“Yes, I am,” she said, “I’ve got plans for all my Friday and Saturday nights, sir.”
She’d hoped the deferential “sir” might end this line of conversation, but there was open hostility in Beau’s voice when he said, “Barely divorced, just moved back to Alabama, and you’ve already met somebody new?”
She didn’t answer, but apparently her silence was answer enough for him.
He shook his head. “Should’ve known. Same old Josie, love ‘em and leave ‘em with a trail of wrecked hearts behind you. I guess that ex-husband of yours never stood a chance. Tell this new guy good luck.”
Josie’s brain just about exploded with righteous indignation. He thought she was the love ‘em and leave ‘em type? He had no idea what she had endured while he was working his way through a considerable number of groupies if the tabloids were to be believed. He didn’t know her! He didn’t know her life! He didn’t—
She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She couldn’t answer Beau’s accusation with any of the retorts that were primed on the tip of her tongue without risking her job, she reminded herself.
“I’ll just be going now,” she said in as pleasant a tone as she could manage. Heat, electricity, hot water, she chanted in her head as she left the room.
And she would have kept on chanting it, but just as she got to the stairs, she heard a crash.
She came running back to the room, thinking Beau had fallen trying to get around by himself. But when she re-entered, she found him sitting at a now empty table, and the tray of food she’d made flipped over on the floor.
“What happened?” she asked him.
“Clean it up,” he said between clenched teeth. “And bring me some more.”
Josie looked at the scene in horror. There was chili and sour cream all over the carpet. She’d have to drag out the steam cleaner if she didn’t want it to stain or smell like milk gone bad in here.
He must have taken her horrified silence for defiance, because he bit out again, “If you want to keep this job, clean it up.”
A chill ran down her back as a vision of Wayne pouring a glass of expired orange juice onto the kitchen floor, right in front of her feet, came back to her.
“I work hard every day to put food on our table and keep this roof over our heads and this is how you repay me? Clean it up. Every drop, you ungrateful bitch!”
Josie bit her lip and bent down to pick up as much of the scattered food as she could with the cloth napkin Beau had also thrown on the ground.
She was going to be late for her Ruth’s House shift now. And Beau just sat there, like a king on his throne, while she cleaned up his mess.
She bit her lip harder. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, she told herself, even as tears pooled in her eyes.
It wasn’t really about the mess. She didn’t care about that. It was the fact that Beau had obviously done it on purpose. Wayne had done the exact same thing, purposefully creating messes whenever something wasn’t up to his standards, standards he seemed to change every other week to keep Josie on her toes.
She could barely make her fingers work, she was shaking so hard with anger, but somehow she was able to get most of the mess cleared away with the napkin and a towel from Beau’s bathroom. Then she went back downstairs, ladled out more chili for him, and brought it back upstairs.
But when she came back in with the unwieldy steam cleaner and started it up, he said, “I don’t want to hear that while I’m eating. You can wait until after I’m done.”
Josie looked at the antique brass clock on the wall. She was supposed to be arriving for her shift at Ruth’s House in less than 15 minutes. But from the leisurely way Beau was spooning the chili into his mouth, she knew there was no way she’d make it within even a half hour of that.
She called Sam from outside his door. “Hi, Sam, it’s me.”
“Hey, girl,” Sam said. “Please tell me you’re on your way. The Crimson Tide lost and girl, why, why, why?”
Josie immediately understood what Sam was trying to say. The Crimson Tide was the nickname for the University of Alabama’s football team, and it was a well-documented fact that domestic violence incidents went up whenever a popular local team lost. Her thoughts turned instantly to the Crimson Tide alum who was currently making her life hell and expelled a frustrated breath. “I’m stuck at work. I’m sorry. But I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“No, I know you’ve got to make your money, honey. Take your time.”
“Believe me, I wish I was there with you instead.”
“Don’t worry, all the domestic violence victims will still be here waiting for you,” Sam said with a laugh. “Now go on, take care of your business. I love you, sweetie.”
“I love you, too.”
She hung up with a sigh. Then she waited for her Beau to finish his dinner, her heart burning with anger.
CHAPTER 6
ON SATURDAY JOSIE SPENT MOST OF HER LUNCH HOUR on the desktop in the Prescott’s wood-paneled study, looking up new grants for Ruth’s House and researching her education options. She decided returning to UAB would be her best bet. She only needed one more packed semester worth of college credits to finish her bachelor’s and improve her chances of never, ever having to work as the Prescott housekeeper again. But even if she saved every penny she made over the next few months, it still wouldn’t be enough to pay for her remaining credits and the trailer’s utilities.
College, as it turned out, was prohibitively expensive when you weren’t a bright, shiny, straight-A honor student with all the potential in the world. There weren’t nearly as many scholarships available to a grown woman who had wasted her twenties on a bad marriage.
But when her lunch hour had come and gone, and she still hadn’t figured out how to raise enough money to return to UAB any time in the near future, she decided to clear her mind with a trip to the grocery store to pick up healthier food options based on the recipes in the book Mac had given her that morning.
Gordon’s was still the only grocery store in the affluent suburb. It had been there under the same ownership as long as Josie could remember and it still conducted business the old-fashioned way. The Prescotts had an account there, so there was no need to use the credit card Mrs. Prescott had authorized her accountant mail to Josie for household expenses. But it also didn’t carry all of the healthy staples on her list, which meant some guesswork on Josie’s part.