you see Jan, be sure to tell her not to worry about it on my account."
Roz rose. "It was good to see you. I've just got to get back to work here."
"I want you to know I'll be thinking about you." Cissy got to her feet, gave Roz another air peck. "We've got to have lunch sometime soon, my treat."
"You and Hank have a good time in the Caymans."
"We will. I'm going to send you those brochures," she called over her shoulder as she walked out.
"You do that," Roz muttered.
She walked out the opposite way, furious with herself for being hurt and insulted. She knew better, knew it wasn't worth it, but still the score to her pride ached.
She started to turn into the propagation house, but veered off. In this mood she'd do more harm than good. Instead, she skirted around, headed into the woods that separated her private and personal domains, and took the long way home.
She didn't want to see anyone, speak to anyone, but there was David out in the yard, playing with Stella's boys and their dog.
The dog spotted her first, and with a few welcoming yips raced over to jump, and scrabble at her knees.
"Not now, Parker." She bent to scratch his ears. "Not a good time now."
"We're hunting buried treasure." Luke ran over. He wore a silly black beard hooked over his ears and hiding half his freckled face. "We have a map and everything."
"Treasure?"
"Uh-huh. I'm Blackbeard the pirate, and Gavin's Long John Silver. David's Captain Morgan. He says Captain Morgan can put a shine on a bad day. But I don't get it."
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