For just a moment, Carla Jean only looks at him, drawing in a deep breath. Bluntness is something that she's always been able to appreciate, something she likewise tends towards herself; these are just slightly more difficult things to say, though she has no reason to keep them to herself. "Not long 'fore I showed up here, my husband was killed," she tells him, the choice of words deliberate. He didn't just die, after all, nothing accidental or slow and drawn out, someone slipping away in the night, peaceful. "Few days after that, my Mama died, and I'd just got back from her funeral when the man who killed my husband came for me, too. S'why I was in the state I was when you found me that day."