Heaven and Hell (2 page)

And now, with him on my doorstep, he looked
all those things but something else too.

I opened the door, smiled and whispered,
“Hey, Ozzie.”

At my whisper, which was pretty much my
normal tone, I was cautious with everything including the volume of
my voice, Ozzie did a mini-flinch.

I had known Ozzie as Sheriff for years and
Ozzie knew everyone in that town for years too, including me and he
knew me pretty well considering he was a hunting buddy of my Dad’s.
He’d known me since I was a little girl. He knew, ten years ago, I
didn’t whisper. And I suspected he knew why I did it now.

“Kia, darlin’, can I come in?” he asked, his
tone was also quiet, though not a whisper. And it was gentle. Then
again, it was always a form of gentle. That was Ozzie. He was
Sheriff but he was a gentle man.

I loved Ozzie. The whole town did.

“Sure,” I replied, pushing out the screen
door and Memphis moved instantly, yapping and jumping around
Ozzie’s ankles in a tizzy of excitement but, unless she was
sleeping or snuggling, she was usually always in a tizzy of
excitement.

This was because Memphis’s world was golden.
She loved her Daddy. Her Daddy got her the best food money could
buy. Her Daddy gave her table scraps. Her Daddy showered her with
affection. Her Daddy bought her new toys and chews all the time.
Her Daddy liberally gave her treats. Her Daddy let her sleep in our
bed, right in the middle, stretched sideways so I was nearly
falling off my side. Her Daddy let her poo anywhere in the yard,
knowing I’d clean it up. Her Daddy often had his buds over and let
them shower her with affection.

Memphis loved company as much as she
generally loved life. So now Memphis was in throes of delight.

I thought this as my heart kept racing,
faster and faster. Soon, my body would need to move, sprint through
town to keep up or it’d fly out of my chest.

“Is everything okay?” I asked Ozzie and he
studied me.

“Maybe we should go sit down in your living
room,” he suggested and it was my turn to study him but my heart
only raced faster.

Then I nodded and moved, leading the way to
the living room. I threw out an arm to the furniture there and
Memphis did a little twirl, waiting for one of us to be seated so
she could jump on one of our laps and be adorable.

“Please, Kia, sit,” Ozzie muttered, I
studied him again, took in a deep breath and sat on the edge of the
couch.

Ozzie sat in an armchair facing me, also on
the edge.

Memphis jumped into his lap.

Ozzie started petting the dog but he did
this distractedly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Ozzie,” I whispered, my heart beating so
fast I could feel it in my throat.

“You know Milo Cloverfield, darlin’?” he
asked.

Oh God.

Oh God.

I knew where this was headed because I not
only knew Milo Cloverfield (because everyone knew Milo), I knew who
he was married to.

“Yes,” I answered and it was less than a
whisper. It was a breath.

Ozzie held my eyes. Then he closed his
tight. Then he turned his head away and my eyes dropped at a
movement I caught. I saw that he was petting Memphis with one hand;
the other one had formed a fist.

My gaze shot back to his when I sensed his
head turning again and I held my breath.

“Honey, I hate to tell you all this but I’ll
go fast, get it done, all right?”

I nodded, let out my breath then sucked it
in again.

Memphis yapped, finally feeling the vibe
slice into her cotton candy world.

Ozzie ignored the dog and got down to
it.

“I’m sorry to say, darlin’, that Coot was
seein’ Vanessa Cloverfield on the sly.”

I knew it.

I
knew
it.

My husband was a sick bastard but now I knew
just how sick. No wonder he got off on sex these days like he did.
He was screwing Vanessa then coming home and screwing me.

The big man.

The head cheese.

He hadn’t been that in
years
and he
was loving it.

God, what a dick!

I let my breath out, clenched my teeth and
wondered when I would be able to walk out of high school.

