Heaven and Hell (Heaven and Hell #1)(4)

I thought that Cooter was never going to come home again.

I thought that I was never going to have to pretend I enjoyed sex with Cooter again and I never had to fake another orgasm again, which, by the way, was exhausting but, fortunately, not difficult to achieve believability considering Cooter still (or did, not anymore) thought his shit didn’t stink.

I thought that I’d never get backhanded, slapped, pushed, kicked or my arm twisted by Cooter again.

I thought that every morning, noon and night I could eat what I wanted and not have to make exactly what Cooter wanted. I could go to bed when I wanted. I could wear what I wanted. I could watch on TV what I wanted. I could talk on the phone as long as I wanted.

And I could finally be nice to my own, damn dog.

Then I thought, Fuck yes, I’m all right.

I did not say that.

I said, “I’m in shock,” which wasn’t a lie.

Ozzie didn’t miss much and he wasn’t missing much now and this must have been why he said super softly and very cautiously, his eyes never leaving mine, his body leaning in slightly, his hand stilling on Memphis, “You loved him once, darlin’, and, him passin’, there’ll come a time when you’ll remember that and it’ll hit you.”

I was not surprised Ozzie knew I didn’t love Cooter now. Like I said, Ozzie didn’t miss much.

But I wasn’t thinking about that.

I was thinking about loving Cooter.

And it wasn’t the first time I thought on this over the years.

And I already knew I never loved Cooter. Not in the beginning, not now. I loved the idea of him, the golden light that shone from his local fame, the promise he squandered, I was in love with that. I was young, I was stupid and I was blinded by false glory.

But I’d never loved my husband. Marrying Cooter had been the worst mistake I’d made in my life.

And I knew I did not at that moment nor would I anytime in the future mourn his passing. And I also knew somewhere deep inside me that I would not go to hell for that.

Because I’d been in hell for the seven years I spent married to Cooter Clementine.

So I’d done my time.

* * * * *

Two weeks, one day and sixteen hours later…

The phone rang.

How I heard it over the music, I did not know but I did.

Cooter hated my music. He never let me play it. But he played his and loud.

I turned down The Guess Who’s live version, kickass, thirteen plus minutes of “American Woman” and strode to the phone.

Memphis yapped.

“Quiet, baby,” I murmured.

Memphis wagged her tail.

I grinned at my dog.

She wagged her tail harder.

I grinned bigger.

Then I picked up the phone, beeped it on, put it to my ear and greeted, “Hello?”

“Hello, may I please speak to a Mrs. Kia Clementine?”

My grin became a smile.

I was keeping Cooter’s last name. His last name was awesome. It was the best thing he ever gave to me. Hell, it was the only decent thing he’d ever given me.

So I was keeping it.

“This is she,” I replied.

“Hello, this is Stacy from Biller General Insurance.”

My head cocked to the side in confusion and I said, “Hello.”

“This is just a courtesy call to inform you we’ve received the information from his employer that your husband has passed, we’ve sent the forms to you to complete and you should receive them in the mail within the next week. As soon as you complete and return them, we’ll process them as quickly as we can and you’ll receive your check in four to six weeks.”

I blinked at Memphis.

Memphis blinked back.

Then I asked, “What?”

“We’re very sorry for your loss and we understand this is a difficult time for you. It’s never easy handling paperwork in these times but the forms aren’t difficult to complete and the sooner they’re done, the sooner we can pay Mr. Clementine’s life insurance and you’ll have the financial security he clearly wished you to have. In preparation for that, while you’re waiting for the forms to arrive, you’ll need to see to getting a notarized copy of his death certificate.”

Say what?

Cooter wanted me to have financial security?

Heck, Cooter wanted me to have any security?

“I’m sorry, I’m not certain what you’re referring to,” I told her.

There was a moment of silence then, “Why, Mr. Clementine’s five million dollar life insurance policy. Eight months ago, he took one out on himself and you.”

I froze again, exactly like I did when I heard word Cooter was dead, head-to-toe, eyes huge.

Then I whispered, “Sorry?”

“Mr. Clementine’s five million dollar life insurance policy,” she answered.

I blinked at Memphis.

Memphis sat on her rump and blinked back.

Cooter didn’t let me handle anything, not the household bills, not the bank accounts, nothing. He even took my paycheck and gave me an allowance. He wasn’t just an ass**le; he was a dominating, control-freak ass**le.

“He took a policy out on me?” I asked my new best friend Stacy.

“Yes, at the same time he took his.”

“Was mine for five million dollars?” I asked.