As usual, we had ate supper at Po’ Sister’s Kitchen on Friday, and again yesterday. We loved that restaurant because the food was so good, and all the employees treated us like family. Betty Jean’s older sister, Alline, worked in the kitchen. That’s why we never had to wait in line like everybody else. I also loved the place because it was where me and Betty Jean met for the first time.

I often wondered what I would be doing now if she hadn’t come up to me while I was standing in that long line waiting to get in that day. Me and Joyce had been married only a few weeks. From the minute Betty Jean noticed me, she came at me like a gangbuster, and didn’t let up until she’d got me where she wanted me: in her bed. After our first rendezvous, I was no longer responsible for my actions. I got hooked on her like a addict got hooked on dope.

Another thing I wondered about from time to time was, if Betty Jean hadn’t made me disregard my wedding vows, would it have been another woman? Would she have made me as happy as Betty Jean had? I didn’t like to spend too much time dwelling on them questions. I pushed them to the back of my mind. Despite the new mess I was in with Yvonne and Milton, I was still enjoying what was left of my visit.

Me and Betty Jean and the boys usually spent Sunday afternoon fishing and visiting some of her kinfolks or members of our church family. But it was too chilly to take the boys to a fishing hole today, and it was threatening to rain.

I usually stayed long enough to eat supper every Sunday. I couldn’t do it today, even though Betty Jean had smothered a chicken just for me. “Sugar, I would love to stay long enough to eat with y’all, but it looks like a serious storm is in the making. I don’t like to drive in the rain,” I explained as I adjusted her head on my shoulder. “And I have to leave before dark on account of my headlights ain’t as bright as they used to be.”

“I sure wish I could go with you,” Betty Jean mumbled with a pouty look on her face.

I gasped. “Go with me to Branson? What’s wrong with you?” My face got hot and my stomach churned. “How many times do I have to tell you that ain’t never going to happen? What’s wrong with you?” I got so agitated, my hands started shaking.

“I get gloomy every time you leave. I’d like to see where you live and work at least once before I die,” she griped. “Sometimes it seems like I’m married to a stranger.”