"You really are a piece of work," she said shaking her head. She opened the door. "Go eat your damned breakfast. I've lost my appetite." She got out. "And when you talk to the former Mrs. Gillette, you can tell her the next time she can just look for your truck, cause that's where you'll be sleeping." She slammed the door.
"Kelsey. Wait!"
She flicked her cigarette onto the wet gravel and headed toward the sidewalk ignoring him. He pushed open his door to start after her, but knew it would be a waste of time. It would take her a while to settle down, and he just didn't feel like hassling with it.
"Fuck," he said to no one. "Fuck!" He kicked at the gravel then reached into the cab. He slid the gun under the seat, shut off the engine and slammed the door. Sometimes dealing with her was like dealing with his ex; too stubborn to see reason. The difference was that Kelsey Fellows hadn't quite yet learned how to work it.
His ex, however, was the master. Even with his defenses up, Jody-Marie could lead him into a verbal alley then hammer him against the wall. Or sing a sensual birthday wish as if they still were friends. Or lovers. Lull him for a moment into forgetting that every time he called to talk to their daughter, Jody-Marie would complain about his child support. Then poke him for details about his relationship with Kelsey.
It was none of her goddamned business. But if he didn't follow her lead, she'd hang up on him. "How do you expect me to feel good about any visitation if I don't know what kinda example you're gonna set? I got a right to know if you're just shacking up with some whore."
He headed into the diner where he settled onto a stool and ordered breakfast.
"She looked pretty pissed," said a man two seats over.
Bobby turned. A skinny old coot. Looked to be in his seventies, though hard to tell. Fellow had spent a lot of time in the sun. He was buttering a piece of toast.
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