Mr. Cowan, do you have anything further to add?”

“No, sir,”

Charlie said.

The judge glanced at Calvin. “Mr. Yarbrough, do you have anything you wish to say to the court before the divorce is granted?”

“No,”

Calvin said.

The judge frowned. “I will say, Mr. Yarbrough, that you are sadly lacking in empathy and honesty. You need to do better.”

He pounded the gavel again. “This divorce has been granted. Lawyers, bring your clients into my chambers to sign the final papers. JoJo Walker, Sue Ritter, and Tansy Sullivan, please stand.”

At that point, Fisher turned and walked out of the courtroom. There was a scraping of chairs against the wooden floors as the three women stood.

Sue Ritter was crying.

Tansy Sullivan was frowning and flushed.

JoJo Walker was just flat out embarrassed.

By now, the judge was disgusted with the lot of them and raised his voice for effect.

“All of you are charged with Alienation of Affection that led to the breakup of a marriage. You have been found guilty of those charges, and while you are not being sued for monetary gain, this will go on your permanent record. Your own special little rap sheet, so to speak. And I will give you the same verdict I gave Mr. Yarbrough. You are all lacking in shame, empathy, restraint, and honesty. You are dismissed.”

They filed out of the courtroom with their lawyers, parted company in the lobby, and made a run for their cars as Fisher watched from a nearby bench.

Charlie escorted Bitsy into the judge’s chambers, with Calvin and his lawyer right behind them.

She signed her name where they told her without looking at Cal or acknowledging he was there. When he laid the cash on the judge’s desk, to his humiliation, she stood there and counted it in front of everybody.

“Bitsy, damn it. Don’t you trust me to—”

“No, I don’t,”

she snapped, and kept counting, then nodded at the judge. “It’s all here.”

“Then we’re out of here,”

Cal’s lawyer said.

Cal stood a few moments longer, staring at her.

When she saw what he was doing, she took a step forward. “Git away from me.”

“You look crazy,” he said.

“Oh, that’s from being backstabbed. Fuck off, Calvin. Nobody here cares what you think.”

He flushed a bright, angry red, but before he could say more, his lawyer, Frank Shannon, grabbed him by the arm and led him out of the judge’s chambers, talking nonstop beneath his breath.

“Mr. Yarbrough, I honestly don’t know why you hired me. Clearly, the story you told me was as fabricated as your life. You didn’t have an innocent leg to stand on. You have just gotten off big-time, and the best thing you can do for yourself now is get as far away from that woman as you can. You mess with her again, and she’ll see you put in prison. The lifers would have a fine time with a pretty boy like you. Do you understand?”

Cal’s anger turned to horror. “Yes, yes, I understand. When I leave here, I’m heading to Colorado. I just . . .”

“You don’t have permission to be angry. You don’t even have the right to challenge anything she says or how she feels. You broke everything. Accept that and start over,”

Frank said, and pointed to the exit.

Cal pivoted and walked out.

Frank Shannon just shook his head and went out of a side door to his car.

**

By the time Bitsy and Charlie were back in the lobby, the people who’d been in the courtroom were gone.

Bitsy shook inside and tried not to let it show when she put her copy of the decree in her purse.

“Mr. Cowan, thank you for helping me. Thank you for doing this pro bono . Thank you for everything,”

she said, and held out her hand.

Charlie wanted to give her a hug, but he could tell by the look on her face that one ounce of empathy would send her over the edge, so he just smiled and took her hand, instead.

“Believe me, it has been an honor to meet you. I know this is a hard day for you, but the ugliness is over. Tomorrow, and all the days thereafter, are the rest of your life. Your choices. Your decisions. Good luck to you, Bitsy Yarbrough.”

“Thank you, and my next step is no more Bitsy. Just Liz, and I’m changing my name back to the name I was born with . . . Collins.”

He laughed, and the sound echoed around her.

“That’s called, ‘Wiping the slate clean.’ You go, girl. I have another client to see here in about an hour, so I’m off to another courtroom. Go treat yourself to lunch.”

Bitsy went out the front entrance, then began walking down the steps. She was heading for her car when she saw Fisher coming toward her. His long, lanky stride was now as familiar as his face. Her entire focus shifted as she stopped to wait for him, and then he was standing before her.

“You did good, lady. You were magnificent. You look like a million bucks, and you burned them good,” he said.

She took a breath, but no words came out. There was a tightening in her throat, and her eyes were beginning to burn.

Fisher sighed. She was pale and trembling, and the dam within her was breaking.

“Aw hell, honey. It’s over now. It’s okay to cry,”

and when he opened his arms, Bitsy knew she was coming undone.

She walked into his arms, and when they curled around her, she began to sob, then couldn’t stop, and still he held her without motion, without words, standing fast.

When she could finally talk without choking, she took the handkerchief he offered and wiped her eyes.

“Oh my God. I could not have done this without you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

Then her face twisted into an expression of such despair. “Ah God, Fisher . . . I am so freaking alone, now.”

“You still have me,”

he said. “I’ve always been here. I’ll always be there for you. Are you okay now? Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

She nodded and unlocked the car with the remote as they drew near. He opened the door for her then stepped aside to help her in, and as he did, she paused and put her hand on his arm.

“I don’t know where you go next or how far you travel, but will you make me a promise?”

she asked.

He smiled. “Probably. What do you want?”

“Don’t lose me.”

His smile slipped. “I promise.”

She got in the car.

He closed the door and watched her drive away with his heart.