She tried to jam the hoe handle down on his foot, but Butch had worked outside all his life, and his strength came from lifting heavy bales of hay, chopping wood, and running his hog farm, and to that end, she thought he smelled exactly like a hog pen. He yanked the tool out of her hand and threw it off to the side. He wrapped his arms around her while she pushed against his shoulders, but he remained unperturbed.
“Something tells me none of it won’t set right with him if he was to know.”
She averted her face and said, “You’ve shown your real side here, Butch.”
“What I want, it ain’t unreasonable, not if you think about it.”
“Some friend you turned out to be!”
She reached up to grab hold of his hair, aiming to pull as hard as she could, when he unexpectedly let her go. She was set to give him a tongue-lashing until she saw the reason he’d released her. The letter had fluttered to the ground and lay between them.
Butch said, “Well now. What do we got here?”
She tried to grab it, but Butch was quicker. He snatched it up and twisted around, presenting his back to her. She tried to reach around him, but he kept turning away. In the meantime, he’d flipped the single sheet open. She knew what it said by heart.
He cocked his head. “Dang. Appears ole Warren might could’ve forgot something real important with that will a his. Oops. Looks like Eugene needs me here too.”
Oh, but he infuriated her. This was none of his business. He handed the letter back, and she crammed it back into her apron pocket. Butch tipped back on his heels and looked down his nose at her.
He said, “Appears we’re gonna have to hurry.”
Rae Lynn said, “You’re crazy if you think that’s ever going to happen.”
Butch said, “It ain’t crazy. Only thing crazy is how I feel about you, Rae Lynn. Always have, but out of respect for Warren, I kept it to myself. Well. I might’ve let it slip now and then. But, look a here, all I’m saying is you do it the once, and I’ll keep my promise. I won’t say a word. Come on, now, honey. I’ll be gentle. I won’t harm you atall. I’ll take a hold of you real soft-like and . . .”
Rae Lynn headed for the house.
Butch called out and said, “All right. All right. I’ll give you a bit more time to think on it. I can be generous. You’ll come to your senses. It don’t matter where it happens. We can do it right here in the yard, for all I care. Either I get what I’m wanting, or I’m telling him what happened out here. Him being a lawyer and all, well, can’t imagine jail life would suit you none.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him in the hopes he was leaving, and when she did, he got the wrong message.
He grinned, and he said, “Now that’s more like it.”
She ran inside and rushed to the bedroom. The front screen door banged. He was inside.
He called out, “Yoo-hoo! Where are you? I bet I know. You’re in that bedroom already perched on the bed. Go on and take that dress off, ’cause here I come!”
She turned and faced the doorway. Butch appeared and at the sight of the pistol clenched in her hands, his face sagged in the same sad manner as an old bloodhound.
He said, “Well, darn, Rae Lynn. Being with me, is it that bad?”
She raised the weapon level to his chest. He backed up, and she followed him.
“Woman, you gone plumb nutty.”
She said, “Get outta my house.”
He said, “Ain’t gonna be yours for long. I’ll surely let him know what you done now! And here I was thinking of offering you somewheres to stay!” Rae Lynn cocked it, and he reversed course, yelling, “You gone off your rocker!”
He bolted for his truck and took off down the path, leaving a trail of dust and a bad taste in her mouth. She went out into the yard and waited, thinking he might come back. When some time had passed, and she was sure he was gone for good, she dragged the mattress from the bedroom into the yard. It had a horrible stain down the side of it when Warren had done what he’d done, and so she’d been sleeping on the couch. She soaked it with turpentine and tossed a match on it, then monitored the flames, raking back debris so nothing was around it to catch fire. She watched the flames dance over the darkened patches of dried blood, consuming it. Burning their marriage bed was purifying in a way she couldn’t describe, as if by doing this, she was also burning the memories of what happened.
That night as she laid on the couch, clutching the pistol and the pillow Warren had used, and she’d thought to keep because it still smelled of him, she talked as if he was there instead of saying her prayers.