survived the
recent raccoon attack. Two months previously, Sheila had arrived at
Thornbriar “to calm things down” with a Glock pistol grip sticking
out of her purse. After she refused Charlie’s request to head back
to Forsyth and mind her own business (and Susan backed her right to
bear arms in his house), Charlie temporarily vacated the premises.
When he returned after midnight, Sheila was still there, waiting
up, playing the part of Susan’s guard dog. She left at dawn—only
after Phil called to demand that she come home and pick him up some
breakfast on the way. “Your childless sister, the expert on male
sexuality.”
“Don’t even go there. What happened with
Jerry wasn’t her fault.”
That much was true. Nothing involving
Sheila’s first husband had ever been anyone else’s fault, including
his violent death. (He needed killing, as it turned out.)
“In answer to your question, eight,” he said
brightly.
“Ick.”
“On school days. On weekends it’s none. As
you well know.”
“Hard to believe it’s humanly possible.”
“As we both know, I’m not human.”
“At last something we can agree on.” She
paused. “Just to let you know, I’m not paying for pornography.”
He held up his hands. “Fight’s over. I’m
moving out.”
“The hell you say.”
“The hell I do,” Charlie said. “This morning,
in fact. I got a job and a place to stay.”
“You got a job in the middle of the night,
dressed like a … I don’t know what.” She sniffed and squinched her
face, no doubt catching a whiff of Trouble. “Did you sleep in a
Dumpster?’
“The job’s been waiting for me. I’ve already
been paid.”
“ You’ve got a job and a place to stay and
you’ve already been paid ?” Susan put her hand to her forehead
as if she would faint.
Charlie retrieved the checkbook, along with
some bills. Susan watched in disbelief as he paid the mortgage and
Visa bill—more than the minimum, less than the balance. He figured
that left him enough to live on for a month, if he was frugal.
“Don’t mail these yet. I haven’t made the deposit.”
“Could I see the check?” she asked.
He showed it to her. It was drawn on an
account at TransNationBank—her employer. “I don’t get it. Who’s
Kathleen Talton, and what is it for?”
“I’m editing a man’s book.”
“Is that like a men’s magazine?”
“No, but thanks for playing. His widow is
paying me to fix it up and get it published.”
“Where are you going to live?”
He pointed to the address on the check.
“There, in a basement apartment, while I’m working on the book.
Live cheap or die. That’s my new motto.”
“There’s something majorly screwy about
this.” Susan bit her lip. “I’m sorry you feel you have to leave.
Must be nice to think you can.”
Not the apology he was looking for. Too much
cheek, not enough knee. “I’ll still take care of the kids,” he
said. “Pick them up, bring them here, fix dinner, leave. How ’bout
it?”
She gave him a harsh glare, worthy of her
grandfather. “And live in another woman’s house?”
He made a face. How could she think such a
thing? “She’s like eighty years old.”
“And you’re being paid over two grand for one
night’s work.” She gave him a wicked sneer.
He left the insinuation hanging. Yeah, I’m
that good, but what would you know ?
“If you leave, you’re not coming back,” she
added.
“Let’s tell the kids that, then.”
She looked down. “OK. Maybe you’re right. But
I don’t see how you’ll make this work.”
“What I’m doing shouldn’t come as a shock,
you know.”
“I know.” She got up and withdrew to the
living room.
“Let’s call it a trial separation,” he called
out after her. “I’ll come back for the van.”
A while later, Charlie broke the news to the
kids, telling them he’d see them every day after school. During his
tortured explanation of the new arrangement, Beck turned to Ben and
said,
recent raccoon attack. Two months previously, Sheila had arrived at
Thornbriar “to calm things down” with a Glock pistol grip sticking
out of her purse. After she refused Charlie’s request to head back
to Forsyth and mind her own business (and Susan backed her right to
bear arms in his house), Charlie temporarily vacated the premises.
When he returned after midnight, Sheila was still there, waiting
up, playing the part of Susan’s guard dog. She left at dawn—only
after Phil called to demand that she come home and pick him up some
breakfast on the way. “Your childless sister, the expert on male
sexuality.”
“Don’t even go there. What happened with
Jerry wasn’t her fault.”
That much was true. Nothing involving
Sheila’s first husband had ever been anyone else’s fault, including
his violent death. (He needed killing, as it turned out.)
“In answer to your question, eight,” he said
brightly.
“Ick.”
“On school days. On weekends it’s none. As
you well know.”
“Hard to believe it’s humanly possible.”
“As we both know, I’m not human.”
“At last something we can agree on.” She
paused. “Just to let you know, I’m not paying for pornography.”
He held up his hands. “Fight’s over. I’m
moving out.”
“The hell you say.”
“The hell I do,” Charlie said. “This morning,
in fact. I got a job and a place to stay.”
“You got a job in the middle of the night,
dressed like a … I don’t know what.” She sniffed and squinched her
face, no doubt catching a whiff of Trouble. “Did you sleep in a
Dumpster?’
“The job’s been waiting for me. I’ve already
been paid.”
“ You’ve got a job and a place to stay and
you’ve already been paid ?” Susan put her hand to her forehead
as if she would faint.
Charlie retrieved the checkbook, along with
some bills. Susan watched in disbelief as he paid the mortgage and
Visa bill—more than the minimum, less than the balance. He figured
that left him enough to live on for a month, if he was frugal.
“Don’t mail these yet. I haven’t made the deposit.”
“Could I see the check?” she asked.
He showed it to her. It was drawn on an
account at TransNationBank—her employer. “I don’t get it. Who’s
Kathleen Talton, and what is it for?”
“I’m editing a man’s book.”
“Is that like a men’s magazine?”
“No, but thanks for playing. His widow is
paying me to fix it up and get it published.”
“Where are you going to live?”
He pointed to the address on the check.
“There, in a basement apartment, while I’m working on the book.
Live cheap or die. That’s my new motto.”
“There’s something majorly screwy about
this.” Susan bit her lip. “I’m sorry you feel you have to leave.
Must be nice to think you can.”
Not the apology he was looking for. Too much
cheek, not enough knee. “I’ll still take care of the kids,” he
said. “Pick them up, bring them here, fix dinner, leave. How ’bout
it?”
She gave him a harsh glare, worthy of her
grandfather. “And live in another woman’s house?”
He made a face. How could she think such a
thing? “She’s like eighty years old.”
“And you’re being paid over two grand for one
night’s work.” She gave him a wicked sneer.
He left the insinuation hanging. Yeah, I’m
that good, but what would you know ?
“If you leave, you’re not coming back,” she
added.
“Let’s tell the kids that, then.”
She looked down. “OK. Maybe you’re right. But
I don’t see how you’ll make this work.”
“What I’m doing shouldn’t come as a shock,
you know.”
“I know.” She got up and withdrew to the
living room.
“Let’s call it a trial separation,” he called
out after her. “I’ll come back for the van.”
A while later, Charlie broke the news to the
kids, telling them he’d see them every day after school. During his
tortured explanation of the new arrangement, Beck turned to Ben and
said,
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