Howard Franklin typed in the bit of info into his computer and hit Send, then leaned back in his chair and rubbed his belly. He was hungry and there wasn’t a leftover in the house. It was almost time for Willa Dean to come home from her luncheon. Maybe she would bring leftovers, which she sometimes did.
He didn’t know what was going on with her, but he guessed it had something to do with Patty June Clymer. Every man in town knew the women were up in arms on behalf of the preacher’s wife, and the men were all treading easy, hoping the mass indignation soon passed.
He liked his life. He liked selling insurance, and he liked being married to Willa Dean. He had a few fantasies on the side that he indulged in now and then, but they were harmless. Certainly nothing like what Conrad Clymer had done. Still, he lived with a measure of both fear and guilt that Willa Dean might find out.
He got up to get himself a snack and, as he did, heard the front door slam. Willa Dean must be home. He walked out into the hall to meet her, but she sailed right past him, carrying her things into the kitchen. He followed, talking as he went.
“So how did the luncheon go? Did everyone make up and play nice?”
Willa Dean set her dirty dishes in the sink and then turned on him like a scalded cat.
“You’re a fine one to talk about makeup and play acting.”
The moment she said it, she wished she could take it back, but it was too late. She saw the shock on his face, and then fear.
“What do you mean?”
She sighed. His voice was shaking. Poor Harold. But then her instinct for survival kicked in. Poor Willa Dean, too.
“Do you really want to have this conversation?” she asked.
Harold felt sick. She knew! He didn’t know how it had happened, but she knew, which suddenly explained the move into the spare bedroom.
“Are you going to divorce me, too?” he whispered.
“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t have moved my things. You can rest assured your secret is safe. I don’t want anyone knowing this any more than you do.”
“I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just something I like to do now and then.”
“Yes, well, I bought a vibrator. If you hear it buzzing in my bedroom, you will know I, too, am enjoying a thing I like to do now and then. You will also leave my makeup and underwear the hell alone. It costs a fortune. If you want to play dress up, buy your own. Do you hear me, Harold Wayne?”
He nodded.
“I’m sorry, Willa Dean. It’s nothing against you. I love you.”
She sighed. “I suppose that you do. Unfortunately, I may never get over the sight of your fat butt in my panties.”
“Oh lord,” he muttered, and sat down with a thump. “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”
She wanted to stay angry, but she was beginning to feel sorry for him.
“Not everything,” she said. “I’m still here. We’ll just have to see how it goes. Oddly enough, there is a bit of good that has come out of all this.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“I don’t have to pretend I’m done having sex when you are anymore. That vibrator lasts as long as I do, which is a hell of a lot longer than your pitiful forty-five seconds.”
He glared. “You never complained before.”
“That’s because you weigh two hundred and forty-five pounds and I couldn’t breathe.”
“Well seriously, Willa Dean. This is a hell of a time to be complaining. We’ve been married for twenty-three years and you never said a word.”
“Look at it this way, Harold. You had twenty-three years of wedded bliss before I blew your cover, so the next twenty-three are mine. We’re married. I’ll keep your secret and you can keep mine.”
His thoughts were racing. She hadn’t blown her top and she was still here. It was way better than he would have imagined.
“I guess I can live with that,” he mumbled.
“Good. I’m going to change clothes and then get back to the agency.”
“Did you bring any leftovers?”
“No.”
“I guess I could heat up a can of soup.”
“Look at it this way, Harold. You can do anything you want to now, so knock yourself out. I’m going back to work.”
He watched her stride out of the kitchen with her chin up and her shoulders back. He’d escaped public shame by less than a pubic hair and he knew it. The next time he went into Savannah he’d do a little shopping, something more in his size and style. In the meantime, he could certainly refrain from indulging himself in his little fantasies until the waters had calmed, so to speak.
* * *
The following Tuesday, Ruby came in extra early to open The Curl Up and Dye. The beginning of her workweek wasn’t usually all that busy, but she had four haircuts this morning and a root touch-up and a permanent this afternoon. It made her back ache just thinking about how long she would be on her feet.
She was taking a load of towels out of the dryer when she caught movement out on the street. Alma Button was driving a new car. She knew the story behind the requests for new hairdos and new jewelry showing up on her customers’ hands and wondered what Alma’s husband had done that warranted buying Alma a new car. Whatever it was, Ruby just hoped none of the ramifications of their problems leaked into The Curl Up and Dye. She had enough on her hands without turning her shop into a version of The Jerry Springer Show.
The end