Bent Road - Lori Roy [104]
“Icing’s done,” Evie calls out, thinking that Aunt Eve would have liked the icing, too, but, like Julianne, she’s dead. All the way dead. “I made extra.”
Behind her, Aunt Ruth opens the oven a crack. “Rolls are too,” she says.
She smiles at Evie, but Evie doesn’t smile back. Grandma Reesa made those rolls. Yesterday, she mixed up the dough and punched it down twice when it rose up too high. Then Grandma had to go away because she made Aunt Ruth cry, and now Aunt Ruth is baking the rolls that chilled overnight in the refrigerator and she’s acting like she made them all the way from scratch. Aunt Eve is gone, too, and Uncle Ray thinks it was Aunt Ruth’s fault. Now only Aunt Ruth is left, even though she packed up two suitcases.
“They smell good, don’t they?” Aunt Ruth says, slipping on two oven mitts and pulling the pan out of the oven as Mama walks into the kitchen. “Would you like to come with me and your dad to take them to the Robisons?”
Mama takes a few steps toward the oven. “It’s so cold outside, Ruth. And icy. You let Arthur and me take the rolls over.”
“Grandma made those,” Evie says, folding tinfoil around the edges of the bowl filled with white icing.
Mama and Aunt Ruth look at each other the way they did when Evie wore Aunt Eve’s dress to school.
“Yes,” Aunt Ruth says. “Grandma makes the best cinnamon rolls. I can never get the dough so nice.” Aunt Ruth sets the hot pan on the table in front of Evie’s spot on the counter. Thick sugary steam rises up. “We’ll tell Mrs. Robison that Grandma made these.”
“Please, Ruth. Let us take the rolls. You need your rest. You and Elisabeth.”
“I should go,” Ruth says, wrapping her belly with both hands. “I really need to pay my respects.”
“Cinnamon rolls won’t make them feel better,” Evie says.
“Yes, Evie,” Mama says, pressing her lips together in a way that means Evie should stop talking. “You’re probably right about that.”
Evie hops off the counter. “I want to come, too,” she says.
Someone definitely needs to tell Julianne’s mom that Grandma Reesa made these rolls, not Aunt Ruth.
The pan of rolls is still warm on Ruth’s lap when Arthur parks in front of the Robisons’ house. Everyone else in town would have paid their respects yesterday after the funeral, but the Scott family didn’t make it because they had a run-in with Ray. Ruth pulls on her mittens, cradles the pan with one hand and takes the frosting from Evie. Both Ruth and Arthur had decided that Mary Robison’s house wasn’t the place for Evie. She would be too much of a reminder. No sense stirring up more tears with Evie’s blond braids and blue eyes. Before crawling out of the truck, Ruth looks back at Arthur, thinking she should say something, but not certain what that should be. He is staring straight ahead, lost in some thought. He turns. His eyelids are heavy, as if he can’t quite hold them up. He looks tired, and suddenly so much older. He looks like Father.
“We’ll probably visit a bit,” Ruth says, sliding across the bench seat toward the door. “You two will be warm enough out here?”
He nods. “Go on and take your time. And watch the ice. Sidewalk’ll be slippery.”
Ruth holds tight to the truck’s doorframe, steps onto the newly shoveled sidewalks, and walks toward the Robisons’ house.
Celia hangs up the telephone, sits at the kitchen table and lays both hands flat on the vinyl tablecloth. She presses each finger into the table, holding on for a moment. After one final deep breath, she calls out.
“Daniel.”
The house is silent.
“Daniel, come on out.”
Daniel’s bedroom door swings open and he steps into his threshold. His hair is matted on one side and his shirt is misbuttoned.
“Sorry if I woke you,” Celia says.
Daniel glances at the telephone and at Celia.
“Come have a seat. I have some news, Danny. Some sad news.”
Ruth’s shoulder isn’t so sore anymore but still she favors it by balancing the dish on one hip. Someone