Bent Road - Lori Roy [101]
“She made her bed,” Celia says to Jonathon. “Now she’s got to sleep in it and try to make it again in the morning.”
Jonathon shakes his head, signaling that he doesn’t understand.
“Just a saying my mother liked to use.” Celia swallows, something she does when she feels guilt. “And we have to think of them now, Ruth and the baby. They’re most important.”
Jonathon nods.
“You’ll see to it that the house is warm before you leave her?”
He nods again. “Sure thing.”
“Thank you, Jonathon,” Celia says, reaching up to hug him. “And I know Arthur thanks you, too.”
Overhead, footsteps pound across the roof. Arthur and Daniel climbed up there almost the instant they got home from the funeral to shovel more snow.
“He always goes to work when he’s feeling bad. We’ll have the cleanest roof in the county before this all settles.” Celia hands Jonathon his coat. “You drive careful and come back for dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see Mrs. Scott home safe. Safe and sound.”
Hearing the screened door open, Daniel stops shoveling and looks over the edge of the house. Behind him, Dad continues to scrape his shovel across the black roof.
“Grandma’s leaving,” Daniel says, slapping his leather gloves together. He looks over the edge again, the wind sweeping up and catching him in the face. He squints into the white sunlight bouncing off the snow below. “Jonathon’s taking her.”
Dad nods, lifts his shovel and begins to chip away at a patch of ice.
“Jonathon’s carrying a suitcase,” Daniel says.
Specks of ice sparkle as they fly off the end of Dad’s shovel.
“Grandma’s going home.”
Jonathon’s truck chokes a few times, rumbles, and then slowly starts down the driveway. Daniel watches, waiting for the truck to disappear, because once it’s gone, he has to tell Dad. He has to tell because the weight of it is too much. Maybe a man could carry it around, but not Daniel. At the top of the hill leading toward Grandma’s house, the truck fishtails.
“Dad,” Daniel says. “I hit Ian Bucher. I hit him in the nose.”
Dad stops hammering the ice.
“At school. In the cafeteria. I hit him.”
Dad leans on his shovel. “You have good reason?”
Just like that. The weight of it is gone.
“Yes, sir. He said Aunt Eve was murdered. He said she was bloodied up between the legs and killed like Julianne Robison.”
Dad nods, and lining up his shovel to take another whack at the ice, he says, “Bloody nose between friends never hurt anyone. But you be mindful of Ian’s size. The boy can’t help his size.”
Daniel nods. “Sir,” he says, and Dad stops again but doesn’t meet Daniel’s eyes. “I’m sorry Aunt Eve died. I’m sorry that happened.”
Dad nods. “Yep,” he says. “Me too, son.”
Ruth sits on the edge of her bed, tulle draped across her lap and a small box of pearl beads on the nightstand to her left. She glances up when Elaine and Celia walk into the room, then continues trying to thread her needle.
“There’s no hurry with that,” Elaine says, sitting opposite Ruth on the other bed.
Ruth pulls the white thread through the eye of the needle. “The light’s good today,” she says. “Especially in here. We don’t always have such good light.”
Celia sits next to Ruth, lowering herself slowly and scooting close enough to drape part of the tulle over her own lap. “It is good,” she says of the sunlight shining through the window. “This is beautiful work, Ruth. Did you see, Elaine? She’s started to bead the pearl flowers.” Celia lifts one edge of the veil so Elaine can see it, then lets it fall across her lap again. “Elaine, would you excuse us?”
“Certainly,” Elaine says, standing. “It’s beautiful work, Aunt Ruth. Beautiful.” And she walks out of the room, leaving Celia and Ruth alone.
“Reesa is gone,” Celia says, running her fingers along the veil’s scalloped edge.
Ruth nods.
“She took her things. Jonathon is seeing her home.” Celia pauses. “She’ll be fine. Hardheaded as she is, she’ll be fine.”
“Why do you suppose we did this? Why so much hiding?”
“People get used to things,” Celia says. “Without even realizing. We get used to the way things are.