Bent Road - Lori Roy [33]
“Elaine cut it, Father,” Evie says. “She’s going to color it, too. Red maybe.”
Reesa, who has made herself at home in Celia’s kitchen, having already brewed the coffee and set out the cream and sugar, shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. “Good gracious,” she says.
Arthur scoots up to the table, the squeal of his chair legs silencing Evie and Reesa.
To break the sudden silence, Celia opens the refrigerator and says, “Has Reesa offered you pie, Father?”
Reesa frowns, causing deep creases to cave in at the top of her nose, and shakes her head at Celia. “Didn’t seem the time for pie yet.”
Father Flannery, still staring at Ruth, says, “Pie’d be real nice, Mrs. Scott. Real nice about now.”
Arthur waves off Celia’s offer of pie and focuses on Father Flannery. “Seems there must be something the church can do for Ruth,” he says. “Something that can help her out of this mess.”
“It’s not that easy, Arthur. They’ve been married a good many years.”
Arthur exhales and runs a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead.
“What about ‘inadequacy of judgment’?” Celia says, leaning into the refrigerator and pushing aside a carton of eggs. No pie. She stands, hands on her hips, and looks around the kitchen. Everyone at the table is staring at her.
“One of my aunts on my mother’s side married quite young,” she whispers.
“That’s good, Celia,” Arthur says, motioning for her to hand him the coffee pot. “Does that work for us, Father?”
Celia unplugs the pot and passes it to Arthur. Without even tasting it, Celia knows the coffee is strong, too strong, because that’s how Reesa makes it.
“That sounds like just what we need,” Arthur says. “Inadequacy of judgment.”
Father Flannery holds his mug out to Arthur and presses his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He sniffs as he does it, as if this will cement them into place. “That doesn’t seem to apply, Arthur. Not after twenty years.”
Reesa nods, closes her eyes and pats her forehead with a yellow handkerchief while pushing her mug across the table toward Celia to be refilled. Giving the pot a little shake to show that it’s empty, Celia mouths the word “sorry” and steps to the counter to brew up some more.
“Sure it applies,” Arthur says. “Inadequacy of judgment. We all had it.”
He turns to Celia for help.
“They were very young when they married, right?” Celia says. “Young people don’t always make good decisions.” Then, dropping one spoonful of coffee into the percolator, shorting the batch by two scoops of grounds, she checks inside the stove. Still no pie.
“They were both adults,” Father Flannery says, sipping his coffee. “Young, but adults. Both of sound mind. No undue force, I presume. How’s that pie coming, Mrs. Scott?”
“Won’t be but a moment, Father.” Celia stands at the head of the table, her hands still on her hips. “I can’t imagine what I’ve done with it.”
Father Flannery leans back in his chair, his large stomach pushing against the edge of the table. “Did you try on top of the refrigerator? Some of the ladies like to keep their pies on top of the refrigerator.”
“Father, there has to be something.” Arthur rubs the heel of both hands into his eye sockets. “Undue force. There was undue force. You know what happened. We were all under undue force. That was a terrible time. For everyone.”
Slipping behind Arthur, Celia grabs onto the top of the refrigerator and stands on her tiptoes. Nothing.
“I know. I know,” Evie says, clapping her hands together. “The Clark City men took your pie.”
“Please stop talking about Clark City,” Celia says.
“But the kids at school say they escape all the time. Ian’s brother says they catch rides on the backs of pickup trucks and jump off when they see the lights of the first house. Everyone knows that our house is the first house after the Brewster place. They take food. Like pie. They take food because they’re hungry. Ian says a Clark City man cooked up old Mrs. Murray on the radiator, that radiator right over there in the corner. And Ian says a Clark