He guessed he could divorce his wife. That was a possibility, but it sure would look bad on him. Her lawyer would be sure to get her in the courtroom in her wheelchair and create a lot of sympathy for her. She’d probably take his ass to the cleaners, and he knew his ass couldn’t stand a trip to the cleaners. He was just barely making a living as it was. But one thing about it was he wouldn’t have to buy her a damn bottle of whiskey every afternoon if he divorced her. He wouldn’t have to go everywhere by himself. If he divorced her he could probably start going with the little fat woman, maybe steady. Or maybe they could even get married if they fell in love. Maybe that was what he needed to do, just trade in his old wife for a new one. The little fat woman might even want to go dancing on Friday and Saturday nights or something. Then they could go on picnics on Sunday afternoons, or go fishing. Tiny thought about the two of them sitting side by side on the riverbank, fishing. They’d have the quilt with them and the sun would be shining and if the fish weren’t biting she could do those wonderful things with her mouth right there while the river flowed past. The more Tiny thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. What was the point of staying with his wife if he was unhappy? There wasn’t any future in it.

But what would happen to her? Who would buy her whiskey for her? Where would she live? Who’d take her to the doctor? Who’d cook her meals? Who’d help her take a bath?