The Woman He Married Read Online Free PDF Page B

him.
    * * * *
    Sitting in the parking lot, Josie slumped in her seat, trying to think as her frustration turned to hopelessness. Tears began pooling in the corners of her eyes.
    “Why, God, today of all days?” she asked in a hoarse voice as she looked heavenwards.
    She’d never been a religious woman, learning at an early age that you don’t have to believe in God, or even have a desire to become a better person, to attend weekly church services. Church was simply something you did, like scratching an itch or saying, “bless you” when someone sneezed. The hypocrisy of it all had always bothered her. But at the insistence of her husband, “Good families attend church together every Sunday,” John had dismissed her opinion as usual, and so Josie went to church “religiously” every week.
    Wiping her tears, Josie looked up and allowed her blurry eyes to focus on something large and looming in the distance. As she did, it seemed the heavens opened up, and for a second, she thought she could hear the songs of angels as her mind started to formulate a plan.
    Religious or not, at that very moment Josie was pretty sure there was a god, and that God wanted her to go to Costco.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 2
     
    In her bare feet, Josie had shed her sweater and rolled up her sleeves while she finished fervently chopping fresh red onion for the celery sauce that would later be drizzled over the catfish. Looking around her warm yet functional kitchen, she saw that every granite countertop was littered with food, utensils, bottles, and platters.
    Built in the 1970’s, the sizable one story she and John had purchased as newly-weds was located in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Birmingham . For the past nine years they had literally been working their way from one room to another, redoing it a bit at a time—John doing most of the work himself. Josie, she was proud to admit, had handled the rest.
    If there was one thing Southern women were better at than cooking, it was decorating. Her kitchen, with warm earthy yellow-gold walls and light mahogany cabinets, was one of her most favorite rooms in the house. From there, hardwood floors poured out through the hall, entry, formal dining, and into the great room. Furnished with large, brown faux suede couches and coordinating cloth chairs with patterns of rich burgundy, gold, brown, and sage green, the great room was comfortable, yet elegant. The main wall had floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves with a TV cabinet and a stone fireplace. The back wall was banked with windows and French doors, flanked with heavy drapes blending with the cloth of the chairs. Through the windows one could see out into the back yard, the in-ground pool and small pool house- cum guest house. Hardly ever utilized anymore—Josie remembered when she and John used to go out there to “be alone” from the kids. Those days seemed like a lifetime ago.
    “What do you think of John’s campaign ad?” Gina asked, over the sound of the mixer vigorously whipping cream for the Red Velvet Cake. On the stove the gumbo was just starting to simmer. Gina had been rinsing, drying, and setting out wine glasses, champagne glasses, platters, and little sauce bowls for the appetizers.
    She eyeballed Josie carefully.
    “It’s definitely better than his opponent’s,” Josie said, thinking about how the man running against John had a campaign ad that consisted of him at the head of what looked like a lovely family dinner, “saying grace” with about six perfect children, a grandbaby, and his dutiful wife at the other end. Nothing about his qualifications or experience, just a prayer. Believe it or not, in the Bible-belt that would get him votes.
    “I mean, what praying with your family has to do with being qualified to be a judge, I can’t imagine,” Josie said. Opening a bottle of white wine, she poured a little into the celery sauce and then some in one of the wine glasses before turning her