There was no end to this happy heifer’s petty put-downs. Instead of showing my disgust, I forced myself to act normal. I detoured the conversation by saying how happy and grateful me and Milton was to be out of jail. He made a few comments about how shocked, mad, and disappointed we was that somebody would go so far to get us in trouble with the law.

Joyce clicked her tongue and went on to say things that really ruffled my feathers. “Well, with all the enemies y’all got, something bad was bound to happen sooner or later. Odell said, and I agreed with him, that they’ll more than likely try something else eventually. I hope your aunt and uncle don’t hear about the arrest. If they do, I doubt if they’ll ever let you have your kids back. I advise y’all to pray every day and be more careful who you let in your house. The same culprit that fingered y’all might still be coming around and might try something else.”

I was itching to tell Joyce that we knew who the culprit was. We planned to do that when she asked us why we was blowing the whistle on Odell. I was a little concerned that she might have a heart attack and drop dead before we could get the whole story out. But at least she’d die knowing what a deceitful, fake, Goody Two-shoes, adulterous snake she’d married. If she didn’t die and was still sane afterwards, then we’d tell her that Odell was the one who had called Sheriff Potts on us. And we’d add that he’d been robbing her folks’ business blind to support his other family. We’d tell her as much as we could before she shut down, or shut us down. I decided to mute up for a while and keep my face pointing forward. That way I could focus more on the road and she wouldn’t see the disgusted look on my face.

After a few silent moments, Joyce started praising Odell again. “I wish every woman could know what it’s like to be blessed with a man like mine.” She went on and on until I couldn’t tell where one sentence ended and another one started. The picture she had painted of that asshole would make the Prince Charming in the fairy tale books I read in grade school look like a troll. I felt like I was going batty, and from the grimace on Milton’s face, I could see that he was, too.

By the time Milton turned onto the street where Po’ Sister’s Kitchen was located, he couldn’t take no more of her gabbing. “Joyce, Odell ain’t the man you think he is,” he blurted out. It wouldn’t have seemed so harsh if he hadn’t slapped the steering wheel when he said it.