Bent Road - Lori Roy [8]
Evie giggles to hear Daddy curse. “She doesn’t live here anymore?”
Daddy shakes his head, stops and shakes it again. His white teeth shine against his dark skin. “No, Evie, not anymore.”
Driving through the dust kicked up by Jonathon’s truck, they near the tumbleweed-lined fence. Jonathon is towing their cow to the new house. Mama had thought Elaine should get to name the cow because she is the oldest, but Uncle Ray said he figured it was a job for the youngest in the family, so Evie picked Mama’s middle name—Olivia. This made Uncle Ray smile. He tugged on one of Evie’s braids and then winked his milky eye at Mama, patted the new cow on the rump and said that Olivia was a damn fine name. Mama frowned about that, too, but it was too late because Olivia was already Olivia.
Daddy slows at the top of the hill and the truck drifts toward the side of the road until it feels that the wheels might slip off into the ditch. Evie looks for the monster they saw the night before. Daniel leans forward, too, but he’s probably looking for the man he thinks Mama hit. In the daylight, Evie doesn’t see a monster, only a fence that Daddy says will cave in if someone doesn’t pull off those weeds soon. She doesn’t see a strange man, either. Once over the highest point, a truck driving the other direction appears. The other truck swerves toward the tumbleweed fence, slows and stops. Daddy stops, too.
A dark hand hangs out of the driver’s side window of the other truck. “Damn good to see you, Arthur.” A man wearing a round straw hat leans out his open window.
“Afternoon, Orville.” Daddy nods and lifts one finger. “Good to be back.”
The man glances in his rearview mirror. “Been a long damn time.”
Daddy nods. “These here are two of my kids,” he says, tipping his head in Evie and Daniel’s direction.
Evie leans forward and waves at the man. Daniel lifts a hand.
“Pleasure,” the man says. Mama would have said he had a strong nose. Thick creases fan out from the corners of his eyes and his skin is as dark as any Negro except he isn’t a Negro.
Daddy and the man talk for a few minutes about the long drive from Detroit, the price of wheat and when the next good rain will fall. Then with another tip of his round straw hat, the man says, “Glad you remembered this stretch of road. Can be a good bit tricky. You all take care.” And slapping the side of his truck, the man pulls away.
As Daddy eases onto road, Evie looks back toward the tumbleweed monster. In the other truck, a young girl stares out the rear window, one hand and her nose pressed to the glass. She must have been scrunched down in the seat because Evie didn’t see her before. She is about Evie’s age and has long blond hair that hangs over her shoulders. The girl lifts her hand from the glass and waves. Evie waves back and watches until the truck disappears down Bent Road, and the girl is gone.
Daniel climbs out of the truck, glances at the Buchers’ house and then at the group of boys near the barn—the Bucher brothers—and wishes he had a hat to pull on like Dad’s. So far, not one person in Kansas has blond hair except Evie and Mama.
“Go on over and say hello,” Dad says, taking the dish of chicken from Daniel. “You’ve been so worried about friends. Well, there’s a whole mess of them.”
Tugging at the tan pants Mama made him wear because he was meeting new people, Daniel walks toward five boys who are huddled together, digging a hole in the ground with their bare hands. The youngest is probably seven; the oldest, fifteen or sixteen. All are barefooted and dirty up to their ankles. One boy close to Daniel’s age sits off by himself, leaning against the barn.
“Hey,” the tallest brother says. “You one of the Scotts?”
Daniel nods. “Yeah. Daniel.”
The boys drift together and stand with their arms crossed over their chests. They all have straight dark hair that hangs over their ears and wear jeans cut off at the knee instead of tan pants with a crease ironed into each leg.
“Moving