Bent Road - Lori Roy [106]
Walking into the living room, Ruth tries to smile for Mary and says, “Pardon? What have you lost?”
“I didn’t think . . .” Mary says. She sits in the center of her gold couch, facing an empty wall. “. . . it would take so long.”
Ruth stands in the threshold between the kitchen and living room, her hands clasped under her belly. The chill she caught outside has stayed with her and she realizes the house is cold, too cold, as if the windows are open and the heat has shut down. She scans the room for rustling curtains and wonders what she should say to Mary. What did they all say to her when Eve died? They touched her, probably because, like Ruth, they didn’t know what to say, and they brought chicken casseroles and apple cobbler. She should sit with Mary, touch her sleeve, pat her hand.
“We’re all so sorry.”
“Your baby is well?”
Ruth nods, pulling her coat closed and lowering her head.
“You should take care of yourself,” Mary says, tilting her head as if looking at something on the empty wall. “I took care.” Every few feet, at about eye level, nails stick out from the wall. “I took the best care I could. Waiting.” Mary nods toward the corner where her sewing machine sets on a bare card table. When they were young, and Ruth and Eve came for sewing lessons, fabric and piping and measuring tapes had covered the table, leaving barely enough room for the three of them to huddle around the machine. Now it is bare, and the table droops in the middle.
“I even made new curtains while I waited. But it took so long.”
Ruth steps closer, looking where Mary is looking.
“Can I do anything for you? Do you or Orville need anything? Anything at all?”
“I kept things nice, as nice as I could.”
“Things are lovely, Mary.” Ruth takes another step, watching the front door. She shouldn’t be in a hurry to leave. Were they in a hurry to leave her and Mother and Arthur? “But you shouldn’t work yourself like this. Where is Orville? Arthur is here. Outside. Do you need help with anything?”
“I did it myself, you know.” Mary doesn’t seem to see Ruth standing near the sofa, her coat wrapped tightly, hat and mittens still on. “All the cleaning. So much to take care of for one person.”
“Too much really. You should rest now.”
Mary tilts her head again, still staring at the empty wall. Ruth takes another step. They are hooks to hang pictures. She remembers. Family pictures. A whole wall of them. Even a picture of Mary, Eve and Ruth when they were girls. They are gone now. The wall is empty.
“He wrapped her in feed sacks, you know.”
Ruth turns on one heel to face Mary, stumbling and bracing herself against the bare wall.
“Before he buried her, I mean, so she was still beautiful when I got her back.” Mary brushes gray wisps of hair from her eyes and smoothes them in place. “She was too beautiful to bury. Still so beautiful. I took care the best I could.”
Evie curls up next to Daddy, laying her head against him. His hands are crossed on the steering wheel and he is resting his head. His breathing is quiet, not deep and loud like when he’s sleeping. Evie scoots closer, snuggling up as best she can. His arm tightens around her shoulders. Still, Daddy doesn’t look up. She wants him to lift his head to smile at her, and then maybe he’ll notice. She could say something right out loud. She could pull on his shirt and point out the windshield so he would see, but Evie does nothing and Daddy doesn’t move, not even to squeeze any tighter. She remembers the picture—Uncle Ray happy and lifting Aunt Eve high off the ground. Aunt Eve laughing under her straw hat, smiling and not dead.
Without moving in her seat this time, Evie glances at Daddy, quickly so he won’t notice. Straight ahead, at the intersection of Main Street and Bent Road, sits a red truck.