Read The Woman He Married Online
Authors: Julie Ford
The Woman He Married (5 page)
Not realizing that her voice had grown quite loud, Josie recoiled a bit when a very large man in suspenders and a short white beard appeared through a door behind the counter.
Why
is it that at some point in life every Southern man
resembles Colonel Sanders in one way or another?
“There’s no need to get personal, Miss,” the clerk said, suddenly sounding very business-like.
“Oh, this is going to get a lot more than personal,” Josie quietly threatened, her eyes narrowing.
“Now, now, there’s no need for all this fuss,” the bearded man said while waving his hands in the air. “What seems to be the problem?”
“This
customer
needs
food for ten, catered,
tonight!”
the
clerk said, obviously trying to sound professional, but his words came out flippant, at best.
Colonel Sanders said, “Oh
Darlin
’, we can’t do that. I don’t have the staff on hand to handle something that quick.” He sounded empathetic, but all Josie heard was another
No
.
“What if I pick it up and serve it myself?”
“Sorry
Darlin
’—doesn’t work that way.” There was
a finality
to his tone as he held his ground.
Josie just stood there a moment while the loss of her last option sank in. She wanted to reach across the counter, grab Colonel Sanders by the suspenders, and yell, “
Listen chicken man, I want food and I want it now—I don’t care how you do it—just so it gets done! And don’t call me
Darlin
!” She shuddered a little at how much her rage sounded like John.
As for the pimply-faced clerk, she simply wanted to slap him.
* * * *
Sitting in the parking lot, Josie slumped in her seat, trying to think as her frustration turned to hopelessness. Tears began pooling in the corners of her eyes.
“Why, God, today of all days?” she asked in a hoarse voice as she looked heavenwards.
She’d never been a religious woman, learning at an early age that you don’t have to believe in God, or even have a desire to become a better person, to attend weekly church services. Church was simply something you did, like scratching an itch or saying, “bless you” when someone sneezed. The hypocrisy of it all had always bothered her. But at the insistence of her husband,
“Good families attend church together every Sunday,”
John had dismissed her opinion as usual, and so Josie went to church “religiously” every week.
Wiping her tears, Josie looked up and allowed her blurry eyes to focus on something large and looming in the distance. As she did, it seemed the heavens opened up, and for a second, she thought she could hear the songs of angels as her mind started to formulate a plan.
Religious or not, at that very moment Josie was pretty sure there was a god, and that God wanted her to go to Costco.
Chapter 2
In her bare feet, Josie had shed her sweater and rolled up her sleeves while she finished fervently chopping fresh red onion for the celery sauce that would later be drizzled over the catfish. Looking around her warm yet functional kitchen, she saw that every granite countertop was littered with food, utensils, bottles, and platters.
Built in the 1970’s, the sizable one story she and John had purchased as newly-weds was located in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in
Birmingham
. For the past nine years they had literally been working their way from one room to another, redoing it a bit at a time—John doing most of the work himself. Josie, she was proud to admit, had handled the rest.
If there was one thing Southern women were better at than cooking, it was decorating. Her kitchen, with warm earthy yellow-gold walls and light mahogany cabinets, was one of her most favorite rooms in the house. From there, hardwood floors poured out through the hall, entry, formal dining, and into the great room. Furnished with large, brown faux suede couches and coordinating cloth chairs with patterns of rich burgundy, gold, brown, and sage green, the great room was comfortable, yet elegant. The main wall had floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves with a TV cabinet and a stone fireplace. The back wall was banked with windows and French doors, flanked with heavy drapes blending with the cloth of the chairs. Through the windows one could see out into the back yard, the in-ground pool and small pool house-
cum
guest house. Hardly ever utilized anymore—Josie remembered when she and John used to go out there to “be alone” from the kids. Those days seemed like a lifetime ago.
“What do you think of John’s campaign ad?” Gina asked, over the sound of the mixer vigorously whipping cream for the Red Velvet Cake. On the stove the gumbo was just starting to simmer. Gina had been rinsing, drying, and setting out wine glasses, champagne glasses, platters, and little sauce bowls for the appetizers.
She eyeballed Josie carefully.
“It’s definitely better than his opponent’s,” Josie said, thinking about how the man running against John had a campaign ad that consisted of him at the head of what looked like a lovely family dinner, “saying grace” with about six perfect children, a grandbaby, and his dutiful wife at the other end.
Nothing about his qualifications or experience, just a prayer.
Believe it or not, in the Bible-belt that would get him votes.
“I mean, what praying with your family has to do with being qualified to be a judge, I can’t imagine,” Josie said. Opening a bottle of white wine, she poured a little into the celery sauce and then some in one of the wine glasses before turning her attention to the Pimento Cheese—the pâté of the South.
