Bent Road - Lori Roy [15]
Watching behind Floyd, waiting for the bedroom door to open, Ruth wiped her top lip with a dish towel. She has known Julianne Robison since she was a bundle wrapped in a pink fleece blanket. “There’s still time for you,” Mary had said as she handed Julianne to Ruth on the first Sunday the Robisons brought their new baby to church. Mary Robison was Ruth’s age, even a few years older, and Orville Robison was a good bit older than Ray. Still, the Robisons had been blessed with a little girl. Now, the sweet baby that had smelled of talc and vanilla was gone.
“Will you come again?” Ruth said. “Ask any more questions?”
Floyd twisted his lips up the same way he did when they were kids figuring multiplication facts in Mrs. Franklin’s class. “Might be more. Can’t tell. I’ll come along if there are.”
Ruth leaned against the kitchen counter, shifting a little to the right so she could see the knob on the bedroom door. “I’m real sorry,” she said. “Mary must be beside herself from worry. You tell her I’ll bring her a casserole. A real nice one.”
Taking his hat from the table and tucking it under his arm, Floyd stood and pushed in his chair. “Sorry to bother you so early, Ruth. I’ll see myself out.”
Ruth tightened her robe. “No bother.”
“One more quick question.” Floyd slapped his beige hat against his left thigh a few times. “You say you were busy at your brother’s all afternoon.”
Ruth nodded, swallowed and continued to watch the bedroom door.
“And you folks came home around five o’clock?”
Again, Ruth nodded.
“Didn’t stay for supper?”
“Arthur’s family had such a long day and Mother made a late lunch. Didn’t bother with eating again. Left them alone to a quiet evening.”
“So, you and Ray were home here all night?”
Behind Floyd, the bedroom door opened.
Floyd turned. “Morning, Ray,” he said. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”
Ray ran one hand through his dark hair, pushing it off his face. “First thing home, ate some of Ruth’s meat loaf,” he said. Both eyes, even the gray overcast one, settled directly on Floyd. “Leftover pie for dessert.”
“She does make a fine pie,” Floyd said and at the same time studied Ruth as if waiting for her to confirm Ray’s story.
Ruth cleared her throat and nodded again. “Pie wasn’t so nice. Strawberries were tart.”
Lowering her eyes to avoid Floyd’s stare, Ruth tried to remember the last time she had seen little Julianne. Church, probably. Most likely, last Sunday. Julianne, with silky blond hair that hung to her waist, always wore a pink dress to services. She’d wear it until she outgrew it or until the weather turned too cold.
“Guess you heard, then,” Floyd said because it seemed that Ray had listened to their conversation. “You know the girl? Know what she looks like?”
“Sure do,” Ray said, nodding once.
“Good enough.” Floyd pulled on his hat. “If you don’t mind, give things a good going over. I suspect someone’ll show up with her at church this morning. Probably found her out wandering, gave her a bed to sleep in and a warm breakfast. But in case that doesn’t happen, Father’s going to cut the service short and I’ll be gathering up some more fellows. Continue the search. Suppose you can give a hand if it comes to that?”
“Will do,” Ray had said. “Won’t leave a stone unturned.”
Ruth smiles one last time at Evie, who is chewing on her lower lip as if she is still worried about disappearing like Julianne, and then lifting her face into the hot, dry wind that blows through her open car window, Ruth tightens the knot on her scarf so it won’t slip from under her chin. It’s been a long time since she’s bothered with one, but she doesn’t want Arthur and Celia to see her bruises. All through church, she wore the scarf. Most of the other ladies slip theirs off once inside and tie them on again as services end. Ruth’s scarf, however, draped over her head and tied under her chin, covers the red spot on her lower jaw where Ray struck her with the back of his hand when Floyd left the house that morning. Without the hangover that