Page 124 of Wicked Pickle

“Divorce, Jude. I’m divorcing you.”

He sits back down in the chair. “Sherman thought you might say that.”

“You’ve been talking to Sherman?” Greta’s voice is high and tight.

“Of course. He’s the only rational one of the bunch. He’s got a marriage counselor lined up for us already.”

Greta glances our way. That’s our cue.

I elbow Merrick, and we storm into the room.

Merrick reaches Jude first. “Our sister said leave, so I suggest you pack in a hurry, or we’ll throw your things out the window after we’ve tossed you on your ass.”

“And the second floor will work fine,” I add.

Jude’s face goes pale. “I’ll pack.” He hurries past us.

When he’s gone, Greta says. “I should take you two around with me everywhere.”

“He’s not gone yet,” Merrick says. “I’m going to stand in the hall and make sure he doesn’t do anything rash.”

“I’ll hang with Caden,” I say. “We’re not involving him.”

“I’ll go with you,” Greta says. “Can you believe he called Uncle Sherman?”

“That man seriously pisses me off,” I say.

“Jude or Sherman?” she asks.

“Both.”

Merrick moves to the hall, and Greta and I follow.

“Where’s your room?” Merrick asks.

“Downstairs,” Greta says. “I can show you.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Merrick says. “Watch the boy.”

Caden’s room is closed, and we pause outside of it as Merrick descends the stairs.

“I guess we can wait out here,” Greta says. “No use involving Caden at all.”

“You’ll have to deal with Jude with custody,” I say.

“I know. We’ll figure it out. Thank you for being the heavy.” Greta sits on the floor and leans her head against the wall. “I am so exhausted.”

“We’ve got you. We can help here as long as you need. We have nothing else to do.”

She closes her eyes. “Might not be a bad idea.”

I sit next to her, and we wait. Merrick and I abandoned our phones when we took off, so I can’t text him to see what’s happening.

A clock ticks away on the wall. After half an hour, I ask Greta, “Should I go check on them?”

She nods. “I’ll wait up here.”

I head down the stairs. It’s awfully quiet. Something in my gut sends me into combat mode. I tread carefully, making no sound as I cross an all-white living room that looks like it’s never used.

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