Free Don't Ever Tell by Brandon Massey

table.
“Blow on it, first, boy, that’s hot,” she said.
He blew on a spoonful, and then tasted it. “It’s delicious, Mom.”
Mom nodded, and shuffled to the garage door. She opened it and yelled at his father: “Earl, get from up under that car and come in here and eat!”
He swallowed another spoonful of soup. His mom usually had to yell three or four times before his father gave up the joys of automobiles for the company of his family. Theirs was an odd marriage, seemingly devoid of tenderness, but his parents had been together for thirty-five years, a milestone that few members of Joshua’s generation would ever reach.
Although if he was trapped in a marriage like the one his parents had, who would want to stay?
Mom poured a glass of sweet tea and plopped it on the table. “Drink that.”
He took a sip. “Wow, that’s really sweet.”
“That’s how I always make it, boy. You done forgot? What that heifer been givin’ you to drink—wine?”
If he ever disclosed to his mom that they often drank wine with dinner, she would have branded him an alcoholic and said she was going to pray for him.
“Uh, no, Mom. No wine.”
“Hmph.” Mom sat next to him, the chair squeaking under her weight. She smiled, showing new dentures. “Chaquita came by here yesterday.”
He almost choked on a dumpling. “She did? Why?”
“ ’Cause she respects me. Unlike your wife.”
Chaquita was his ex-girlfriend. She and Joshua had dated for two boisterous years before she dumped him, declaring him too dull and soft for her tastes.
Puzzlingly, Chaquita and his mother stayed in touch. They sometimes went shopping together or out for lunch, like mother and daughter.
“She asked after you,” Mom said. “That girl still loves you, you know.”
“She broke up with me, Mom. Anyway, I’m married now. Whatever feelings she thinks she has for me, she needs to let them go. I’m going to be with Rachel for the rest of my life, hopefully.”
“Hopefully? You sound kinda doubtful to me. Sound like the bloom is off the rose. What kinda problems you havin’ with that heifer?”
“No problems.” He lowered his gaze to the bowl, shoved another spoonful of soup in his mouth.
“What’s done in the dark will come to light,” Mom said, with obvious pleasure.
“Excuse me?”
“You know what I mean! I’m talkin’ ’bout dirt, boy. Skeletons in the closet. Deep, dark sinful secrets. All that mess— it’s gonna come out.”
“Well, everyone has secrets, Mom. You never...you never know everything about anyone.”
“I know everythang ’bout your daddy!” She pointed to the garage, shaking her long finger. “You know everythang ’bout your wife?”
He glanced at his watch. “Mom, I’ve gotta go. I’ve got an appointment at two.”
“What? You just got here!”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ll be back soon, promise.”
His mother followed him to the door, muttering.
“Remember what I said, boy. What’s done in the dark . . .”
“Will come to light, I know,” he said.
He gave his mother a kiss, and went to his truck. As he pulled away, she yelled at his father again to come inside and eat. A normal day in the Moore household.
Driving to the doctor’s office, he realized why he had visited his mother. He’d wanted to talk to someone whose doubts about Rachel’s honesty exceeded his own. He’d wanted to talk to someone who would fan the flames of his discontent, someone who would whip his emotions into an uncontainable storm.
Because he’d decided that he was going to confront Rachel, and demand the truth.
    15
    Whacking Betty upside the head with the shovel had knocked her out cold. She slumped in the doorway, resembling a drunk who hadn’t quite made it through the door after a long night of boozing.
    Dexter hooked his hands underneath her armpits and dragged her inside. She was a slender woman, easy to move. He kicked the door shut behind him.
    The small foyer opened into the living room. It was furnished with a