His truck was nowhere in sight. He was having an affair.

When I drove up to the fertilizer plant later that evening, it was eerily silent. Only one pickup truck was left in the parking lot, and even though it was dark, I was pretty sure it wasn’t my husband’s. I knocked on the door anyway, and a burly security man told me there was nobody inside and that the pickup truck was his.
My first thought was that Vincent’s plans had changed and that he’d be home by the time I got there. But when I drove up to my driveway, every fear that had gone through my head during the fifteen-minute drive home was confirmed. His truck was nowhere in sight. He was having an affair.

I’m not sure how I got there, and even less sure how I made it to the Greenwood in thirty-seven minutes since it’s more than 60 miles from my house. But, somehow, I was sitting in the parking lot of Lusco's. It was filled with pickup trucks.

Lusco's was quite the legend in this part of Mississippi. While the food was supposed to be exceptional, it was known for its back entrance and its curtained booths. The way it was set up made it impossible to know who was dining with whom and what was going on behind those curtains. Every rich farmer within a hundred miles brought his mistress to have a dinner here in privacy. And I was sure my husband was inside there too.

Vincent’s pickup was red, I think, or some color close to it. It’s just that pickups have no style, so I never even paid them much attention. Now, I just wished I could remember at least what make it was. I counted 13 red pickups; three Fords, three GMC’s, and seven Dodges. I eliminated all but three, because ten of them had some sort of large flat tank in the back. (Vincent’s didn’t, I was almost sure. I later learned it was a toolbox.) Of the three, two were Dodges and one was a GMC. I knew for a fact that we had bought the truck at Yazoo Motor from my Uncle Donald and they always labeled their vehicles with this garish dealer emblem. Sure enough, Yazoo Motor Company was blazoned across the back in ten-inch gold letters. My coffee cup was sitting on the floorboard, the one from my new set, which I specifically had told him not to take out of the house.

I had a good mind to go in and drag him out by his hair, but I’d never been inside and I was a little intimidated. So I waited in my car. After about two hours, he came strolling out with Sara Wiley. He kissed her on her cheek and she drove off in some sort of small European-looking sports car. I had no idea in heaven what kind of car that was.