Louisiana Lament

Talba’s estimation. Still, she might as well sit. Her legs felt a little weak. She found a plain wooden chair.
    Returning with a Bud, Robineau plopped on the sofa. “You say something about the will?”
    Talba dodged that one. “You don’t seem very upset by your wife’s death.”
    He made the unfunny guttural noise again. “Ex-wife, darlin’. Ex. Nah, I’m not upset. Why should I be? The bitch has been out of my life a long time.”
    “Why do you keep calling her a bitch?”
    He thought about it a minute, finally shrugged from the waist up. “Figure of speech, I guess. Clayton and I had some good times. Parted on bad terms, though.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yeah.” He took a big slug of beer and passed a hand across his mouth. “We were into some pretty heavy shit. She—I don’t know—found God or something. We used to fight all the time.”
    “You mean she got in a treatment program?”
    “Yeah, I guess she did eventually. She cleaned up—came around and gave that speech they have to give, you know?”
    “The ninth step.”
    “Huh?”
    “That’s what they call it in the twelve-step programs. Making amends. She apologized to you for any trouble between you—is that what you mean?”
    “Yeah, that must have been what it was.” He was quiet a moment and Talba could have almost sworn she saw a momentary fleck of sadness in his eyes. “Man, that’s some stupid shit!”
    “What? Getting clean?”
    “Nah. Nah, I respect her for that. Just that God-stuff amends crap.”
    “What do you do for a living, Mr. Robineau?”
    “Construction, mostly. Painting; whatever.”
    “You’re a carpenter?”
    The guttural sound again. “Yeah, when I feel like it.”
    “How’d you meet Baba—I mean, Clayton?” Talba wasn’t sure how long she was going to get away with this—asking seemingly idle questions—but she figured she might as well keep at it till he clammed up.
    “What’d you call her?”
    “She changed her name. Didn’t you know that?”
    “No. No, I didn’t know it.” He was suddenly subdued. “Why’d she do a thing like that?”
    “I think it may have had to do with pursuing a spiritual path. Starting a new life, maybe. Why does that surprise you?”
    He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “No reason.”
    “Did you see her after you separated?”
    “Naah! I tried to.” He gave Talba a kind of guilty half smile. “She got a restraining order.”
    Oho, Talba thought. She was beginning to get the hang of things. “Did you have a violent relationship?”
    Robineau shrugged again, this time a small, almost involuntary gesture—it was funny, Talba thought, how vivid people’s body language became when you could actually see their muscles work. “Towards the end, maybe. A little.”
    “How’d you two meet, anyway?”
    “She used to hang out at the same bar I did. I liked her tattoo.”
    “So she drank then, too.”
    “Whoooeee, baby! There wasn’t nothin’ that broad didn’t do. Bet your booty she drank. Drank, smoked, snorted, shot up…” He paused for effect. “Fucked.” He looked at Talba sidewise to see if he was shocking her. “Oh, man, did she fuck.”
    “They have twelve-step programs for that too.”
    All of a sudden, he reared up, furious for some reason.
    “Hey, who are you, anyway? Comin’ in here first thing in the morning, askin’ questions… you ain’t a cop, are you?”
    Completely nuts,
she thought.
A raver. I need to get a purse big enough for my Tee-ball bat.
But she wasn’t scared yet. She stood her ground. “I told you. I came about the will.” She’d dressed in a business suit, hoping to pass for a lawyer.
    “What about the will?”
    “Tell me something, Mr. Robineau—do you think Clayton could have committed suicide? Did she have it in her?”
    “Oh, man! Oh, man, if I had to guess, I’d say that’s how it happened. Used to threaten it all the time. I used to believe her too. Once I even called her country club parents who wouldn’t speak to either of us—man! I wouldn’t ever do that again.”
    “Why not?”
    “Oh, they sent her asshole brother down here, threatening to haul her ass off to the bin. Had to deck him to get rid of him.”
    Robineau’d probably decked Clayton too, quite a few times, which might explain why she’d made her will—she was afraid of dying and didn’t want Mr. Wonderful to benefit. But if she was suicidal, how had she summoned the courage to get out of the marriage?
    “She was one sad sack of a