Page 49 of Roses Are Dead
Her eyes went a little scary-dead as she studied me. “I’ll let you in on a little not-secret. My ex-husband, may he rot in Hell forever, used to beat my ass. I know that mark because I had one or two myself. Sometimes on my bare butt. Who did this?”
I swallowed. What could I say that would get her off this subject? I had a feeling if I lied, or tried to misdirect her, she’d send me home naked. And while that wasn’t the absolute worst thing that ever happened to me, it would be terrible enough that I hesitated.
“Well?”
“In a month, maybe two, it will be resolved.”
She glanced out the window. Through it, I could see the barn. “He ain’t roping my husband into anything, is he?”
That I could answer honestly, “No. I hope not.”
“He better not be.” She quickly changed the subject, handing me the coat back, but first adding a long-sleeved turtle-neck in a soft grey-black.
The yarn was softer than cashmere, and loosely woven. The neckline wasn’t strangling tight, either. I slipped it on and marveled at how good it felt. “This is amazing.”
“That’s hand wash only. Cold water. Lay flat to dry.”
I could see why. “What’s it made from?”
“Mulberry silk and alpaca. Got a friend in the yarn business who trades me supplies sometimes.” She pulled out a damask dress. It had a lace-up bodice that squashed my tits higher when I tried it on.
“I had one like this.” But not nearly as nice. “Store bought, of course.” I swished the skirt so it would flow outward. My old one didn’t flare like this one did. I felt like an evil queen in it. “This is beautiful.”
“Try on this, too.” She handed me a combination of tight black leather pants and a push up top.
“That’s not my style.”
“No, but it’s Bear’s. I want to see his eyes bug out of his head, just toss it on.”
“Toss? I might need a shoe horn.” I laughed, feeling much freer than I had in ages. On the heels of that, I wished Beth was here to make fun of my choices. An outfit in every color, as long as it’s black. She’d quip.
“Try it.”
I tugged on the pants and stuffed my boobs into the top. Betty Jo helped lace up the back. “How am I going to get out of this? I can’t breathe.”
“Stop bitching. Do you always wear your hair like that?” She tugged on the clamp that I’d pinned my braids with and the loops fell free.
“Holy shit. How long is your hair?”
The braids fell well below my ass. “Mid-calf.”
“You ever think about getting it cut?”
Never. But that was a lie. I thought about it almost every day I had to go through the ritual of detangling it, trimming the damaged ends, and braiding it again. The only times I let it flow loose were when I was working magic or getting it dry after a washing. Both were sacred times for me. “I’ve had it cut.”
Not voluntarily.
“Well, if you ever wanna donate to cancer victims, that’d probably make three wigs.”
I stared at her in shock.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Did she know about Beth?
Betty Jo frowned. “It ain’t nothing, and I can see that. But maybe I could have been a little more tactful with my words. Fin lost his best friend to cancer. I was there at the end. It’s tough business.”
I nodded. It certainly was.
