It wasn't the police who first came looking for Tully, but his creditors. I know I should have been expecting them, but I guess time was flying for me by then. No, I told them, cold and brusque as I could be under the intoxicating influence of freedom. I hadn't seen him in weeks; he'd skipped town and left me dry, and no, I didn't have a cent to my name, so they could go find him and break his kneecaps.

I had a lot of bravado for a woman with few options, and I knew it. Fortunately, it paid off, and I was able to turn them away from my scent at least for the time being. After three weeks and no Tully, his mother came and took my son from me. I fought at first, because I was apparently the only parent he had left. But we both knew my options were limited without Tully's meager income, and at least he'd have a roof over his head and food in his stomach living with his grandparents. They hated me, I hated them, and none of us could stand Tully, but we all had the boy's best interest in mind. So I let him go, and settled into the unsettled life of living alone.

After another month of no Tully, I began to get curious. Not worried, because I'd long since stopped loving him. Just curious. The last place I knew for sure he'd gone was the Addams' mansion, where that horrible Dr. PenderWhatever and her sick son had managed to get the family thrown out on the street. Although he never mentioned it to me, I could smell Tully's foul stench all over the scheme, and figured they might have some information about his whereabouts.

Not that I wanted him back. Not that I ever wanted him back. I was getting used to the aloneness, much less lonely to me than what I felt with Tully around, and even if he'd come crawling back with a platinum card in one hand and a dozen roses in the other, I wouldn't have let him back in my life or my bed. But a small, vindictive part of me wanted a place to forward his dunning calls, an address to give the low-lifes who thought I didn't notice them watching me as I walked home from my brand-new, low-paying temp job.

So I went to the Addams', knowing full well they'd managed to get their home and money back. Yeah, I'm an awful wife-I cheered them on for defeating the slug. But I wasn't sure how they would welcome me when I came to see them, so I was surprised at how warm a reception they gave me. Morticia greeted me, two-handed and a gentle squeeze, before apologizing that Gomez wasn't here to visit. She brought me into her parlor and gave me some smoking liquid she swore was tea. Normally, I would have feigned disinterest, but it actually smelled good. Throwing caution to the wind, as I was wont to do now that I was a free woman, I took a huge slug of the stuff. It burned down my throat with a spicy flavor that teased more than satisfied, and I found myself wanting more of it. I still wasn't up to eating any of their wriggling hors d'oeuvres, but at least the drink was good.

It wasn't until after tea that we even broached the reason for my visit, and it was Morticia who brought it up. "I suppose you've come about Tully," she said in that dark drawl she affected so well. I guess I looked surprised, because she continued. "We tried to contact you, but Tully never gave Gomez anything other than his office address. We found a home telephone number, but it was disconnected, and your landlord told us you'd moved with no forwarding address." She paused at my blush of embarrassment. At least she'd had the good manners not to mention we'd skipped out on the rent. Cheaper place in the bad...worse part of town. Pay phones work fine, I told myself. Cheap and inconvenient. "Gomez had even suggested a private investigator, but I insisted we wait for you to come to us. In your own time," she added, as if she knew what she was talking about. I suspect she did.

"Well," I cleared my throat. I didn't know why, but it was suddenly difficult to talk about this, especially with her. I knew Tully had bilked them, charged them for services he never performed, talked them into ventures that never materialized. I was ashamed, but life with Tully had been such a struggle for survival that I'd turned a blind eye to it. They seemed to like him, and didn't seem to mind that he was a terrible lawyer.

Morticia tilted her head slightly, as if saddened by my silence. I could never truly tell what she was thinking or feeling. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Margaret." She took my hand and led me to the glass doors that lined the wall of the parlor.

I knew even before we got outside that Tully was dead, and the realization sat like a lump in my stomach through the long trudge to the graves, side by side, with tombstones reading "Tully Alford" and "Doctor Penderschloss." I didn't say anything, just read the words and nodded my head as the full impact of it hit me.

Tully was gone. Truly, irrevocably, finally gone, and he wasn't coming back. This wasn't another two month fling in Aruba with a receptionist, paid for with client money. This wasn't another "gone into hiding to avoid Rocko the KneeBuster" situation.

Tully was dead, and I was a widow.

I think I must have been in shock, because I didn't feel my feet walking back to the house, barely heard Morticia telling me how they'd tried to contact me, how it had been a terrible accident. I didn't care how he died, nor did I care about the niggling suspicion that the terrible accident might be more than partially attributed to the Addams family.

All I knew was that he was never coming back. He was never going to knock at my door, dripping from the rain, all puppy-dog regret and big promises, followed by bad sex and a night of his snoring keeping me awake. Maybe it was shock, but I felt giddy with it. Thrilled.

