She smiled, ruffled the boy's hair as she had the dog's fur. She could use a belt of Captain Morgan herself, she decided. A double. "What's the treasure?"
"It's a surprise, but David - Captain Morgan says if we scallywags don't find it, we have to walk the plank. "
She looked over at Gavin, who was hobbling around with a broomstick strapped to his leg. And David, sporting a black eyepatch and a big plumed hat he must have dug out of his costume party bag.
"Then you'd better go on back and find it. "
"Don't you wanna play?"
"Not right now, sugar. "
"Better find my pieces of eight," David said as he came over, "or I'll hang you from the highest yardarm. "
With an un-piratelike squeal, Luke scrambled off to count off more paces from the map with his brother.
"What's wrong, honey?"
"Nothing. " Roz shook her head. "Little headache, came home early. I hope to God you didn't actually bury something. I'd hate to fire you. "
"New PlayStation game, up in the crook of the lowest branch of that sycamore. "
"You're a treasure, Captain Morgan. "
"One in a million. I know that face. " He lifted a hand to it. "It'd pass most anybody, but not me. What's upset you, and what the hell are you doing walking all that way without a jacket?"
"I forgot it, and I do have a headache. Brought on by some foolishness Cissy Pratt was obliged to carry over to me. "
"One of these days her flapping tongue's going to wrap around her own throat. " He flipped up his eye patch. "And when she's in the funeral home, I'm going in and dressing her in an outdated, off-the-rack outfit from Wal-Mart. Polyester. "
It brought on a half smile. "That's cruel. "
"Come on inside. I'm going to fix us a batch of my infamous martinis. You can tell me all about it, then we'll trash the bitch. "
"As entertaining as that sounds, I think what I need is a couple of aspirin and a twenty-minute nap. And we both know you can't disappoint those boys. Go on now, Captain. " She kissed his cheek. "Shiver some timbers. "
She went inside, directly upstairs. She took the self-prescribed aspirin, then stretched out on her bed.
How long, she wondered, how long was the albatross of that joke of a marriage going to lay across her neck? How many times would it flap right up and slap her in the face?
So much for her superstitious hope that by letting the fifteen thousand dollars she'd discovered he'd nipped out of her account slide, she would have paid the debt, balanced the scales of the mistake.
Well, the money was gone, and no use regretting that foolish decision. The marriage had happened, and no point punishing herself for it.
Sooner or later he'd slip again, screw the wrong woman, bilk the wrong man, and he'd slither out of Memphis, out of her circle.
Eventually people would find something and someone else to talk about. They always did.
Imagine him being able to convince anyone that she'd attacked him - and in her own home. Then again, he did play the injured party well, and was the most accomplished liar she'd ever known.
She could not, and would not, defend herself on any level. Doing so would just feed the beast. She would do what she had always done. Remove herself, physically and emotionally, from the storm of talk.
She'd indulge in this brief sulk - she wasn't perfect, after all. Then she'd get back to her life, and live it as she'd always done.
Exactly as she chose.
She closed her eyes. She didn't expect to sleep, but she drifted a bit in that half-state she often found more soothing.
And while she drifted, she sat on the bench in her own shade garden, basking in the late-spring breeze, breathing in the perfumes it had floating on the air.