Sycamore Row - John Grisham

15
Sleep was fleeting these nights as Lettie found herself yielding even more space to her
family. Simeon had not left home in over a week, and he took up half the bed. Lettie
shared the other half with her two grandchildren. Two nephews were sleeping on the
floor.
She awoke as the sun was rising. She was on her side, looking at her husband
wrapped in a blanket and snoring off last night’s beer. Without moving, she watched
him for a while as her thoughts drifted unpleasantly. He was getting fat and gray, and
his paychecks were shrinking as the years clicked along. Hey big boy, time for a road
trip, huh? Time to disappear as only you can do and give me a break around here for a
month or two. You’re good for nothing but sex, but who can do that with grandkids in
the room?
Simeon, though, was not leaving. No one was leaving Lettie nowadays. She had to
admit that his behavior had improved dramatically in the past couple of weeks, since, of
course, Mr. Hubbard had passed and altered things. Simeon still drank every night, but
not to excess, not like before. He was kind to Cypress, offering to run errands for her
and refraining from his usual insulting manner. He was showing patience with the
children. He had cooked twice on the grill and cleaned the kitchen, a first. Last Sunday,
he went to church with the family. The most obvious change was his gentle and
thoughtful nature when he was around his wife.
He hadn’t hit her in several years, but when you’ve been beaten you never forget it.
The bruises go away but the scars remain, deep, hidden, raw. You stay beaten. It takes a
real coward to beat a woman. Eventually, he had said he was sorry. She said she
forgave him, but she did not. In her book some sins cannot be forgiven, and beating
your wife is one of them. She had made a vow that she was still determined to keep—
one day she would walk away and be free. It might be ten years or twenty, but she
would find the courage to leave his sorry ass.
She was not sure if Mr. Hubbard had made a divorce more or less likely. On the one
hand, it would be far more difficult to leave Simeon when he was fawning over her and
following every command. On the other, the money would mean independence.
Or would it? Would it mean a better life in a bigger house with nicer things and fewer
worries and perhaps freedom from a husband she did not like? Surely these were
possible. But would it also lead to a lifetime of running from family and friends and
strangers, all with their hands out? Already, Lettie was feeling the urge to run. She had
felt trapped for years in her boxlike house with too many people and not enough beds,