Bent Road - Lori Roy [83]
Waiting until Arthur has rolled off her, Celia inhales a full breath, sits up, unbuttons her blouse and skirt and pushes them to the floor. The night air chills her damp skin where it was pressed against Arthur. Kansas has made her body harder, like it was when she was younger. Her stomach is flat again though marred by silvery white lines where it stretched for her babies. Her hips are soft and white, but narrow, slimmer than they were in Detroit. She reaches for Arthur’s hand and places it on her left breast, holding it there until he begins to roll her nipple between two fingers. He breathes faster again, slips the same hand between her legs and presses apart her knees. Celia lies back, exhaling and not hearing the dry grass that crackles outside her window.
Evie rolls on one side, afraid to close her eyes because every time she does, she remembers the red silky inside of Olivia’s neck and the black blood that she lay in. Daniel tried to cover her eyes before she saw but he was too slow. Evie always thought blood was red. Now she wonders why babies are blue and cows bleed black blood. She should have asked Uncle Ray. He is more of a cowboy than Daddy. Uncle Ray would know about blue babies and black blood, but he didn’t want to talk much on the ride home. He didn’t even ask about Aunt Eve’s dress even though it stuck out from under the bottom of Evie’s coat. She saw him looking at the blue ruffles. Mostly, Uncle Ray looked like he hadn’t slept a single night in his whole life.
“Girl ought to wear trousers when it’s so cold” is the only thing he said.
Thinking that next time she sees Uncle Ray she’ll ask him about black blood, Evie rolls over and looks at the drawer where she hid the picture of Aunt Eve and Uncle Ray. Mama made her return the rest of Aunt Eve’s things to Grandma Reesa and she has to write an apology letter on Mama’s best stationery so they can send it through the mail. Mama doesn’t know Evie kept the picture.
Across the kitchen, Mama’s bed creaks. Sometimes, when the house is dark, Evie hears it. Mama always says they are making up the bed with clean sheets. Tucking in hospital corners, straightening the quilt, fluffing the pillows. Soon enough, Mama is done tucking her sheets and the house is quiet again. Maybe Evie can sleep without closing her eyes. Cows do that sometimes, or is it horses? Another question for Uncle Ray. But Evie isn’t a cow or a horse. She tries closing her eyes. First one, then the other. Everything is black for a moment and then she hears a knock. Maybe Mama is making the bed again. Evie opens her eyes and sits up. She hears another quiet knock. Tapping on glass. Tap, tap, tap. Someone is at the back door.
Daniel wants to bang on his wall. He wants to punch a hole all the way through to Elaine’s room and into her fat mouth. She and Aunt Ruth are still whispering about the wedding. All night long, probably all through dinner, and even now when they should be sleeping. Elaine doesn’t care one damn bit that Olivia died. She doesn’t care that Evie wore Aunt Eve’s dress to school or that everyone calls Evie a nigger lover. She doesn’t even care that Evie almost got swiped like Julianne Robison. All she cares about is studying and finishing high school so she can have the wedding that she spends all night, every night, planning with Aunt Ruth. Daniel sits up, lunges toward the wall he shares with Elaine, pulls back his fist, ready to punch a hole all the way into her room, when he hears a knock. The last time Mama checked on him, he pretended he was asleep so she left his door ajar. Unwrapping his fist and dropping his hand to his side, Daniel walks to his open door and listens. Yes, someone is knocking.
Ruth keeps talking, thinking that Elaine won’t notice the quiet creaks coming from Celia and Arthur’s end of the house. She gathers the fabric at Elaine’s waist with the fingers that stick out of her sling and weaves a straight pen into the satin sash. “That should do it,” she says as Elaine muffles a laugh. “Now, be still.” Ruth ignores the giggle. With so much to be