She turned away and proceeded down the hall, talking to him over her shoulder. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Let me know when you’re done. I put the mail on the table. Remind me and I’ll tell you about a call I should have mentioned before.”

Walker wondered if she was worth the effort it would take to win her back. She’d lord it over him from this point on. She had all the power and he was the supplicant, begging to see the kids, begging for an audience with the Queen, begging for attention, which she’d decided was undeserved. In return for crumbs, she’d want all his pay-checks deposited to her account. She’d dole out a few bucks to him from week to week—not enough for a binge, but a modest sum she’d say was his to do with as he pleased. Maybe he’d appeal to the pastor of their church, citing Christian forbearance as a means of bringing her to heel. Ha. Like that would do any good.

He went upstairs with Brent tagging behind. Walker’s ribs still pained him and he wasn’t allowed to lift anything, which was why Brent was forced to follow him around like a dog. Walker went into the walk-in closet and pushed through the hangers on his side of the hanging rods. With his left hand he pulled out sport coats, four suits, his raincoat, and his leather jacket, passing them to Brent, who laid them on the bed while Walker went through the dresser drawers removing underwear, socks, and T-shirts. He’d have to borrow a suitcase or go down to the kitchen and find a paper bag to carry all his stuff. He went out into the hall and looked in the storage area under the eaves. After a grubby search he came up with a duffel into which he jammed the pile of personal items.

Idly he wondered what would happen if he just walked away from the entire situation. He’d pack the car, cancel credit cards, empty all the bank accounts, and leave the state. By the time Carolyn realized what he’d done, he’d be out of her grasp. He pictured her at Saks, pricey merchandise piled up on the counter while the saleswoman rang the sale and returned her card, looking mystified. “I’m sorry, Mrs. McNally, but this was declined.”

“Declined? There must be a mistake. My husband pays our bills in full the first of every month.”

“Would you like to try another card?”

She’d pull out her Visa or MasterCard, her embarrassment mounting as one after the other was rejected.