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“No, I just have a few things to say, and I’ll be gone,” I responded.
“Why’d you do it, Shelley? Why’d you tell me Karter was mine when you knew she wasn’t?” I asked.
“How do you know she’s not?”
“I had a DNA test done,” I responded.
Although part of me wanted to, I felt no good would come from her knowing Graham committed suicide. As far I knew, she received a letter no differently than I did. I guessed it was possible she lived a miserable existence for the last twenty years because of it. Additionally, I felt no need to tell her I knew who the father was; only that I knew for certain who the father was not.
“Oh really? Well…” she paused and looked down at my feet.
I nodded and waited in hope of her explaining herself.
She looked up and narrowed her eyes, “Pete said he saw you guys in town, I saw him the morning you came over, actually. I saw him at the gas station and he said he’d seen the both of you in Wichita at a fancy restaurant. He said it looked like you were together. Like together, Jak. It hurt me. And I wanted you to hurt. I was going to tell you when you were here, and then you asked. It just seemed right lying to you about it. Are you fucking her, Jak?”
I stood and stared. After a long moment of studying her hateful eyes, I shook my head and turned toward my truck. As I walked to the truck, she began to scream.
“I hate that little miserable bitch, Jak. I always have. She’s got a heart of stone and so do you. I wish they would have committed her the last time I turned her filthy little ass in to the court for being crazy. I hate you both and I hope you rot in hell,” she yelled.
As I got into the truck, I continued to hear her scream.
“I hate you, Jak Kennedy…”
“Go to hell!”
Hell? I’ve lived there for twenty-one years.
I’m upgrading to heaven, bitch.
Starting now.
