She squeezes me to her side. “Mhmm. Home sweet home.”
* * *
I’d liketo claim that there is nothing of me inside the house, but I can’t. There are pictures on the mantle of Jamie and me at our wedding, of me holding a chicken in the front yard. I pick up one photo, pasted in a rustic wooden frame.
“What’s this?” I hold it out to her. She and I are standing in front of a tent.
Out of all the things I’ve seen today, only that tent feels right to me.
“Our honeymoon. Down by the river.” A bright red blush covers her cheeks and spreads down her neck. I lift an eyebrow and set the picture back on the wood mantle.
I wonder what happened on our honeymoon to make her blush so much. I can only imagine. Literally. I can only imagine, since I don’t remember being intimate with this woman. Come to think of it, it’s incredibly strange to be standing next to a woman I’ve slept with at least enough times to make three kids and not remember a second of it. She’s seen me naked. I’ve seen her naked. We’ve made love. And I can’t remember it. And I certainly don’t feel like doing it again.
I look her over.
Frizzy red hair. Freckles. Too skinny. Too flat-chested. Wide mouth. Nothing, not a spark of attraction.
“How’d we end up married?” I narrow my eyes.
If possible, her blush deepens. “You know. The usual way.”
“Actually, I don’t know. Enlighten me.”
Gran stomps into the room. “You came to the mountain. Took advantage of my granddaughter and then I remedied the situation. How else?”
Jamie coughs into her hand and turns her head away.
Ah. I see.
Apparently Jamie and I had sex, she conceived, and that was that. Makes sense. No wonder I don’t feel any attraction. It was a shotgun wedding.
“Why don’t I wear a wedding ring?” I stare at my hand. There’s not even a tan line on my ring finger.
Jamie sticks her chin in the air and frowns at me. “Some men don’t.”
I notice she has a dull gold band on her left ring finger.
I shrug and Grandma stomps out of the living room, back to the kitchen, and starts banging pots and pans. She shouts at us, “I’m making poke sallet and cornpone.”
What the…?
“Do I have any family?” I’m suddenly desperate to get out of here. To find anywhere else I can stay, anyone else I can talk to.
“Parents? A sister? A…brother?” I feel like I have a brother.
“Well…” Jamie rocks back on her heels and looks at the ceiling.
The smell of bacon frying drifts out of the kitchen.
“Your ma.”
I lean forward. “Yes?”
“She died a few years ago. She was a bearded lady in the circus, so we didn’t see her much.”
What?
Jamie shrugs apologetically. “You never knew your dad. Your ma claimed he was a circus groupie and that he died when an elephant sat on him.” She pats my arm. “I’m sorry.”