The question makes Adelaide's eyes darken briefly, grim. "Not a damned one," she says. "But it ain't like any of them ever got a chance to give him up if they were gonna try. I was shooing hordes of begging, mascara-smeared skanks off the front steps before I could spell skank. He never gave one single damn about any of them," she concludes, sounding like she quite liked that arrangement. Then she shakes her head, lips pressing into a terse line, the next words lined with irritation. "You know how he is, feeling like he's no good all the time just like my banshee mama told him. If Doc told him he needed absolving, you can bet he'd believe it. He hardly thinks he deserves my love most of the time, and I'm ten times as rotten inside as he is."
Then she gestures with irritation over the whole thing, pushing it away for something that's much less personal to her. "Are you serious?" she marvels over Willa, shaking her head. "She can't have thought you wanted to speak to her. Reads like a damn jab, to me." That same persistent hen comes back to peck around Adelaide's feet now, and she scuffs the sole of her boot loudly to startle the bird away. "Jims told me when she got here with those hens that she thought she had to beg to be allowed to keep them, like he's some iron-fisted Ivan the Terrible or something. Doesn't seem to have a good grip on just how things work around here."