Jeez, Cooter was an asshole, he was washed
up, he was out-of-shape and still, stupid, silly, jealous, grasping
Vanessa Lockhart Cloverfield clearly stopped at nothing to get
him.

Well, she could have him.

I just needed to figure out how to give him
to her. I’d tried leaving six times. I’d failed. And the way I
failed, Cooter finally taught me not to try again.

But fuck this shit.

“Kia,” Ozzie called and I focused on
him.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Honey, Milo found out.”

Uh-oh.

Milo was a hothead, everyone knew that.

“And?” I whispered.

“And, he went to the Heartmeadow Motel with
his shotgun and, Kia, honey,” he paused, pulled in breath and
finished, “he used it.”

My body froze, every inch of it including my
eyes which were wide open.

“Coot’s dead, darlin’,” Ozzie whispered and
that was when I started hyperventilating.

Then I breathed, “What?”

“Coot’s dead. Milo shot him, clocked Vanessa
with the butt of his gun and then called it in himself.”

That was…

It was…

“That’s
crazy,
” I said softly. “Why
would Milo do that?”

“’Cause he’s got a short fuse, he loves his
wife, he couldn’t bear the idea of her steppin’ out on him and he
lost it. He also ain’t too smart but he’s smart enough to know he
ain’t so he didn’t bother runnin’ ‘cause he knows he’ll be
caught.”

I had no reply to this. Any of it.

I couldn’t think.

I could barely breathe.

Ozzie stared at me.

Then he called, “Kia?”

I blinked and my body started.

Then it hit me what he said.

Milo Cloverfield, who was normally a pretty
fun-loving guy, good to have around, good for a laugh but
definitely he could lose it, had shot my husband dead with a
shotgun.

“Where?” I suddenly blurted.

“Pardon?” Ozzie asked.

“Where did Milo shoot him?” I asked and
Ozzie’s stare got more intense.

“At the motel,” Ozzie answered and I shook
my head.

“No, I mean, where on his body?”

That’s when his face closed down and he said
quietly, “Honey, not sure –”

“Where, Ozzie?”

Ozzie held my eyes. Then he sighed. Then he
said, still talking quietly, “Got him one side of the head.”

Closed casket then.

“Kia, you all right?” Ozzie asked.

Was I all right?

I thought about it.

I sat in my living room with furniture
Cooter picked and carpeting Cooter picked in a house Cooter picked
in a subdivision Cooter picked with Ozzie sitting in an armchair
petting a strangely quiet but watchful (and her eyes were on me)
dog that Cooter picked, none of which I liked, (except the dog but
only secretly) and I thought about this.

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 asshole; he
was a dominating, control-freak asshole.

“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.

Another moment of hesitation then, “No,
yours is for ten.”

I blinked yet again at Memphis.

Memphis got up on all her paws and
yapped.

That bastard.

That bastard!

Gossip had run rampant since Milo blew half
of Cooter’s head off and it was so rampant, it was impossible to
keep myself shielded from it.

Not that I cared, I just was trying to move
on. Cooter was in the ground. Milo was in jail. Vanessa had
sequestered herself behind closed curtains. And I was making plans
for the future.

My house was already on the market. My
salary didn’t cover the mortgage but, upon Cooter’s death (or, not
long after, his boss didn’t mess around because his boss was a good
guy), his pension was released to me and even though the government
took their whack, Cooter’s pension was still a whack. I was good
until the house sold and we’d been living there for seven years.
The market wasn’t great but his folks and my folks had given us a
decent down payment. My friend Paula was my real estate agent and
she said I had equity in it and would make a tidy profit in order
to downsize to a condo or something more within my budget.

I was already planning my yard sale.
Everything must go. I was going to buy all new. I just hoped that
the house sold relatively quickly before my living expenses bit
into Cooter’s pension too much because I wanted nice stuff, I also
wanted a fabulous vacation (something Cooter never took me on) and
further, I wanted an entire new wardrobe that
I
picked.