Bent Road - Lori Roy [28]
Arthur nods. “Folks’ll think what they think,” he says and Ray slips inside the truck.
Evie stops on the last step, holds onto the banister and leans forward. The downstairs room is full of gray smoky air. Trying to see into the kitchen and beyond to the back porch, she listens for Daddy and Uncle Ray and wonders if they’re still fighting. Mama shouted for them to stop but maybe Daddy and Uncle Ray won’t listen to Mama. She blinks, clearing her tears. Not seeing anyone, she squeezes her nose closed with two fingers and steps down, touching the wooden floors with one toe. She holds that pose, trying not to breathe any of the smoky air and listens.
“Good Lord in heaven.”
A crash follows Grandma Reesa’s shout.
Evie presses her tiptoe foot flat on the floor and steps down with the other. Still pinching her nose, she walks through the living room and as she nears the front of the house, she covers her mouth and coughs. The gray smoke is thicker and swirls overhead. Waving it away, she steps into the kitchen. Grandma Reesa stands at the stove, her back to Evie, a silver potholder on one hand.
“Fine food charred to no good,” Grandma Reesa says and, sliding the large iron skillet off the hot burner, she reaches into the sink, pulls out the cast-iron lid with the potholder, lifts it overhead and slams it back into the sink.
“What got burnt, Grandma?” Evie asks, her hands pressed to her ears in case Grandma throws anything else. She bites down on her lower lip when her chin wrinkles.
“Burned every last piece of chicken,” Grandma Reesa says, holding the skillet up by its long thin handle. Black clumps of chicken stick to the bottom, even when she shakes it. “Help me, child. Get the bucket from the mudroom. We’ll be scrubbing these walls for days.”
Pulling a fan from under the sink, Grandma Reesa sets it in the kitchen window. “The mudroom, Eve. Get the bucket from the mudroom. My green bucket.”
Evie runs into the large closet where everyone leaves their muddy boots on a rainy day, grabs the green bucket and hurries back to the kitchen. Grandma Reesa has begun pulling the white curtains off their rod. The fan drawing cool, outside air into the kitchen ruffles her gray hair and blows it across her blue eyes—the same color as Evie’s, except older.
“Run the bathroom sink full of hot water and soak these,” she says, brushing the hair from her eyes and handing the curtains to Evie. “Go on now. This mess will keep us busy all day if we let it.”
“Daddy is fighting with Uncle Ray,” Evie says, wrapping her arms around the bundle of curtains.
Grandma Reesa puts the green bucket in the sink and begins to fill it.
“I saw them,” Evie says. “Outside. Fighting.”
“Drop a bar of hand soap in the water.” Grandma Reesa pulls a long-handled spoon from a drawer and points it at Evie. “No bleach. It will yellow the cotton.”
“Daddy was hitting Uncle Ray in the face. Knocked him down and everything. I saw them from upstairs. I was in Aunt Eve’s room, cleaning it for you. I dusted her dresser and fluffed her pillows. It’ll be ready for her when she comes home.”
Grandma Reesa stabs the spoon into a bowl. “Go on now,” she says, yanking it out and jamming it back in. “This smoke will ruin my curtains. Go on now.”
“Where’s my daddy?” Evie feels her chin wrinkle again. She blinks as the air blown in by the fan parts her bangs. “He’s hitting Uncle Ray.”
“Run the water until it’s good and hot. Get on with it.”
“I saw them from Aunt Eve’s room. I saw Daddy fighting.” Evie stands in the middle of the kitchen, still hugging the curtains. “I wanted Aunt Eve’s room to be nice for her. I wanted . . .”
Grandma Reesa lifts her white mixing bowl with both hands and slams it down on the counter. “Don’t you speak to me about Eve, child. Don’t you do it. Now get that hot water running. Get those curtains soaked.”
Evie presses her face into the bundle of curtains. She lifts her eyes enough