The Barefoot Summer(18)

“He inherited this place and it’s paid for,” Kate said bluntly.

“Then where was my five hundred dollars going?” Amanda asked.

Kate shrugged. “Maybe to buy lots of flowers for other women.”

“Mama”—Gracie poked her head out the door—“I’m really hungry.”

“We’ll have to go to the store. Maybe we’ll get pizza,” Jamie answered.

“There’s sandwich stuff in the refrigerator,” Kate offered.

There was no way she was going to let a child go hungry, not even for the length of time it took to drive into Bootleg and get a pizza from the deli part of the convenience store.

“Oh, so she can have some of your food, but I can’t?” Amanda shot a dirty look toward Kate.

Kate ignored it and sat down in her favorite chair.

“Go on and play five more minutes,” Jamie told Gracie. “And then we’ll see about making sandwiches.”

“Okay, Mama. Can I get a glass of milk until then?”

Jamie looked at Kate.

“Of course, she can have milk. I’m not a monster.”

“Yes, you may,” Jamie said and waited until the door slammed again. “I teach school in inner-city Dallas. Shall we set down some classroom rules here, since we are all living in the same house?”

“Maybe I’m sorry that I didn’t ask before I ate the sandwich or drank the tea, but rules or no rules, I’m staying right here until September,” Amanda declared. “Aunt Ellie says I need to get my head on straight.”

“Apology accepted,” Kate said, ignoring the latter part of her statement.

“I vote that we each take care of our own space, keep things picked up in the living area, buy our own food, and do our own cooking. Any leftovers that go in the refrigerator are up for grabs unless we put our name on them,” Jamie said.

“Fair enough. Where’s the nearest store?” Amanda asked.

“About six or seven miles south in Seymour,” Kate answered. “Open until nine every evening. Hopefully the whole thing will be settled by the end of summer.”

“The business part might be all done and finished by summer’s end, but I’m scarred for life,” Amanda whined.

“Stop the dramatics. Think about him in bed with a fifty-five-year-old woman,” Jamie said.

“Yuck!” Amanda’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “My Conrad wouldn’t do that. He might have married her, but he didn’t go to bed with her.”

“Or all those women he brought up here toward the end of the month? You stupid enough to believe they weren’t screwin’ like minks?” Jamie argued.

“How do we know Hattie isn’t lying or just sayin’ those things because Iris was her friend?” Amanda asked.

“It’ll be easy to verify,” Kate said. “I can check his bank records as soon as the lawyers get this straightened out. I bet we see where he deposited your money, Amanda. There are probably receipts where he bought gasoline right here in Bootleg at the end of every month.”

“How could he do this to me?” Amanda whispered.

“You? Do you think you are the only one? He was cheating on all of us outside of being married to us,” Jamie said. “Grow up. How old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-eight,” Amanda said defiantly.

“Then stop acting like you are sixteen.”

“And you?” Kate looked over at Jamie. “I’m guessing you are about thirty-five?”

“Thirty-six,” Jamie said.

“I’m forty-four,” Kate said. “We were all about thirty when he married each of us.”

Amanda’s chin popped up two inches. “He married you for your money and Jamie to get a kid. He married me for love.”

Kate shook her head slowly from side to side. “Wake up and smell the bacon, girl. Jamie, how much is your mortgage?”

“Four hundred eighty-nine dollars and fifty cents a month,” Jamie said.

“Amanda”—Kate pointed at her—“your five hundred made her house payment so he could use his money to look around for rich women to fleece.”

“No! He wouldn’t do that,” Amanda declared. “If you are so smart, then why didn’t you divorce him? Oh, wait! Because he divorced both of you. When the papers show up, you’ll both feel like fools.”

Jamie pushed up out of the chair and stretched. “I’m tired of this crap. If you were serious about us using your food for tonight, I’m going to make sandwiches for our supper.”

“I was serious, and Amanda, he would never divorce me,” Kate said.

“Why? You are old,” Amanda said.

Kate took a couple of deep breaths. “Because the prenup said that if he divorced me he only got what he brought into the marriage, and that could fit into a suitcase. If I divorced him, then he was entitled to a lot more. He said on the day that he signed it that he loved me so much that he would never leave me. A year later he vowed to make my life so miserable that I would divorce him and give him what was legally his for marrying someone no one else would have.”

“And?” Amanda pressured for more.

“I inherited my mother’s stubborn streak,” Kate said as she headed inside the house.