“Well,” Scotia drawls immediately, addressing Howard, “look what the cat dragged in.”
My mouth pops open.
“Sissy…” For some reason, I relax. I want to hug her for being the demeaning woman she can be. She’s going to eat Howard alive, and I almost want to step back and see where my sister goes with this, but this is my fight, and I need to get Howard out of here.
“Howard was actually leaving,” I admit, turning to him.
“Now, Beverly, we were about to have dinner. Perhaps your sisters would like to join us.” The sugar-sweet tone doesn’t settle with me nor does the inviting sentiment.
“You are not joining us,” I growl, taking comfort in my sisters’ presence. Naomi crosses the room to the refrigerator, leaning against it like a human shield to protect the stock of casseroles and prepared meals.
“We’ll not offer you a morsel,” Scotia states, holding firm to her spot as if moving might soil her ensemble. While pleasantly shocked, I’m still grateful for her presence. “What do you want, Howard?”
Her condescending tone could make the best of men grovel, but Howard stands tall, attempting to exert status over my sister.
“How’s your husband, Scotia?”
“He’s dead,” she blurts, and Howard’s head snaps back. Score one for Scotia. Howard isn’t about to tell her anything she doesn’t already know about her deceased man.
“Where’s your whore, Howard?”
“Scotia,” Naomi hisses, and I pinken with shame on his behalf.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Howard states, but a trickle of sweat graces the edge of his brow. I must admit it’s growing warm in the suddenly cramped kitchen.
“We can play this game all night, Howard. I can go twenty rounds with you if I need to.”
“Oh, I’m scared,” Howard mocks, putting up his hands in a mocking boxer’s stance as if preparing to go rounds with her. His eyes dance. “What are you, a hundred by now?”
“Bless your heart, Howard. I’m forty-seven, and that means I’m out of fucks for men like you. Now, tell us why you’re here.”
Still shocked at my sister’s rebuttal, I almost miss Howard’s next words.
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” he definitively states, but Scotia doesn’t blink.
“Any explanation you offer will be weak, like you, but we’d like to hear it all the same.”
“I’m here for my wife.”
My mouth falls open, and I meet the eyes of Naomi across the room, who still has a hand on the freezer handle.
“You forfeited your right to your wife when you stepped out on her. Then you left. She’s not your concern,” Scotia states, and my head turns to my oldest sister. She has always been forceful, but I’ve never seen this side of her.
“What’s between my wife and me is none of your business,” Howard states, and I’m tired of being spoken about as if I’m not in the room.
“The wife is present and has a name, and no longer wishes to be your wife.”
Scotia turns to me for the first time, and her expression softens just a smidge from the Cruella de Vil look she has going. “I’ve filed for divorce,” I tell her.
“Naomi told me,” she says, and I wonder when Scotia and Naomi became friends, although something tells me there’s more to the story this evening. They’ve never been friendly, not like this.
“We aren’t divorcing,” Howard states, and all heads turn to him.
“By the goddess you are,” Naomi blurts. I want to chuckle at my sister’s outburst but hold the laughter in.
“Right,” Howard drawls. “Still up to your kooky ways.” Howard wiggles his fingers in the air as though he’s spooked.
“That’s enough,” Scotia snaps in a disciplinarian tone with the addition of a scathing glare. “Get out of here, Howard. Whatever you want, you aren’t getting it.”
“I own everything,” I tell my sister, who turns to me. “The land. The house. It’s all mine. Ewell left it to me in his will.”
“Which means it’s mine by half because we’re married.”
Naomi’s mouth falls open at this statement, and Scotia crosses her arms. “Being as Tennessee is an equitable state, I can see where you think that’s your right, but again, you forfeited that right when you left. No judge in his right mind is going to give you half this estate based on several factors.”
I’m impressed with my sister’s knowledge of Tennessee law concerning divorce, and it makes me wonder if she ever considered leaving her husband, Karl, before his death.
Howard’s jaw clenches. He wants to ask questions, but if he does, he’ll appear unknowledgable about the battle he’s trying to wage.
“I have a meeting with my attorney tomorrow,” I announce, and Howard’s head swerves to me.
“Janice?” Howard questions, a slow, sly grin crossing his face. He looks like the Grinch who stole Christmas, proud of his evil ways. “I’d love to speak with her again.”
“It’s not a joint meeting,” I tell him. “And officially, my attorney is Ramirez Caeser.” Howard blanches a bit again, and it triggers the thought that Howard is familiar with the divorce lawyer.
“I’ll be contacting Haywood.”
Scotia shakes her head like Howard is a silly boy who doesn’t understand the consequences. “You’ll be hard-pressed to find someone sympathetic to you around here.”
“Haywood and I go way back,” Howard argues.
I have no idea if this is true, but something outside the window catches the corner of my eye. A flash or a spark, like lightning. It’s not uncommon for a thunderstorm this early in the season. The weather’s warming nicely. Spring is on the horizon, but that spark seemed a bit unusual. My eyes narrow, watching out the dark window for another sign. Thunder. Rain. It’s not warm enough for only a lightning show.
Naomi’s head turns in the direction of my gaze. Finally, she releases her hand from the freezer and crosses to the sink to get a better view. Her head instantly turns back to me.
“Jedd isn’t still out there?” she questions, knowing he moved into the house months ago. Panic paints her face.
“No, why?”
“Because your barn’s on fire.” The statement is made with cool calm, and Scotia steps over to the sink window as well.
“Bless my soul.” The higher pitch to Scotia’s voice sets Howard in motion, and I reach for the cell phone I left on the table. Punching in the numbers for 911, I make a call I’ve never had to make and exhale into the phone when the dispatcher Flo McClure answers.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“Townsen farm. Our barn is on fire.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
[Beverly]
With Naomi’s assistance, I make it outdoors, frozen in place as the blaze begins in earnest. The structure is old and the wood brittle, so within minutes, the entire backside is engulfed. It won’t take long for the remainder of the barn to catch, and fear slowly creeps in.