“Thought you weren’t allowed?” Gina said, nodding toward the glass of wine.
“I am
not
an alcoholic,” Josie retorted defiantly, “just a lonely desperate housewife doing the best she can.” She took a long sip, hoping that as the alcohol entered her system, it would calm her nerves. “Besides, I’ve been true to my end of the bargain and haven’t had a drink in months,” she added with a look of indignation.
Josie motioned to another glass, offering Gina some as well. Gina moved one over so Josie could pour her some too.
Gina took a sip and then asked, “What about Valentine’s Day?”
“What about it?” Josie shrugged. “That was almost a year ago.”
“You bought every woman in that bar drinks and a dessert,” Gina reminded her.
“So?”
“So.
It was a singles bar—on Valentine’s. Most every person in the bar was a single woman.
Looking to get hammered.”
“I was feeling lonely. And every woman needs something sweet on Valentine’s Day.” Josie took another swig and turned away.
“Okay, what about when you disappeared in the convention center during that Republican thing, and they found you playing poker, inebriated, down in the basement with the Hispanic kitchen staff?”
Josie rolled her eyes.
Gina continued. “By the time John got to you, you had lost three thousand dollars and the mini-van to a bus boy named Juan Carlos.”
Josie laughed, snorting just a bit. “Yeah, John was fit to be tied,” she said, remembering the look on his face with a little too much gratification. “At least I finally got his attention,” she added.
“There are better ways of getting a man’s attention,” Gina said.
Twisting the top off a bottle of beer, Josie poured most of it into the gumbo and then drank the rest. After a shallow belch, she said, “Well, John left me alone. He was off somewhere paving the way for his own campaign,” she explained and then tried to justify her actions. “You try being locked in a room with two hundred republicans and
not
get smashed.”
“You
married
a republican,” Gina deadpanned.
“He’s different,” Josie said quietly—she wasn’t laughing anymore.
“He’s just
like
your father.”
Shocked by Gina’s candor, Josie looked up and saw that her best friend’s eyes were fixated on her. For a moment they just looked at one another, Gina clearly willing Josie to say something—anything to indicate that she was aware of what a mess her life had become. Josie looked away, removing the bowl of whipped cream from the blender. She didn’t want to talk about the judge. He’d passed nearly ten years ago, but the wounds she carried from living under his disapproving watch would always be raw.
Gina continued her interrogation. “And your birthday?” she asked with one hand on the counter, the other on her hip.
Getting annoyed with Gina because she wouldn’t lighten up, Josie sighed. “John forgot again. Could we just talk about something else?”
“The other times?”
Evidently Gina wasn’t willing to drop it just yet. “What about your kids?”
“They don’t know.”
“Did you? When you were their age?”
Josie couldn’t take it anymore. First, she married a man exactly like her father, and now she was turning into her mother.
“I don’t know. I really don’t remember. Can we change the subject?” Josie gave Gina a weak smile. “Please?”
“Fine.”
Gina turned her back to Josie. Opening the deli spirals, she began arranging them on one of the serving platters.
Josie both welcomed, and cursed, the silence. Thankful that Gina’s interrogation had taken a reprieve, she was now thinking about how she
did
remember
when her mother used to drink. How she hated the smell of alcohol on her breath. How isolated and alone she felt as a child when her mom was drinking. But Josie had been careful—she thought—to better hide her “problem” from her own kids.
“Okay—
So
, what’s
Montgomery
getting in return for his very generous contributions?” Gina asked nonchalantly.
Josie pursed her lips and glared into the back of her accuser. “Don’t know. What makes you think he’s getting anything?” She placed some dark chocolate squares into the microwave to melt before they could be mixed with evaporated milk and butter to later drizzle on the plates under the Red Velvet cake.
Spinning around, Gina faced Josie, eyes blazing. “Come
on,
Josie! You, of all people, know how these things work.”
Josie let out a groan. “I don’t know… I didn’t even know about that damn commercial, okay? Why are you doing this?” She fumbled through her cupboard of cooking liqueurs, knocking a few over, and when she couldn’t find what she was looking for she pulled out a bottle of
Kahlua
. Slamming the cabinet door shut, she dumped some into the chocolate mixture, now churning in the mixing bowl, before pouring a little into her wine glass.
The brown liquor gradually swirled down, muddying the color of the wine, slowly turning it to amber.
“Why are
you
? Why are you doing
all
this?” Gina asked, gesturing around the kitchen.
Josie didn’t respond right away. Instead, she began looking around her kitchen, overwhelmed by what she’d allowed John to bully her into. And, for the first time since her phone call to him this morning, she was wondering the same thing.
Gina’s right, why
am
I doing all this for a man who barely acknowledges my existence anymore?
Josie bit her lip to hold back the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t know what else to do.”
