The Last Original Wife by Dorothea Benton Frank Page B

zillions!”
    â€œLike Pet Rocks and Chia Pets.”
    â€œExactly. So how long can you stay anyway?”
    Harlan eyeballed my luggage and then looked at me with a semianxious expression that said, Just when are you going to tell me what’s going on here?
    â€œI’m not sure. Why don’t we discuss that over a cold glass of something?”
    â€œPerfect! I’ll see you in a few. Maybe you’ll stay here while I’m in Italy?”
    â€œMaybe I will!”
    And he was gone, the quick and sure-footed sounds of his shoes on the steps fading until they disappeared.
    I opened my first bag and then the closet door. Fortunately, there were plenty of empty hangers, and soon I had emptied the first bag and then the other. All that was left to do was move my toiletries into the bathroom. Harlan had put out beautiful thick white towels for me, and a plush matching robe hung on the hook behind the door. On the little table next to the sink was a cut glass tumbler and pretty containers of cotton swabs, cotton balls, and dental floss picks. The bathtub was wide and deep, and the thought of climbing in for a good long soak seemed like a dream. I picked up the bar of bath soap and inhaled. Verbena. My favorite. Every woman should have such a thoughtful brother, especially one you could run to in times of trouble.
    I ran my brush through my hair and then I wound it up into a twist. Although Harlan’s house was air-conditioned, heat rises and the third floor felt warm to me. I pulled the chain on the ceiling fan in my room and then in the sitting room next door. There was a sofa and a huge chintz club chair, a desk, and a flat-screen television. There was no reason to go downstairs except for food and human company.
    I changed into a pair of pants, a cotton shirt, and flat sandals, ones that hopefully wouldn’t slip on the steps, and went to find Harlan. He was, as promised, in the kitchen making a mountain of tomato sandwiches with Duke’s mayonnaise and ham biscuits with Mrs. Sassard’s Jerusalem Artichoke Relish.
    â€œWow! Don’t you look cool and comfortable!” he said.
    â€œSweet thing,” I said. “What can I do to help?”
    â€œThere’s tea in the fridge or I can make coffee if you want but I think it’s too hot for coffee.”
    â€œI’ll pour tea. It’s gotta be a thousand degrees outside.” I took two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with ice and tea. “Lemon?”
    â€œIn the hydrator drawer,” he said. “There are bunches of slices in a baggie. It just feels like a thousand. You’ll adjust to the humidity.”
    I squeezed two slices into our glasses, added two spoons of sugar, and stirred it all around.
    â€œI know. Come sit with me,” I said, sitting down at his kitchen table.
    â€œOkay,” he said and covered his platter of food with a clean damp linen towel. “Tell me what’s going on, Sister Sue. Tell your big bubba everything.” He sat down across from me and raised his glass. “Our momma would die all over again if she saw you so distressed.”
    â€œGod rest her soul,” I said. “At least she had the good sense not to marry Willie. And she was right. I never should’ve married Wes.”
    â€œYou had a bun in the oven. It was almost thirty years ago. There weren’t that many options and I told her so. Like a million times.”
    â€œGod, life is so complicated, isn’t it?”
    â€œHow do you mean, sugar puss?”
    â€œWell, look at Momma, now that you brought her up.” We rarely spoke of her because Harlan was a great fan of Momma and I wasn’t. “There we were, growing up on Logan Street, South of Broad by a hair.”
    â€œWell, after Daddy died, she wasn’t going to live anywhere else. It gave her emotional security. You probably don’t remember the big house on King Street.”
    â€œNo, I was too little. But