Page 47 of The Woman Left Behind

I lay in bed, mentally scanned my inventory of food, decided on a menu and also decided, if I was going to bake bread, I needed to get going.

This was when my phone vibrated.

I looked down at it, expecting Ronnie or one of the girls.

It was an unknown caller.

With all that was going on, I’d been picking up the unknown calls, just in case. Of course, this meant I got a lot of marketers and other people whose sad job it was to waste your time and annoy you.

I couldn’t imagine, if there was news about Mom and Dad, Harry wouldn’t intercept it and give it to me himself.

But you never knew.

So I braced and took the call.

“Hello?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

I shot to sitting in bed.

“Willie?” I whispered.

“Yeah, it’s Willie, your fucking husband,” he clipped.

“I—”

“You’re dating a cop?”

“Willie—”

“We’re a thing, Lillian. We’re the thing.”

I stared unseeing at my bedclothes because…

Was he insane?

“We’re divorced,” I snapped.

“Not my doing. Hello, woman. I did everything I could to stop your ass from pulling that off.”

Oh my God!

“We were together for six months,” I reminded him.

“Also not my doing.”

“Yeah, because I kicked you out,” I bit off.

“And again, not my doing,” he gritted.

“You’ve been married twice since.”

“Keeping tabs on me?” he drawled.

Lord!

“Leave me alone, Willie,” I demanded. “We’re over. We’ve been over for a decade and a half. We’re so over, you can’t describe it as over, because we didn’t even begin.”

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