The Devil's Beating His Wife Read Online Free PDF Page B

have that about right, honey."
    "However, I don't think the guests would appreciate your unique culinary talents."
    "Don't be silly, I plan on hiring a cook for the night." She pinched my chin, then grabbed my face and kissed my cheek. "I'm so glad to have my boy back and alive."
    "Get your hands off of him," said a voice from the doorway. "He's too old to be smothered."
    Mother rolled her eyes and glanced around me. "That girl is not here, Carver. You tell me you didn't bring that girl here."
    "That girl?" Carver asked, stepping forward to kiss Mother's cheek. "As in my wife? You know, one day I hope you two manage to work out your differences. She simply adores you, Mother. Just like we all do."
    Mother stuck her nose in the air and huffed loudly.
    Carver's lips puckered and his dark blue eyes glinted with mischief. "Well, well, well. My big brother, the hero, has returned to his adoring mama. I heard you snuck in last night. I had to hear it through the grapevine that you've returned."
    I knew there must have been confusion on my face when I glanced in Mother's direction. She arched an eyebrow and said nothing. I cleared my throat and shifted my gaze back to Carver.
    "I've been back since Saturday evening. I thought Mother told you, and you were staying away for some reason."
    "But it's Tuesday." He shot Mother an angry glance. "I didn't get no phone call."
    Mother fidgeted. Smoothing down the front of her green dress, she lifted her chin and glared at Carver. "I called, but that girl answered. So I hung up the phone."
    "Mother," I said, disbelief in my voice.
    Carver said nothing, but I could see the annoyance in his eyes. He nodded, accepting our mother's words. She'd rather keep him ignorant than inform his wife of any news. Carver's mouth tightened as he placed his arm around my shoulders and walked me out of the kitchen.
    "Don't you worry none, big brother," he said. "I'm here to save you."
    "Save me from what?" I asked, placing my own arm around his shoulders.
    He tapped my chest and nodded towards Mother, who was scampering behind us. "The hen, of course."
    Mother was once again on her tiptoes, trying to glance over our backs. I could hear her huffing with displeasure. "I hope you are referring to your father."
    Carver stopped and turned to face her. "Since when has a man ever been likened to a hen?"
    The shock stopped her in her place. An exasperated shriek crawled up her throat as she stomped her foot down on Carver's. He hopped back and pretended to be injured. He laughed and resumed his shuffle out of the house. I gave Mother a brief salute before I followed Carver.
    Mother shouted from the porch, "Please don't be mad! You know how much I dislike that girl!"
    "Her name is Mary-Alice, Mother, and she's my wife," Carver called out over his shoulder.
    I climbed into Carver's truck. He glanced back towards the house and waved at our mother. "I'll bring him back well-fed. I'd invite you, but as I'm taking him to my house.... Well, you understand."
    She stiffened her spine, spun on her heel, and grabbed the screen door. Pulling it open with frustration, she stomped back into the house. The door banged loudly on its hinges. I cringed. Carver chuckled.
    Mother would quickly recover. In a few minutes, she'd be helping herself to Father's favorite gin. That had always been her preferred breakfast, anyway.
    Carver pulled out of the yard and turned onto the county road that led to his house. He'd been lucky to find a house not that far from our parents, but that had been a negative rather than a positive for Mother. She'd much rather that girl be on the far side of the state, miles away from our family.
    Mother had never warmed to Mary-Alice. From the moment Carver had invited her over for dinner and introduced her to the family, Mother had been open with her dislike. Mary-Alice was the daughter of a poor cotton farmer who was known for drinking away any profits the family might have seen. Eight years ago, her mother had run