Bent Road - Lori Roy [65]
Up in the front seat, Celia and Arthur are silent. No one has spoken since Ruth told Floyd the truth about Ray. Not a word since they walked out of the café into a strong north wind, not as Arthur pulled away, the café’s lights dwindling behind them, not now as they drive down Bent Road on their way to the hospital. Celia is no more than a shadow, occasionally checking on Ruth, reaching over the seat to pat her knee. Next to her, Arthur sits tall, stiffening and bracing his arms each time a truck passes and he has to ease the car toward the ditch. Celia is the first to speak.
“Will Floyd arrest him now?” she asks, her shadow turning toward Arthur.
“Don’t suppose he has reason to.”
“But he’ll look into it, right?”
“Don’t really know.” Arthur rubs his palm against his forehead. Father used to do the same thing. “I suppose he’ll ask Ruth some more questions, pay Ray another visit.”
Celia reaches back and pats Ruth’s knee again and probably smiles though Ruth can’t see.
“Well, he’s not coming to dinner. I can’t imagine why you invited him.”
“I didn’t invite him, not for certain. Just suggested. Tried to ease my way in. Maybe buy a little time.”
“Well, I don’t want him around the kids. He did something to that girl. I just know it.”
“I’m handling him the best I can for now,” Arthur says.
Ruth closes her eyes again when another truck, driving in the opposite direction, flies past. The friction between the two automobiles and the heavy north wind rock Ruth from side to side. She closes her eyes and tries to hold her arm still.
“He’s waiting him out,” Ruth says into the dark car.
Celia’s shadow turns, stretching one arm across the back of her seat. “Waiting him out? What do you mean?”
“He thinks Ray will die soon. That he’s drunk himself nearly dead.”
A set of oncoming headlights outlines Celia with a yellow frame. “Is that true?”
Once the other truck has passed and its headlights have faded, Arthur shrugs. “Can’t help what a man does to himself.”
“I don’t even know what to say about that,” Celia says. “Besides being a horrible thought, what are the chances?”
“Pretty good from the looks of him.” Fending off the wind and the rough gravel roads, Arthur’s hands and arms shake on the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry, Ruth. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking.”
“He’s thinking he’s seen a man nearly dead from drinking before and that Ray looks about the same.”
Celia glances between the two of them.
“Papa,” Ruth says. “Papa drank himself dead. But Ray’s not that close yet, Arthur. Not like Papa. Not as bad as Papa was in the end.”
Another car approaches. Ruth sits up. The more she talks, the more numb she feels inside. She didn’t realize it in the café, or the night Ray came back from Damar, or the day Arthur asked Gene Bucher to give Ray a job, but sitting in the car, blinking against another set of approaching headlights, she knows that Arthur is counting on time because he doesn’t know any other way.
“Arthur,” Celia shouts. “Look out.”
Arthur jerks the steering wheel, his shadow falling to the right. The car slides across the gravel road, throwing Ruth against the doorframe. Her head bounces off the window. Something jabs her side. Pressing her one good arm straight out, she braces herself against the front seat. The car grinds to a stop. Heavy tires spinning on the hard dry gravel fade in the distance. Outside the front window, a dust cloud settles like dwindling smoke in the headlights and a long winding tail and arched back appear—tumbleweeds caught up along the fence line on Bent Road. Someone had better clear them away soon, Ruth thinks, or they’ll pull down the fence, and she closes her eyes.
Daniel lies in bed. Through his wall, he hears Evie fumbling about in her closet when she should be sleeping. Elaine told them lights out so