#86 Beamon’s

by Deb Smith

John pulled away from the house, while Dorothy checked her lipstick in the visor mirror. When she looked up, she saw that John was headed for the edge of town.

“Where the heck are you going? Don’t you dare take me to Beamons!”

Dorothy grabbed for the steering wheel, but John held her off with a stiff arm against her chest. The sedan yawed wildly and ran up over the curb before thunking back onto the street. John turned into the truck stop and parked in front of Beamon’s restaurant.

“You can’t make me go in there. You’re kidnapping me. I’m calling the police.”

“You go on ahead. Let’s see just what kind of a scene we can make.”

It had been three weeks since the summons from the court had come in the mail. There had been a purchase of oxycontin from an undercover officer at Beamon’s. John pulled Dorothy inside, past the hostess and into the dining room. He raised his voice to fill every corner of the room.

“This is my wife, Dorothy. If I ever find out which one of you rat bastards has been selling her pills, I will stomp the breath out of you.”

The din of breakfast chatter and utensils on plates stopped for a moment and people stared.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with him. I’m sorry.” Dorothy hid her face behind her purse and ran out the door.

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