Morticia sat down next to me, hands in mine, her entire demeanor kindness and sympathy. I found it funny, in that moment, that her presence could be so comforting. Tully had hated the Addamses, had called them freaks and bragged behind their backs about how he was fleecing them. And while I found their home and mannerisms disconcerting, (unnerving, frightening, to be honest), their actual behavior had never been anything but kind and loving and generous to a fault.

Yes, they were weird, but they shared more love in their bizarre way than I had known in my entire life. I guess that thought broke through the shock, and I realized to my horror that I was crying. Weeping, actually. It was a good, hard cry, the kind that cleaned out the soul, pushing all that nastiness that's been building up on the inside out into the world, where it can be washed away for good.

She held me, stroking my hair, whispering the kindest things to me. Words of encouragement, words of sympathy, even nice things about Tully, for whom I suppose she thought I was crying.

It occurred to me, eventually, to wonder if anyone had notified the police. I realized that, no, they probably hadn't. That's when I began to get nervous. You just don't produce a buried, dead body months after the fact without the police asking questions. It was no secret that Tully had enemies, and that I was having tea with one of them. The thought that these good people might get into trouble for the likes of Tully sickened me, and I had to pull away from her.

"Margaret?" She looked into my face, saw the fear there, and placed my hand between both of hers. "It's been taken care of, Margaret," she said in a knowing tone. "Gomez has spoken with the authorities."

We both knew it was a lie, because the authorities would have contacted me. But it was a comforting lie, and I suppose the world was no worse a place for one less Tully Alford in it. I was just starting to calm down when she rose and told me to wait. She glided out of the room with a grace I could never begin to emulate, and came back just a few minutes later with a large briefcase. It was made of old leather, dark brown and scuffed. There was an envelope attached to the handle, with the words "Margaret Alford" printed in neat calligraphy on the outside. She handed me the briefcase, which was terribly heavy, and resumed her seat next to me. "We've been holding it since…the accident."

I opened the envelope and took out what appeared to be an invoice. The main description read, "Back Payment for Services Rendered." The total was a number with more zeroes behind it than I'd ever seen in my life. I looked up in stunned amazement, confused. I knew for a fact that Tully was deeply in debt when he died, and that he owed money to the Addamses and several other people. How was this possible?

"We know money is such a pale comfort at times like this, but hopefully it will help you get established." She sighed. "Tully was like a member of the family."

"Tully was a monster," I muttered, still staring at what from anybody else would have seemed hush money.

"Yes, we loved that about him."

I stared at her and started laughing. Here she was, handing me my future in gold doubloons, knowing and acknowledging that my late husband was a fraud and a cheat, and still liking him anyway. This woman who dressed in black, looked like death, had a graveyard where a swimming pool should be-she had more of the milk of human kindness in her than anyone else I'd ever met.

I realized with a sudden rush of amazement that I liked Morticia Addams. I liked the way she looked, the way she dressed, the way she talked. I liked her subtle humor, and her obvious love for her husband and family. And I realized, more than realized, I knew to the core of my being that I wanted what she had. I wanted love. I wanted family. I wanted a place to belong, a place where I fit in.

I began to cry, softly this time, and she held me again. This time, she whispered, "Your son?"

"Has been with his grandmother for a month." I didn't add that he no longer bothered to talk to me when I called, collect, on weekends. When I had broached the subject of him spending a weekend with me, he'd said no, cutting me to shreds with his indifference. "I think he wants to stay there," I added softly.

She nodded, as if she wasn't about to say anything about him being Tully's son, although we were both thinking it, I believe. Instead, she asked me for my new phone number. I gave her my neighbor's number, who let me take emergency calls from time to time. I told her I would give her my new number once I got reconnected, which I could now afford to do. With what they'd given me, I could pay off all of Tully's debts, put some money aside, and still have more dispensable cash than I'd had in the last ten years of marriage to that louse.

She made me promise to come to visit again before letting me make my more or less graceful exit, and also secured permission to forward my new number, once she had it, to her Cousin Itt, whom I'd met at the party for Fester. He had, she admitted, asked after me several times.

It was only after the promise to visit them the following week and another warm embrace that I found myself again on the other side of that gate which, now that I wasn't with Tully, opened and closed itself gently, almost playfully. "Why, Margaret," Morticia said from the other side of the bars. "Gate has really taken to you. But why shouldn't he? You're family." And with an enigmatic smile, she turned, leaving me to face the world outside the Addams family home.

And though it was gloomy and overcast, as it always seemed to be at the Addams' place, to me it was the most beautiful day I had seen in years.

THE END