Chapter 28
Frank
Title: Love’s a four-letter fuckin lie
They say love makes a man soft. Bullshit.
Love makes a man dangerous.
You think war or whiskey will undo ya. Try fallin for a woman who can look you dead in the eye and lie through her damn teeth.
My first wife was Joy. Yep. Joy. There’s a name to choke on.
She was joy at the start. She was hell at the end.
Thought she could polish me up like a boot for church.
Didn’t take her long to realize this hide aint never gonna shine.
Two years she lasted before she caught me balls deep in the kitchen hand.
That was Edith. Joy left cryin and righteous.
But she wasn't in love with me. She was in love with the version of me that she built in that pretty head of hers.
Can't love somethin you’re always tryin to change.
Edith, though. Christ. She was different.
Had a spark under all that quiet. Could cook for fifty men, swear like one of ’em too.
She didn't put up with my temper at first. Figured she could match me.
Sometimes, she did. Sometimes, I liked it.
Nothin sexier than a woman who stands her ground. Until she screws with you.
We built somethin together. Workin the land. Raisin kids. Livin in the same rut day after day. But that kind of love is a job, not a feelin. You keep showin up. Keep feedin the beast even when you want to shoot it.
She gave me three kids. Yeah, you heard that right. THREE.
One of you aint mine. Figure that out between ya. That’s a bitch fight I’d pay to see. Pity I’ll be dead by the time you mob read this.
Here's the thing no one tells ya about love. It’s a bonfire. Starts hot, bright, cracklin, makes ya think you're king of the world. Then it burns out. Leaves you with ash and smoke and a mess you gotta clean up.
One day, you look at the woman who stole your heart, and all you see is everythin else she took from ya.
That's what Edith did to me. Stole my fuckin heart the day I caught her with another man.
Saw his hands on her. My woman. In the stockyard shed I walked past every goddamn day.
She wasn't tryin to hide it. Then she tells me she's pregnant. Like carryin another man’s kid under my roof was meant to soften the blow.
Stupid bastard even told me to calm down.
Like hell. I made him calm down. Permanently. Made her watch. It was her fault anyways. Screwin another man when she was mine.
Love don’t last. It mutates. Turns into habit or hate or guilt. Depends on how honest you’re willin to be. I’ve felt all three. Sometimes, all before breakfast.
People talk about soulmates like it's a fairytale. It’s a load of crap.
Love is just the first stage of ownership, and ownership always ends in loss.
Still, every now and then, I dream about Edith’s laugh. Not the polite dinner table laugh she used for show. The real one. The one from her belly that could crack open a whole room. Makes me wonder if maybe once I almost got it right with her.
Then I wake up and remember she opened her legs for someone else while pretendin with me.
Love’s a four-letter lie.
Believe in it if you want.
But don’t say I didn’t warn ya when it leaves teeth marks.
Frank Branson