Elvis and the Grateful Dead Read Online Free

bone.
    I push open the back screen door. “Elvis, give that back right this minute. You know you have plenty without stealing.”
    He gives me this look , then drops Hoyt’s bone, huffs over to the gazebo, and plops down with his back to me. I swear, if I didn’t know better I’d say he’s been taking lessons from Mama. She wrote the book on looks that can kill .
    “You know you’re kidding. Be a good boy and don’t torture Hoyt and the cats.”
    I race upstairs to change and shower. I can’t wait to get out of these clothes. I’m sweaty from being in a tent on the hot asphalt of downtown Tupelo; plus, I feel tainted with death. Poor Brian.
    Slipping into the shower, I close my eyes and imagine the water washing my troubles down the drain. As I reach for the soap it’s plucked from my hand.
    “Here. Let me do that.”
    No use screaming. I know who it is before I turn around.
    “Jack, need I remind you that you don’t live here anymore? Need I also remind you that breaking and entering is a crime?”
    His big laugh echoes off the tiled walls. “Who’s going to scrub your back?” He starts slathering soap on me, and I swear if I could chop off his talented hands and keep only that part of him, I’d die a happy woman.
    Well, maybe his talented tongue, too, but I’m not even going to think about that. If I do I’ll end up in the middle of my own bed in a compromising position.
    “Leave, Jack. And for goodness’ sake, put on some clothes.”
    “Not before I say good-bye.”
    Suddenly his hands are everywhere and I end up on my bed, anyway. For a very long time.
    What can I say? I’m not sorry. Jack may have terrible daddy potential, but he certainly excels at the preliminaries. And after all, I’m still married to him. Sort of.
    Leaving me sprawled across the rumpled covers, he reaches for his pants. And I watch. I’ll admit it. If there was anybody worth watching, it’s Jack Jones—six feet of muscle and mouthwatering appeal, and every inch of him lethal.
    “I’m leaving town, Callie. I’ll be gone awhile.”
    “For good, I hope.”
    “Is that why you’re staring?” He plants a kiss that sizzles my roots, then strolls out the door like a swashbuckling Rhett Butler who just had his way with willful Scarlett.
    And I’m back at square one—in the shower scrubbing off sweat.
    “I thought you’d be dressed by now.”
    The soap slips out of my hand and I whirl around to face this new intrusion.
    “Good grief, Mama. Don’t you ever knock?”
    “The front door was wide open.”
    She tosses me a towel, then makes herself at home while I towel off. I don’t know another single person who could make the toilet seat look like a throne.
    “I saw Jack.” She gives me this look . If anybody can make you squirm, it’s Mama. She has elevated stark raving silence to an art. “I told him to stay for the party. He’s still part of the family.”
    “I never heard of family who went off whenever they pleased and didn’t bother to tell you where they were going or what they were doing.” Which is one of the many reasons I separated from Jack Jones. He could be a deep-cover assassin for all I know. “You shouldn’t have invited him, Mama. It’s my house.”
    “Really, Callie. Everbody knows you’re still in love with him. Why can’t you see that?”
    I open the bathroom door. “Mama, do you mind? I have to pee.”
    “Don’t let me stop you.” Ignoring the door, she stations herself in front of my bathroom mirror and inspects her hair. “I’m thinking of going blond.”
    “For goodness’ sake, Mama, you just went burnished copper.”
    “I’m thinking a Marilyn Monroe–ish look would go well with my dance costumes.”
    “What dance costumes?”
    “Didn’t I tell you?” Naturally not. Mama has secrets that would make you gray overnight. I guess that’s why she’s so crazy about Jack. They’re two of a kind. “Fayrene and I have enrolled in a senior citizens’ dance class. Everybody