Free Back to Life by Kristin Billerbeck

who would have never met in life, and yet we were married to the same man. Life has a funny way about showing irony.
    The phone rings. I secretly hope it’s Hamilton Lowe, and he’s been ditched by his lovely fiancée. “Hello, Lindsay Brindle’s residence.”
    “That you, Jane?”
    My throat tightens. His voice. He hasn’t changed an iota. He still thinks all his problems stem from other people, and in those two words, I hear the accusations in the role he’s placed me—the villain to his innocent victim. Some people never take hold of the damage they cause. The truth, when it gets close to touching them, must be taken out and destroyed. The lie protects him.
    “Jane, I know you’re here,” he says. The man has the consistency of snot, but when he speaks with all the charm of a luxury-car dealer, I can’t help but question my perspective. Maybe I have it all wrong—never mind that he’s been in jail for most of his natural-born life. I hold onto these facts before my heart softens even a smidgen.
    His voice doesn’t bring the fear it once did, but I’m worried that, though all these years have passed, he’s still nursing the same wounds. I slam the phone down just as Lindsay walks in the front door and I wander out of the kitchen. She pulls her key from the door and looks down at Kuku on the cool tile at the entry. I know she wants to say something about her precious condo, but she doesn’t. She simply steps over him, and the cat mews his annoyance.
    The phone rings again, but I don’t make a move to press the button on the cordless sitting right in front of me. Lindsay runs for the kitchen phone, and I panic. “Don’t answer that!”
    “Why not?”
    “Just don’t.” It’s is the only explanation I can think of.
    She looks at the phone. “California Department of Corrections?”
    Stellar. She has caller ID. What does one say about getting a call from your local jail? I have a pen pal?
    She puts the phone back in its cradle and shrugs. “Whoever this is…He doesn’t know where I live, I hope?”
    I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Unless you’re listed. Besides he and the California Department of Corrections have a long-standing relationship that isn’t about to end soon. They do give them a dime here and again to spread their joy.”
    She nods. “Any other friends you plan to look up while here?”
    “Lindsay, I—”
    “It was a joke. Maybe a bad one, but I’ve had a bad day. I’m sorry, all right? My address isn’t in the book, only the telephone number. How does he know to find you here? No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Did you eat yet?”
    “I did. I walked down to the bakery.”
    “That place is a lifesaver when I haven’t been shopping.”
    Which, judging by her pantry and waist size must be every waking moment.
    She drops her purse on the kitchen counter. “I have to plan a wedding shower. Could there be a worse person for that? What do they think, I’m Snow White and there are birds singing at my feet?” she asks. “It took me six months to sell Ron’s car; how organized can I be?” She looks me straight in the eye. “Everyone on the planet has to see his death certificate. My life’s work has become proving he’sdead—it doesn’t exactly make me want to whistle a happy tune, you know?”
    We look at each other and start to laugh.
    “Sorry,” she says. “Bad day.”
    “You don’t owe me an explanation. I worked on the will every day this week—me, who only has to worry if I have enough yellow ocher to get through a sunset painting. Finding names and addresses from years ago…are they kidding me?”
    “I’m too old to plan a bridal shower,” Lindsay says.
    “Well, I don’t know. You seem very organized. I thought I might eat off your floor when I first got here. Of course, with the dust around my front door, a clean floor isn’t really a viable option unless someone mopped it continuously. Don’t worry—I’m sure you’ll plan a